THE TABERNACLE
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
He felt hot. It would have been nothing new to the mutant, the skeletal embodiment of living fire, but he found the heat unruly, unmanageable and it was an experience he had long since grown unaccustomed to. It was like the prickly heat that he remembered from the summers before his mutation. New York City seemed to experience its seasons in extremes. Winters were cold enough to freeze the soul, isolating but also carrying a trademark sense of romanticism. Yet, it was the summers when Fever Pitch had been at his best. He’d once believed himself to be a human like every other but his body had transformed and, with it, his mentality had followed. Summer had been the period when he felt most free, when the city was an adventure and he could make anything of his days, of his life. As with so much, and like so many others, that had been stripped from him with puberty. Fever Pitch had never expected sympathy, his fiery form disguised a heart that was as cold as ice.
He wondered if the pain that now surged through his body was a repercussion of the sins he’d committed in his life. Murder. Theft. Terrorism. Fever Pitch had been involved, both directly and indirectly, in more than his fair share of criminal activities. None of what he’d done had weighed heavily on him before he’d awoken minutes ago in an alleyway beside the Tabernacle. He assuaged his guilt with the single-minded belief that he was fighting for the survival of his species, even as he’d watched Gene Nation attempt to destroy another. He’d been drawn inside with a compulsion. He’d no idea why. Even now his eyes, as swollen as they were, looked upon the backdrop of the stage with nothing but disdain for the brand they bore.
“Oooh. Aaah, Oooh. Aaah.”
The room turned to relative darkness, the fiery form of Fever Pitch offering one of the few semblances of light, as Dazzler stepped onto the stage. Alison Blaire was an undoubtedly beautiful, if troubled, woman. Her heart-shaped lips caressed the microphones as she held it close, clasped between her finger-less gloves. During the revamp of her career and her exit from the X-Men, the songbird had maintained but updated her identity for the fanbases the former Disco Diva now hoped to reach. Her music was closer to bubble-gum pop, and she was ranking amongst the princesses of pop in recent months. Her chest carried the familiar sigil, a light flare, of her former costume but her outfit was majorly street level. Clad in a brown leather jacket and tatted jeans, pink streaking through her golden hair, Fever Pitch mightn’t have recognised her had the scene not been so telling.
He'd never thought much of her as a hero or a musician. Yet, his groggy vision was mesmerised by the photonic energy that blasted from her fingertips. It calmed him momentarily, a brief glimpse at the serenity that he felt had been stripped from him . . . but he couldn’t remember how or why.
“Does it fit? Does the image in the mirror match the soul? Jewel of the sea stranded far from home, resting on a heart of coal. Oh, light-fingered mer-girl, torn from that sea foam. Momma didn’t raise no quitter. Her little princess shouldn’t be so bitter.”
Dazzler continued performing one of her most underrated compositions, ‘Light-Fingered Mer-Girl’, as Fever Pitch started squirm. The music, enchanting as it was, made him feel as though he was drowning. Dazzler’s voice seemed to stop and start without rhyme or reason. He rubbed his skeletal fingers in his ears as the surging heat threatened to overcome him entirely. His flames seemed to expand and retract around him, his breathing became difficult and he was starting to . . . sweat? Or as close to sweating as a man composed of fire since they evaporated as soon as it started. Smoke caused the concert-goers around him to cough and choke.
Fever Pitch screamed, long and guttural and thoroughly beyond his control, as he fell onto his knees while holding his head.
The vocals stopped as she made eye contact with the delirious, erratic movements of the fiery mutant. Dazzler stepped from the ledge of the stage, her honey and bubble-gum pink hair shifting around her shoulders. The microphone dropped to the ground, sending a static screech around the Tabernacle. Despite the horrors Dazzler had faced during her tenure as a hero, she approached the burning man with caution so as not to startle him. He was writhing on the ground, holding his head as he made some semblance of groaning. She was amazed that the noise seemed to be caught in his throat but Dazzler was equally as careful not to assume a posture he could misconstrue as immediately offensive.
Slowly, she reached out towards him. “Fever Pitch,” rasped the songbird. “Are you alright? You seem confused, in pain even, and there’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” As she moved to crouch beside him, Dazzler felt the wave of heat rush over her. “Maybe we can take this outside and get you some help.” Still, he gave no response. “C’mon–”
Dazzler was cut short as Fever Pitch swiped at her, his fiery backhand smacking her directly on the chin and landing her on her back. She bounded onto her feet with the skill of a gymnast and stared down on him. Glancing across her shoulder at her stage manager, she gave a curt nod and he started the evacuation process. Meanwhile, she moved back towards her attacker and grimaced. She’d wanted just one comeback tour when she was drawn into some mutant vs mutant shenanigans. Her dream had always been music, never heroics, but somehow it managed to force her back into the game every time she felt like she’d escaped.
“I’m not gonna play nice forever, Fever Pitch,” she scowled, standing over him with her hands at her side and photonic energy expanding from her palms. “I said, outside and I meant it. No-one needs to get hurt for . . . well, whatever your grievance is this time.”
Without warning, Fever Pitched reached out for her as his eyes became fearful and his body exploded. Dazzler had barely enough time to raise a shield of hard-light around herself and those that still surrounded her. Despite her best efforts, the mutant heroine could see people burning in the seconds she managed to hold her ground but the force of the heatwave threw her and those with her through the air as they crashed across the stage and into the nearby wall. The building started to crumble, bricks and dust falling from the roof as she quickly drew another force field around them. Her efforts couldn’t save everyone and as the fire dissipated the full scope of the damage was exposed to her.
Her hand shot to her mouth, the horror overcoming her.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
He felt hot. It would have been nothing new to the mutant, the skeletal embodiment of living fire, but he found the heat unruly, unmanageable and it was an experience he had long since grown unaccustomed to. It was like the prickly heat that he remembered from the summers before his mutation. New York City seemed to experience its seasons in extremes. Winters were cold enough to freeze the soul, isolating but also carrying a trademark sense of romanticism. Yet, it was the summers when Fever Pitch had been at his best. He’d once believed himself to be a human like every other but his body had transformed and, with it, his mentality had followed. Summer had been the period when he felt most free, when the city was an adventure and he could make anything of his days, of his life. As with so much, and like so many others, that had been stripped from him with puberty. Fever Pitch had never expected sympathy, his fiery form disguised a heart that was as cold as ice.
He wondered if the pain that now surged through his body was a repercussion of the sins he’d committed in his life. Murder. Theft. Terrorism. Fever Pitch had been involved, both directly and indirectly, in more than his fair share of criminal activities. None of what he’d done had weighed heavily on him before he’d awoken minutes ago in an alleyway beside the Tabernacle. He assuaged his guilt with the single-minded belief that he was fighting for the survival of his species, even as he’d watched Gene Nation attempt to destroy another. He’d been drawn inside with a compulsion. He’d no idea why. Even now his eyes, as swollen as they were, looked upon the backdrop of the stage with nothing but disdain for the brand they bore.
“Oooh. Aaah, Oooh. Aaah.”
The room turned to relative darkness, the fiery form of Fever Pitch offering one of the few semblances of light, as Dazzler stepped onto the stage. Alison Blaire was an undoubtedly beautiful, if troubled, woman. Her heart-shaped lips caressed the microphones as she held it close, clasped between her finger-less gloves. During the revamp of her career and her exit from the X-Men, the songbird had maintained but updated her identity for the fanbases the former Disco Diva now hoped to reach. Her music was closer to bubble-gum pop, and she was ranking amongst the princesses of pop in recent months. Her chest carried the familiar sigil, a light flare, of her former costume but her outfit was majorly street level. Clad in a brown leather jacket and tatted jeans, pink streaking through her golden hair, Fever Pitch mightn’t have recognised her had the scene not been so telling.
He'd never thought much of her as a hero or a musician. Yet, his groggy vision was mesmerised by the photonic energy that blasted from her fingertips. It calmed him momentarily, a brief glimpse at the serenity that he felt had been stripped from him . . . but he couldn’t remember how or why.
“Does it fit? Does the image in the mirror match the soul? Jewel of the sea stranded far from home, resting on a heart of coal. Oh, light-fingered mer-girl, torn from that sea foam. Momma didn’t raise no quitter. Her little princess shouldn’t be so bitter.”
Dazzler continued performing one of her most underrated compositions, ‘Light-Fingered Mer-Girl’, as Fever Pitch started squirm. The music, enchanting as it was, made him feel as though he was drowning. Dazzler’s voice seemed to stop and start without rhyme or reason. He rubbed his skeletal fingers in his ears as the surging heat threatened to overcome him entirely. His flames seemed to expand and retract around him, his breathing became difficult and he was starting to . . . sweat? Or as close to sweating as a man composed of fire since they evaporated as soon as it started. Smoke caused the concert-goers around him to cough and choke.
Fever Pitch screamed, long and guttural and thoroughly beyond his control, as he fell onto his knees while holding his head.
The vocals stopped as she made eye contact with the delirious, erratic movements of the fiery mutant. Dazzler stepped from the ledge of the stage, her honey and bubble-gum pink hair shifting around her shoulders. The microphone dropped to the ground, sending a static screech around the Tabernacle. Despite the horrors Dazzler had faced during her tenure as a hero, she approached the burning man with caution so as not to startle him. He was writhing on the ground, holding his head as he made some semblance of groaning. She was amazed that the noise seemed to be caught in his throat but Dazzler was equally as careful not to assume a posture he could misconstrue as immediately offensive.
Slowly, she reached out towards him. “Fever Pitch,” rasped the songbird. “Are you alright? You seem confused, in pain even, and there’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” As she moved to crouch beside him, Dazzler felt the wave of heat rush over her. “Maybe we can take this outside and get you some help.” Still, he gave no response. “C’mon–”
Dazzler was cut short as Fever Pitch swiped at her, his fiery backhand smacking her directly on the chin and landing her on her back. She bounded onto her feet with the skill of a gymnast and stared down on him. Glancing across her shoulder at her stage manager, she gave a curt nod and he started the evacuation process. Meanwhile, she moved back towards her attacker and grimaced. She’d wanted just one comeback tour when she was drawn into some mutant vs mutant shenanigans. Her dream had always been music, never heroics, but somehow it managed to force her back into the game every time she felt like she’d escaped.
“I’m not gonna play nice forever, Fever Pitch,” she scowled, standing over him with her hands at her side and photonic energy expanding from her palms. “I said, outside and I meant it. No-one needs to get hurt for . . . well, whatever your grievance is this time.”
Without warning, Fever Pitched reached out for her as his eyes became fearful and his body exploded. Dazzler had barely enough time to raise a shield of hard-light around herself and those that still surrounded her. Despite her best efforts, the mutant heroine could see people burning in the seconds she managed to hold her ground but the force of the heatwave threw her and those with her through the air as they crashed across the stage and into the nearby wall. The building started to crumble, bricks and dust falling from the roof as she quickly drew another force field around them. Her efforts couldn’t save everyone and as the fire dissipated the full scope of the damage was exposed to her.
Her hand shot to her mouth, the horror overcoming her.
Issue #1 (August 2018)
"Song Upon a Song"
Written by Gavin McMahon
"Song Upon a Song"
Written by Gavin McMahon
Featuring:
Archangel
Colossus
Dazzler
Shadowcat
Dreamer
Marrow
Toad
Warpath
Ashton Simonson
Fever Pitch
Lydia Nance
Leper Queen
|
“You can’t be serious.”
A brown-haired man in an immaculately pressed suit sat across from an older woman in a bright red suit. She was composed despite the hatred that spewed from her pursed pink lips. Her features, somewhat feline, were framed by a sleek silver bob and there was an air of friendliness that was neither sincere nor emanated warmth. His reply was equally as false, delivering a scathing laugh that failed to break her smile. Lydia Nance, the head of the Heritage Initiative, smiled wider as she replied. “Ashton, if I may call you that, I’m not sure why you’re so incredulous at the very real risk that the people, the mutants of this nation, represent. We’ve watched the limited footage that has been released from the Tabernacle and we’ve seen the individual known as Fever Pitch walk into the concert hall and incinerate more than a dozen people, with several more being crushed under the weight of the building as it collapsed. The facts can’t be ignored.” “We’re seeing him labelled as a terrorist before an investigation has even been carried out,” replied Ashton Simonson. Unlike Lydia, Ashton was unaffiliated from a major organisation but in the years since he’d appeared, he’d been a vocal proponent of mutant rights and liberation. “Under no circumstances can we ignore the testimonies that have come out since, from survivors of this supposed attack nonetheless, that Fever Pitch was acting erratic and uncontrolled as he made his way into that arena. At this time, we can’t cast aspersions.” “Your issue is that he’s been labelled a terrorist too quickly?” said Lydia calmly. “Fever Pitch was a known terrorist long before this incident. He was a member of Gene Nation, an organisation, it can be called such, renowned for its attack on humans who stood for their own rights. Humans who wanted to have a fair chance to live and thrive in the country that was built on the back of their ancestors. It’s understandable that people are frightened of what we’ve witnessed, particularly as his former colleagues all remain at large from the authorities.” She shot Ashton a stern glance. “If we can’t rely on those we’ve elected or hired to protect us from these individuals, then who can we turn to? I simply offer an alternative, a voice that wishes to highlight these events so that we can learn from them.” Ashton cleared his throat. “And yet you don’t give a single mention to the mutant present at the scene who protected dozens of people from this supposed attack. Dazzler, a hero who has served amongst the ranks of the X-Men and saved the world, acted against her own self-interest to help people in need. She’s saved the world, Miss Nance, which is more than I expect you can claim to do. We all owe that particular mutant, and those like her, our gratitude.” Lydia laughed. “Once again, you’re turning my points into a personal attack. I’m not saying that, in this instance, the mutant . . .” Seemingly realising the disregard her words carried, much to the detriment of her point, Lydia shuffled her shoulders before continuing. “Of course, I mean Dazzler. I’m not saying that Dazzler didn’t protect people and save lives with her, what are they called, hard light constructs but you can’t disregard that she reacted to a mutant attack. Which is the direct problem. If mutants could be properly controlled then we’d have no need for the few, and I mean the very few, that have morals and a sense of justice.” “Miss Nance, you proclaim your advocating protection for human citizens but what’s really being suggested is mutant internment,” Ashton shot back. “Regardless of the perceived risk, there is no justification for treating American citizens in such a way based on the genetic evolution they’ve undergone.” Lydia flicked her hair. MUTANT UNDERGROUND HQ SOUTH OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA “If the only way for the preservation of humanity is to be proactive against attacks such as this, then we need to consider the realities of this situation. Even the harsher realities can’t be off the table. It’s naïve to assume anything else.” “Can we turn this shit off,” snarled the bony-faced Marrow as she leant against the doorway, arms crossed and frustration clear upon her sallow features. “I think I’ve had all I can of flat-scans playing judge and jury on our fate. They think we’re nothing more than dogs they can send to the kennel when we fight back, that much has always been clear.” She spat the last of her words, the anger in the pit of her stomach growing worse with each passing news alert of what had transpired at the Tabernacle in Atlanta several hours before. It was made worse that she found those who had seemingly begun to respect her in recent weeks walking on eggshells around her, the weight of her grief causing them to shower her with kind words and sympathy. Marrow was a warrior, she’d made a life from herself that was distanced from the tragedies that would have overcome a lesser being, and still she found herself coddled as if she was as fragile as the waifs and strays they had spent the last several weeks gathering, protecting. She neither wanted nor needed their sympathy, Marrow wasn’t saddened by Fever Pitch’s death. She was disgusted another mutant had been used as a weapon against his own species. James Proudstar, better known to her as Warpath, switched the television to silent, the faces of Lydia Nance and Ashton Simonson continuing to bicker behind him, as he turned to face the former Morlock. He’d no clear connection with her, but he had also found himself on the outside during his time as a hero, overcome by grief and ready to act out. “It looks like we might need to accept all the allies on offer. Heritage Initiative is becoming a persistent in the ass.” “Sooner or later, even allies find a reason to turn their backs on us,” snarled Marrow, brushing her fingers through the shuck of pink hair styled as a mohawk. “I wouldn’t get used to this Simonson guy sticking around.” Marrow shrugged. “Even if he does last, he’s one man against a growing army of dissent. Hate always wins.” James scowled. “You seem to be taking this harder than you care to admit. You worked with Fever Pitch, right? Back in the Gene Nation, terrorist, days. It wasn’t that long ago. It must be hard.” “Don’t attempt to talk to me about my feelings, Apache. Richard Dudley, Fever Pitch, or whatever else you want to call him was little more than a vainglorious bastard and like all I used to know, he finally snapped,” spat Marrow, her eyes cold and distant as they surveyed him. “I’m through with the constant need for you people to get in touch with your feelings. I signed up to help people because I’ve seen how many people can be let down by the organisations and teams already out there. If I wanted to talk about the friends and family I’ve lost to this life, I could find a much better sounding board than a talking wall of repression.” James shrugged, unconcerned with her attitude. “You can keep pushing us all away but sooner or later, you’ll let your guard down. I don’t know how you expect to help people when you can’t even fix yourself.” Marrow rolled her eyes as he exited. “You can take the woman out of the sewer but you can’t wash away the scent of trash. It seems they weren’t wrong about at least one of us.” Mortimer Toynbee, the former Brotherhood villain known as Toad, slinked from the shadows. His tongue lashed from beneath the green cape with every syllable he uttered. A man who had already been concerned with his grotesque mutation had, much like Marrow had before him, undergone a secondary mutation which had left him even more monstrous than he’d been. The creature that lurked in the shadows, always watching and toying with the lives of those around him, was barely recognisable from the days when he had first crossed paths with the X-Men. Now, a willing recruit into the Mutant Underground’s campaign, Mortimer was giving back to those who had protected him from an attack in London. The former Morlock growled. “I’m not in the mood.” “Are you ever? I can’t even think of a time when I’ve seen you smile,” replied Mortimer. “Foul-tempered and prone to violence beyond what the Underground stands for. You don’t belong here. This is a home and you can’t grasp the concept of what that entails. I don’t think you ever will.” “At least I have principles that I can stand by,” she retorted. “I’d rather that than continue to be a docile puppet, swapping one overlord for the charity queen in my desperation to be perceived as something more than the cretin that I am. I own my flaws, I don’t let them define me. I’m not ruled by anxiety, fear or sorrow. You’ll side with Kitty and her ilk only if there’s no better offer. I know that and you can be damn sure they do too.” Without another word, Mortimer slinked off and Marrow was once again left to her own thoughts as the mean-spiritedness of her words, particularly when directed at such a feeble creature, rested heavily on her. Uncertain how to recover the dignity she’d cast aside or focus on anything other than her unadulterated rage, she flounced towards her room in the basement. LOEWS ATLANTA HOTEL ATLANTA, GEORGIA “I really don’t know why you’re here, Kitty. I told everyone that I was done with the hero game. Just because I didn’t stand by and allow Fever Pitch to kill innocent people doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to change my mind. I’m still out.” Alison was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed defiantly, her pale eyes focused on her former colleague and the current leader of the Mutant Underground. Still, despite the hardness in her words, the musician’s voice betrayed her. Her experience against Fever Pitch had left her more shake than she cared to reveal. Emotional and hot-tempered, this wasn’t the Alison that Kitty had known during their time in the X-Men. It also struck the Chicagoan that Alison’s version of the truth may have been embellished by her determination to remain unaffiliated with any of the heroes who were destined to come knocking on her door looking answers as to why Fever Pitch, a renowned terrorist, had become a suicide bomber and why her concert had been the target. Kitty sighed. “This isn’t about heroics, Ali. I’ve stepped back from that life too, we all have, but we still see an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of people much less fortunate than we ever were. The institute doesn’t feel like a safe space for a lot of people and, although we don’t have a lot of luxury, we’re making a real difference to the people we’re rescuing. It’s important and you could help us make that difference. It’d also offer you a space to recuperate from all of this.” “I understand but it’s not fair to put that on me,” replied the songstress, pouting. “Making me out like I’m uncaring because I’m finally putting myself first for the first time in god knows how many years. I’ve done my time, given up everything to make a difference, and I’m finally getting my life back on track. Please just accept my answer and let me move on.” Kitty was trying to understand Alison’s reluctance. She’d heard more about the musician’s ordeals than been directly involved but, with what was considered a somewhat mediocre power, Alison had been a great asset to the X-Men on many occasions. She had a following, a legion of devoted fans, and the celebrity of someone such as her assisting an organisation like the Underground could help hundreds of more people, simply by raising awareness. It was hard to deny Kitty’s ulterior motives for recruiting Alison though. Having Alison close to hand would give Kitty the opportunity to get to the bottom of the recent mutant suicide bombers. Massachusetts and Florida had already been hit but this was the first time that an incident had happened in her own backyard of Georgia. It was an opportunity to close the case that had been concerning her. There was a firm knock against the door and it dragged them from their conversation. “Police!” Kitty looked towards the door, her brows furrowed. “Miss Blaire,” a man continued through the door, barely offering either of them an opportunity to respond. “If you could open the door please. We would like to clarify some points made in your statement.” Alison, bewildered, moved towards the door. It’s not the police, pardon, Kitty, echoed the voice of Ruth Aldine in the former X-Man’s head. They mean to harm Alison. Apologies but something deeper is happening here. Alison cannot open the door. “We’ve got to go,” announced Kitty, grabbing Alison by the elbow as she moved her away from the door and further into the suite. “There’s something going on here and we aren’t prepared for it.” Alison slapped Kitty’s hand away. “Let go. What’ve you dragged me into?” “Ali, we really don’t have time . . .” The hotel door was kicked from its hinges as it slid across the floor. It passed through them both at Kitty’s behest and crashed through the window and into the street. Three men dressed as police officers stormed the room, their weapons aimed at the two women. They fired but under Kitty’s firm touch, Alison could feel the bullets surging through her intangible form. As Kitty let go, Alison released a blast of photonic energy, throwing the men across the suite. She snarled at Kitty’s extended hand but, without any other choice, the musician took it and the former X-Men jumped through the shattered window, hurtling towards the sidewalk. As if they were ghosts, they passed through it and out of sight. MUTANT UNDERGROUND HQ ATLANTA, GEORGIA “Am I pathetic?” Charity Cornell turned from watching the magnolia bushes that grew on the outside of the compound. It was a rare place of beauty in the chaos and relative squalor that had otherwise become her life. As her eyes were delicately drawn onto the horrific toad-like Mortimer, she offered a small smile. The redhead, given her mutant gift to present others with their dreams, even momentarily, was often sought as a respite from the daily strains of their existence. Charity was well named. Long after she’d escaped the trauma of a failed and abusive marriage, the Texan had found her calling in a woman’s shelter. It had seemed fitting to return the favour for an institution that had once protected her. A once frivolous woman, driven only by financial gain and ignoring the consequences, had learned the skills of empathy and kindness. Yet, when the time had come to help those like her, the mutants she’d once been ashamed of, Charity answered regardless of the risk. Her words were soft, comforting. She attempted not to show her alarm at his sudden appearance. There was a melancholic vacancy to her movements. “What’s brought this on?” “Marrow.” “Ah,” Charity replied. “Marrow’s hurting, more than she wants to admit and not allowing herself to feel it is causing her to lash out. You can’t take what she says seriously, Mortimer. She’ll calm down when the emotions have passed. Hostility is as much a coping mechanism as anger or sadness.” His tongue lashed beneath an odd smile “You’re an angel amongst us.” She smiled, turning away. “No-one is an angel, Mortimer. Not every creature gets a happy ending but I can give you one, at least for the moment.” The redhead placed her hand on his forehead, pink energy sparking from her fingertips and causing Mortimer to collapse with a blissful smile upon his face. Brushing her hands together, Charity stepped over him and moved towards the compound. She had barely entered the hallway when she was stopped in her tracks by Piotr, his eyes surveying her disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t encourage him,” murmured the Russian Colossus. “You know how susceptible he is. More so than most. He’s addicted to you.” The Texan shrugged. “If it offers him relief, even momentarily, then a little addiction isn’t doing him much harm,” replied Charity nonchalantly. Her voice seemed wearier than before. She was tired of being second-guessed and she was always uncomfortable about Piotr as he had collected her. Piotr scowled. “Temporary bliss isn’t happiness, Charity. You’re feeding someone with a history of villainy nothing but lies and sooner or later he’s going to realise it. It doesn’t have a pleasant ending when he does. You forget, I know what really brought you to this sanctuary. The façade you use to hide will never fool me.” “A bridge to cross when I need to,” she shrugged. “You know better than most that I’ve had to cross it before.” Without further conversation, Charity slinked off. Whilst Kitty led the Mutant Underground, Piotr liked to believe that he stood by her side as a guardian and protector of the world his girlfriend was attempting to build. He’d never been much of a thinker but for what he lacked genius, the Russian made up for in heart. Even when he’d served gangsters as an enforcer, his motivations had always been pure. Yet, now he found himself in uncommon ground because he didn’t trust Charity and he hated feeling uneasy around those he shared a home with. He was about to skulk off when the door opened and in walk two females, one brunette and the other with dual coloured hair. “Kitty!” exclaimed Piotr as he marched towards his girlfriend, although his eyes were suddenly drawn towards the blonde bombshell that accompanied her. “Ali? What’s brought you here? I thought you were out of the game.” Alison grimaced. “Easier said than done when the game comes to force you into a play. We’ve just had to escape from three armed police officers with no idea why they’re suddenly after me.” She rolled her eyes, twirling her hair in her fingertips. “It’s been a hoot. At least we had that disembodied voice to offer us hardly any assistance at all.” Piotr shrugged. “Ruth’s effective but it can take a little while to get any real information from her mind. She’s a deeply troubled girl.” He returned his focus to Kitty. “I’m glad you’re back and in one piece but you might not be.” She furrowed her brows. “Why?” “Warren’s here.” Kitty, Piotr and Alison walked towards the office space to find the winged form of Warren Worthington III, the heroic Archangel and chief benefactor of the Mutant Underground, waiting for them. He was perched upon the desk, scowling as they entered but he immediately disregarded the attentions of Piotr and Alison in favour of Kitty. It had been through their combined efforts, his money and Kitty’s tenacity, that the long forgotten Mutant Underground had been re-established. It had required both of their time and effort but the responsibility primarily rested with the Chicagoan. His company had been commandeering most of his time but as mutants had found themselves in another crisis, Warren had found himself drawn once again from New York. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “For a peaceful alternative to the care of the mutant population, Kitty, you do seem to be gathering quite the militia in this compound. I’ve approved of your methods up until now because the conflicts have been necessary but then I find out that you’ve been involved in a bullet fight in a hotel.” He flashed a glance at the musician. “Ali.” Standing to his full height of six-foot, overshadowed only by Piotr, Warren looked down upon them. “Which will bring no end of misery when the Mutant Underground is eventually connected to Worthington Enterprises.” Kitty crossed her arms impatiently. Her tone was accusatory. “How did you even know about that Warren? It’s quite literally just happened. We escaped with no casualties. In fact, there are so few casualties that there’s an incredibly real likelihood those men will come looking for Ali again to finish what they started. We stayed non-confrontational, mostly.” Ali rolled her eyes. “I may have blasted them but, in my pretty solid defence, they were shooting at me.” His expression remained stern. “Damnit Kitty. The last thing we need is those Heritage Initiative nut-bags up our asses for funding mutant superhero activities. They’re based here. You think they aren’t going to have something to say when this is happening on their doorstep? And what about the people we’re protecting here in this compound? If your actions, or those of the people you’re associating with, bring a war here then we both know there’ll be a bloodbath. It this collapses, it could bring my company with it.” She scoffed. “So, that’s it, you’re worried about your reputation?” “No,” snapped the angelic mutant. “I’m worried about the legacy of what we’re trying to build here. The legacy that you’re meant to be upholding without disrepute.” Kitty and Warren squared up to one another in anger. HERITAGE INITIATIVE HQ AUGUSTA, GEORGIA Lydia Nance continued to sip at the steaming cup of tea in her hands as she stepped from the elevator. It was unsweetened and dark, all natural with no preservatives. She’d never been a woman content with adding the unnecessary and that was exactly how she saw the mutant race. It was easy to use the tribulations and attacks of mutants against them, they were frequent even without her assistance, but she’d learned that there was a danger in letting the righteous anger of the American people fade. If she waited too long to make her move then sentiments would change and the mutant race would have the opportunity to paint themselves in a favourable light. There were purer mutants just as there were evil humans, Lydia wasn’t blinded by her hatred, but she understood better than most that even a pure soul needed to be eradicated if it was a potential weapon. Frowning as she walked across the catacombs that stretched beneath Heritage Initiative headquarters, Lydia called into what seemed like the darkness. “And how is the latest specimen doing?” A clinically masked woman came forward, her movements jutting and feral. Immediately, goosebumps shivered across the elderly woman’s skin but even as a woman as controlled as Lydia couldn’t fault her natural fight or flight instinct, even if she had to fight against it to hold her ground. The woman cared little for the fear she inspired, she was rage personified and it drove her every waking moment. Known as the Leper Queen, she had begun making a name for herself for similar reasons as Lydia: protection of humanity from the mutant menace. However, they’d differed in their methods. The Leper Queen, and her so-called Sapien League, had murdered and maimed their way into notoriety whereas Lydia preferred a political approach. Still, the politician and organisation head had soon learned that politics couldn’t solve all ills and now she found herself working with mercenaries and murderers but determined never to get her own hands dirty. “The accelerated rate of these attacks is going to cut through the supply too quickly,” remarked the Leper Queen monotonically. “You might have to let us hunt soon if this is the speed at which we’re moving.” Lydia sighed. “We’ll make the arrangements as needed. Is this specimen ready to be launched or not?” Leper Queen spun on her heels and marched towards the singular table, a young African-American man with strikingly blond hair was strapped to it and looked around groggily as she approached. “Ready for deployment,” replied the murderess. |