Back to Gatefold
Issue #1 by Cory Wiegel
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Off of the northern coast of Scotland, three jet black helicopters flew in a triangle-like formation through the dark rain clouds towards a small island on the horizon. A large, bulbous figure was suspended between the three helicopters by heavy duty suspension cables. Fierce rains and winds moved against the helicopters and their ‘cargo,’ and the crack of thunder illuminated the night’s sky behind them.
The flashes of lightning provided only brief glimpses of the ‘cargo.’ It was, in fact, a morbidly, inhumanly obese man wearing a harness attached to the cables, black boots, and golden wrist bands. His blubbery arms and legs were left exposed to the savage elements at work that night, yet anger and determination was etched into his flabby jowl like stone. It was as if he were completely unaffected by the inhumane mode of transport that he was subjected to.
The helicopters and their occupants drew ever closer to their destination – Muir Island. The quaint island was most famously known for its highly publicized mutant research center, the world’s largest and most comprehensive institution dedicated to studying mutants. It was also once home to the European super-hero team, Excalibur, and occasional home to the mutant outlaws, the X-Men.
In recent months, the research center had quickly become home to numerous members of the scientific and academic community, all possessing varying levels of standing and experience. Together, they worked to determine the sequence of chemical base pairs which make up Homo sapiens superior DNA and compare them to that of ‘normal’ Homo sapiens. It took time for them to adjust to the local flora and fauna, weather, and idea of living where they worked on a relatively isolated island just north of Scotland, but they quickly began to call it home.
Though the academics and researchers that now called Muir Island home were not affiliated with Excalibur, the X-Men, or any other super-hero organization in the slightest, they were nonetheless targets to the militant men and women that flew over the island in black helicopters. It was the secrets of the mutant genome that the scientists sought to unlock that posed a threat to the way of life that countless humans and mutants alike held dear…
{{ We’re over the drop-zone, }} a woman’s voice said over her radio.
{{ You know what t’ do then, }} a man’s voice replied.
{{ Gotcha, }} she acknowledged. {{ On three, everyone. Ready? One, two, three… Bombs away, Freddie J! }}
The suspension cables that carried the living ‘cargo’ retracted from his harness. Mentally prepared, he plummeted towards the island in a free fall and managed to maneuver his body into that of a belly flop, arms and legs spread out wide.
And what a mighty belly he had to flop.
Far below his descent was the island’s main security station and detention center, which – while rarely used – was set in place due to the sensitive nature of the island’s research and the repeated threats that have faced the center in the past. The security staff, while ever vigilant and alert, could have never been prepared for the nine hundred and seventy six pounds of pliable body mass that crashed through the roof of their base of operations.
The concrete roof and support beams caved in on the bulbous man’s impact, dragging nearly half of the structure down with it, crushing several members of the security staff under falling debris or – worse – underneath the massive blubber of the infiltrator. The lights and electricity died as the roof nearly collapsed in on the building, and the harsh rain and winds freely blew into the facility through the gaping hole left behind by the massive, surprise attack.
Some personnel were killed instantly. Others were left unconscious or paralyzed in agony. All of those who were able to lift their heads, or unfortunate enough to be left standing conscious and alert, were astonished when the pile of rubble in the center of the facility shifted slightly and was then flung off the rising form of
“Hello, boys!” Frederick J. Dukes, the former carnival freak turned mutant terrorist rightfully called The Blob, boomed. He cracked his knuckles sickly as a thunderclap boomed overhead and lightning filled the facility through the gaping hole in the roof.
“Who’s up for a little game of… patty-cake?!”
The flashes of lightning provided only brief glimpses of the ‘cargo.’ It was, in fact, a morbidly, inhumanly obese man wearing a harness attached to the cables, black boots, and golden wrist bands. His blubbery arms and legs were left exposed to the savage elements at work that night, yet anger and determination was etched into his flabby jowl like stone. It was as if he were completely unaffected by the inhumane mode of transport that he was subjected to.
The helicopters and their occupants drew ever closer to their destination – Muir Island. The quaint island was most famously known for its highly publicized mutant research center, the world’s largest and most comprehensive institution dedicated to studying mutants. It was also once home to the European super-hero team, Excalibur, and occasional home to the mutant outlaws, the X-Men.
In recent months, the research center had quickly become home to numerous members of the scientific and academic community, all possessing varying levels of standing and experience. Together, they worked to determine the sequence of chemical base pairs which make up Homo sapiens superior DNA and compare them to that of ‘normal’ Homo sapiens. It took time for them to adjust to the local flora and fauna, weather, and idea of living where they worked on a relatively isolated island just north of Scotland, but they quickly began to call it home.
Though the academics and researchers that now called Muir Island home were not affiliated with Excalibur, the X-Men, or any other super-hero organization in the slightest, they were nonetheless targets to the militant men and women that flew over the island in black helicopters. It was the secrets of the mutant genome that the scientists sought to unlock that posed a threat to the way of life that countless humans and mutants alike held dear…
{{ We’re over the drop-zone, }} a woman’s voice said over her radio.
{{ You know what t’ do then, }} a man’s voice replied.
{{ Gotcha, }} she acknowledged. {{ On three, everyone. Ready? One, two, three… Bombs away, Freddie J! }}
The suspension cables that carried the living ‘cargo’ retracted from his harness. Mentally prepared, he plummeted towards the island in a free fall and managed to maneuver his body into that of a belly flop, arms and legs spread out wide.
And what a mighty belly he had to flop.
Far below his descent was the island’s main security station and detention center, which – while rarely used – was set in place due to the sensitive nature of the island’s research and the repeated threats that have faced the center in the past. The security staff, while ever vigilant and alert, could have never been prepared for the nine hundred and seventy six pounds of pliable body mass that crashed through the roof of their base of operations.
The concrete roof and support beams caved in on the bulbous man’s impact, dragging nearly half of the structure down with it, crushing several members of the security staff under falling debris or – worse – underneath the massive blubber of the infiltrator. The lights and electricity died as the roof nearly collapsed in on the building, and the harsh rain and winds freely blew into the facility through the gaping hole left behind by the massive, surprise attack.
Some personnel were killed instantly. Others were left unconscious or paralyzed in agony. All of those who were able to lift their heads, or unfortunate enough to be left standing conscious and alert, were astonished when the pile of rubble in the center of the facility shifted slightly and was then flung off the rising form of
“Hello, boys!” Frederick J. Dukes, the former carnival freak turned mutant terrorist rightfully called The Blob, boomed. He cracked his knuckles sickly as a thunderclap boomed overhead and lightning filled the facility through the gaping hole in the roof.
“Who’s up for a little game of… patty-cake?!”
“FATE OF THE GENE – PART ONE”
“The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The
occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion.
As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew.”
- President Abraham Lincoln,
December 1st, 1862
CNN Broadcasting Studios
Washington, D.C., USA
The studio set was darkened, seemingly lit only by a multi-colored, dotted map making up the entire backdrop. A sleek and broad, half-circle desk stood in front of the backdrop, where two men that couldn’t look any more distinct from each other sat side by side. Though both men wore microphone lapels, a large RCA microphone rested in front of the man centered at the table.
Host of the program, he was a short, elder man wearing large glasses with black frames, a striped blue shirt with a white collar, black suspenders, and a checkered brown tie. If one were familiar with such things, they would say that he looked as if was a throwback to early 1930s radio programs. Whether it was old age or simply poor posture, he leaned forward into the table with his shoulders hunched tightly around his head and tightened his brow as he prepared to go live with his guest.
His guest was a brutish, yet well-postured man with blue fur, sharp fangs, pointed dark blue hair, and trimmed claws. Unlike his host’s casual dress wear, he wore a fine pin-striped, navy dress suit with a dark blue tie and a white shirt. Less than tact individuals would note that he looked more like a gorilla than a man, at least so much in his simian body type, but nonetheless possessed a refined civility.
“Good evening everybody and welcome to Larry King Live,” he, Larry King, greeted the nation in his gravelly yet distinguished voice. “Here with us tonight is Dr. Henry McCoy, world-renowned authority in the field of biochemistry and more specifically on that of genetic mutations. However, Dr. McCoy is more than just a scientist. He is a political activist, super-hero and former member of the Avengers, and the Director of the Xavier Institute, a research center and school for mutants.”
Turning to his guest, Larry said, “Dr. McCoy, welcome to the program.”
“Thank you, Larry,” Dr. McCoy replied earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“Dr. McCoy, what exactly is the Xavier Institute?” Larry asked. Dr. McCoy clasped his hands and leaned forward slightly, matching Larry’s body language.
“Well, Larry, the Xavier Institute was formerly a small, private school founded by Doctor Charles Xavier. To a certain degree, it was a type of… social experiment… created as an academy for teenagers manifesting mutant abilities. Charles wanted to provide a safe place to educate gifted youngsters in not only their newfound abilities, but provide a general education equivalent to that provided by public schools.”
Larry cocked a brow. “Why do you say that it was formerly a small private school?”
Dr. McCoy smiled a toothy grin.
“Because now it is – simply put – something much, much more.”
“Could you explain what you mean by that to myself and the viewers at home?”
“Certainly,” Dr. McCoy replied with a meager nod. He paused for a moment to choose his words carefully. “Teenagers who develop mutant abilities often have a difficult time understanding the changes their bodies are going through, and on occasion an even more difficult time adjusting to society as a so-called mutant.”
Larry grunted and nodded, understandingly. Dr. McCoy went on.
“Originally, Charles developed his school to provide students with both the skills to manage their abilities safely and to enter society as responsible young adults by time they graduated,” he explained, thinking back to his mentor and friend. “Whether they would later enter college, the workforce, super-heroics, or even the government if they so chose, Charles wanted his students to have the skills and education required to become successful and valuable members of society. They were to be role models for other mutants and examples of the humanity that existed in us all.”
“And what about now?” Larry interjected. “What makes the Xavier Institute as it was once envisioned by Dr. Xavier so different than it is now?”
Dr. McCoy parted his hands from each other and moved them with his explanation, as if to explain matter-of-factly.
“Before, the Xavier Institute housed only a handful of students with Charles as the sole headmaster and teacher. He began the school with five students and shortly before his death and the closure of the school it housed roughly twenty at most.”
Then he smiled proudly.
“Now, we’ve began a new semester with over twice as many students, and we’re less of a private academy or boarding school and more of a legitimate, mainstream academic institution. I’m proud to announce today that the Xavier Institute has launched a worldwide collaboration with a multitude of universities and mutant research centers on an exciting new project.”
Larry furrowed his brow. “What kind of project?”
Dr. McCoy’s proud smile turned back into that same toothy grin.
“We like to refer to it as the Mutant Genome Research Project.”
# # # # #
Muir Island Research Center.
Muir Island, Scotland.
Inside one of the research facility’s above ground laboratories, safe from the cold rain and harsh winds that ravaged Muir Island, four men and women worked quietly amongst themselves. Thunder cracked in the distance, lighting up the dark skies that could be seen outside the windows of the laboratory.
However, its powerful roar was only faint background noise to the busy scientists absorbed in their research.
Dr. Moira MacTaggert, a middle-aged Scottish woman with a bookish yet firm demeanor, wasn’t particularly moved by the typical thunderstorm that wracked her home and place of work. She was the Director of Muir Island’s research center and its lead researcher, and throughout her career she had faced more terrifying and threatening entities than poor weather.
She sat at a desk with her eyes buried into the eyepiece of a microscope. Her glasses rested on the left of the microscope and a pen and pad of paper rested on the right side, which she diligently used to take notes as she examined the samples before her. Two of her assistants stood before a large holographic projection of double-helix strands with numerous sections highlighted, quietly discussing the chunk of data being displayed. A third was at a computer typing up a report.
The Director of the Research Center pulled her face from the microscope’s eyepiece and massaged the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath.
“Right, time for another coffee run,” she mumbled to herself before picking up her glasses from the desk and sliding them on over her eyes. “Would anyone else like some coffee while I’m up?”
Dr. MacTaggert’s three assistants barely flinched at the offer, each sounding off with a ‘no thanks’ or shake of their heads, so she picked up her coffee mug and the notepad she had been writing on and sat up. Taking a final sip from her cold coffee as she read the report, she cringed slightly at the taste and walked toward the laboratory’s exit. Definitely time for more coffee.
The doors slid open as she approached them, allowing her access to the compound’s hallways, then swiftly closed behind her.
“I’m beginning to wonder if that woman ever sleeps…” Venkat, the young assistant of Indian descent at the desk, whispered with a chuckle after she left.
“Heh, oh my God,” Jennifer, a short Vietnamese assistant wearing glasses, giggled to herself and shot Venkat a look. “With that coffee mug glued to her hand twenty-four/seven and those stained up teeth? Yeah, I’m guessing no.”
Venkat made a face at the thought of needing teeth whitener. Anja, the tall brunette assistant from Finland who stood beside Jennifer at the holographic display, burst out laughing.
“You guys are so bad!” she remarked. “I’m going to laugh the day she overhears you guys talking and –- “
Before she could finish her sentence, an explosion ripped through the computers and holographic display equipment before her. She cried out in shock as the explosion threw her to the ground under a pile of debris, smoke and dust quickly filling the air. Jennifer had been thrown aside, but managed to stumble to her feet and shuffle away from the source of the explosion.
She looked back, coughing and hacking. A gaping hole existed where the wall of computers and equipment once was, four figures standing in it.
The lead man wore a militant, dark gray jumpsuit with metal armor covering his arms, legs, and torso, complimented by a helmet covering the top half of his head. His name was Dominic Petros, the terrorist mutant known as Avalanche, and up until fairly recent times he was dead to the world.
At his right side was a tall and slender brunette woman who wore a black bodysuit, boots, gloves, and a loose fitting belt – Martinique Jason, or Mastermind in professional circles. At his left side was a slightly shorter, more muscular woman in a dark purple and gold body suit with a large energy rifle in hand. As far as her associates were concerned, Fatale was her only name.
Behind the three was a muscular man easily three times the size of his comrades. He had a grayish complexion with piercing red eyes and wore a dark blue body suit underneath a cybernetic body armor that covered most of his body. Once called Kevin Tremain, he has since become the mutant-cyborg called Post.
Together, they were part of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
Stunned, Venkat got out of his chair and quickly backpedaled to the far corner of the room, urging Jennifer to do the same. Anja remained under the debris, prone.
“Mastermind?” Avalanche shot her a look. The woman quickly shook her head, her telepathic scan quick and efficient.
“The girl’s dead and the other two don’t know her exact whereabouts. Just something about coffee,” Mastermind replied dispassionately. “They’re just assistants. Graduate students. Humans. They don’t know anything useful.”
Avalanche nodded. “Alright then. Fatale, Post. You two know what to do.”
The two stepped forward on command. Post directed a balled up fist at Venkat, mercilessly discharging a beam of fiery energy that ripped into his chest. At the same time, Fatale raised her energy weapon and fired a rapid burst into Jennifer.
Venkat let out a sickening hick-up as his body briefly convulsed in agony before he slumped forward, his chest a bloodied mess. Jennifer cried out railed back against the wall several feet behind as the energy beams struck her repeatedly. She fell back against the wall and slid down it, a streak of blood following her.
Satisfied, Avalanche turned to the hole that he and his teammates had entered through. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled, summoning several other mutants in identical black jumpsuits into the laboratory. They filed in quickly.
“Now everyone split up and find MacTaggert!” he commanded. “Remember what he said, no mutants are to be harmed! Humans are fair game.”
# # # # #
“That sounds a lot like the Human Genome Research Project completed back around 2003,” Larry commented, arching a brow. Dr. McCoy nodded.
“It is quite similar, yes,” he admitted. “In fact, many of the researchers involved in that project are collaborating with us on this one.”
“Can you tell us exactly… what the Xavier Institute and these other research agencies are doing? How is it similar or different from the Human Genome Project?”
Dr. McCoy leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach, considering the question. He breathed out and decided, “Well, if at all possible, I would rather not use our hour together talking about the precise methods and details of our research.” With a light chuckle, Dr. McCoy cocked his head to the side. “As much as it excites and fascinates me, I fear that the average viewer might be bored to tears. This simply isn’t the medium for it.”
Larry conceded to this with a meager nod, but made a gesture with his hand as if to compromise. “Can you give us the bare bones then?”
“Of course,” Dr. McCoy agreed. He sat forward again and motioned with his hands to emphasize his point. “Essentially, we’re mapping out the genome of mutant-humans and comparing it to that of typical-humans in order to truly understand the differences and similarities in both. We’re also seeking to develop a theory as to where the human race is heading.”
The host hung on to every word, continuing to nod in understanding. His guest continued.
“For so long, many have theorized that mutants are the next evolutionary step in humans, or even that they are two different species altogether. We wish to show definitely, once and for all, where mutants and humans stand in relation to each other on the evolutionary ladder. We’re doing this working together. ”
Larry let the words sink in and considered the sensitive nature of the project, the social issues and implications that they had, and what the viewers at home must be thinking. He decided to approach his next question tactfully.
“Just by looking at you here and listening to you speak, you seem very invested and passionate about the new direction of the Xavier Institute,” he said before asking his question. “Why do you feel that what you’re doing is so important?”
“Charles Xavier had a dream,” Dr. McCoy stated quickly and boldly. “Through the Xavier Institute, he wanted to build bridges between mutants and humans by showing that we share the same humanity and spirit for our world, and thus that we could make it a better place together, as equals.
“We at the Xavier Institute were once his students,” he said proudly, but then turned the phrase. “We’re now his examples. Over the years his dream has become our dream, and now we’ve taken it to the next level.”
# # # # #
Tucked away in the living quarters of the complex, a young mutant woman slept soundly in a room specially reserved for her during her regular visits.
Her name was Rahne Sinclair, the super-heroine Wolfsbane, and when she wasn’t saving the world along with her friends and teammates in Force Works she made frequent trips to Muir Island in order to visit her surrogate mother, Dr. MacTaggert.
The young woman’s eyes shot open as gunshots and explosions rocked her home away from home, a low gasp escaping her mouth. She sat up quickly, a started expression on her face, and her head shot side to side as the sounds of warfare grew louder. The startled expression quickly left her young face, replaced by a fierce sneer and an almost animalistic growl as she immediately realized what was going on.
Muir Island was under siege.
She threw the heavy blanket from over her lithe frame and leapt out of her bed to her feet, wearing only a pink satin nightgown. It was then a barrage of energy blasts ripped through the door to her room, causing the wood to explode into sawdust and pieces. She threw her arms up to cover her face instinctively, then when she brought them down she saw the terrorist Fatale standing with energy rifle poised.
Fatale looked back down the hallway and yelled, “I found her! Over here!”
Clenching her fists and bearing her teeth, Rahne’s body morphed into that of a brown werewolf nearly three times her size. She let out a ferocious howl before lunging at her would-be attacker, a set of razor sharp claws drawn back to attack. Fatale went to fire, but the weapon was knocked away with one swipe of Wolfsbane’s massive paws and the second went straight for Fatale’s throat.
Even the highly agile assassin was thrown off guard by the young heroine’s speed, but she was nonetheless able to duck back from the swipe and withdraw a dagger from her belt. Wolfsbane lunged at her and the two grappled, with Wolfsbane immediately overpowering Fatale and forcing her out into the hallway.
Fatale desperately slashed and hacked at Wolfsbane’s torso as the two struggled, but her attacks did little more than to further enrage the werewolf-like mutant. With an intense roar, Wolfsbane took Fatale into a bear hug and squeezed her with all of her strength. She could feel the terrorist’s body gradually grow limp against her bestial form as the breath was squeezed out of her. With a single mighty toss, Wolfsbane slung Fatale into the hallway wall like a rag doll, knocking her unconscious.
Breathing heavily, Wolfsbane eased down to her hands and feets, still in her animal form. She could hear the distant screams of researchers and security guards as they were slaughtered by Muir Island’s invaders and smell their blood among the energy blasts, explosions, and flames that were enveloping the research center.
Still, letting her animalistic rage subside, she sniffed through the potent aroma of death and destruction to find her surrogate mother’s scent. When she found it, she let out a low growl and took off on all four in Dr. MacTaggert’s direction. If she were still alive, she would need protection from their aggressors. If she weren’t… then God help the men and women responsible…
With Wolfsbane well on her way, the real Fatale picked up her energy rifle and emerged from the young heroine’s bedroom. The apparition that Wolfsbane had been fighting the entire time disappeared and Mastermind walked out from around a nearby corner, narrowing her eyes on Wolfsbane as the bestial mutant ran down the research center’s hallways after her captured scent.
In reality, Fatale had leapt clear of Wolfsbane’s path long before any sort of struggle could take place. Utilizing her illusion casting abilities, Lady Mastermind had seen to it that the young heroine believed otherwise.
Now, Wolfsbane would lead them directly to their target.
# # # # #
“Truly thought provoking stuff…” Larry remarked, cocking his head to the side. He looked down to the collection of papers in front of him and shifted through them before he turned to the camera in front of him. “We’re going to take a short break to answer some questions from you, the viewers at home.”
Dr. McCoy similarly turned forward to the camera before him. A monitor rested before it that went from a blue screen to a man holding a microphone in a bustling bar. He was a black male in his late thirties wearing a dirty blue mechanic’s shirt and jeans. The patch on his left breast read ‘Lambert.’
Larry introduced the man. “Our first question comes from Atlanta, Georgia.”
{{ Mr. McCoy, I’ve read news reports and articles about your school online and it seems that you only have kids from particularly wealthy backgrounds coming into your school, }} the mechanic began, frustrated. {{ How is it that you can claim to be representing all of mutant-kind when kids like my son are left behind because I can’t afford your school’s tuition? What makes one mutant better than the other? }}
“Dr. McCoy?” Larry asked. His guest’s face revealed a pronounced frown.
“Unfortunately, the Xavier Institute still remains a private boarding school that, given its nature, is quite costly to operate even with such a small staff in place,” Dr. McCoy replied with some hesitation. “The only federal funding provided to the Xavier Institute is for its research into the mutant genome, so we have little choice but to be supported by tuition. However, in the future we hope to lower the tuition fees and expand the student body to allow those from all backgrounds.”
Larry interjected with a question of his own. “Did Dr. Xavier require tuition from the parents and family of his original students?”
Dr. McCoy shook his head.
“He did not, but remember, Charles was independently wealthy and his original student body consisted of five teenagers,” he answered pointedly. “Warren Worthington III, whose father assisted in the financing of the institute, was one of those students.”
Larry nodded before turning back to the camera along with Dr. McCoy. A white male in his late twenties stood in the lobby of a large office building wearing a white short sleeve dress shirt, a blue striped tie, and tan Dockers. A receptionist at her desk and other workers walking back and forth were in the background.
“Our next question comes from Layton, Utah. Go ahead, Tony.”
{{ Mr. McCoy, you call your ‘institute’ a school, but in the past Charles Xavier and yourself have both been closely associated with terrorists like Magneto, the X-Men, and former members of the Brotherhood of Mutants, }} the businessman stated with a slight sneer. {{ How do we ‘flatscans’ know that this school isn’t another training ground for the next generation’s Magneto? }}
Dr. McCoy shook his head, visibly agitated by the man’s statements. “The X-Men are well-known heroes, sir, not terrorists. Such blatant propaganda is disgusting. My and Charles Xavier's involvement with the group has never been in such a capacity, and the Xavier Institute has never embraced their ideals or tactics as our own.”
“While I agree with you on that point, Dr. McCoy, the caller does have a point,” Larry said. “What about Dr. Xavier’s past association with Magneto? What about well-known mutants such as John Allerdyce, former terrorist and member of the X-Men?”
Larry’s guest took a moment to carefully choose his words.
“Charles and Erik Lensherr, or Magneto as he is better known as, were once colleagues who sought only to help others and further their kind. Magneto went down a dark path and Charles railed against his crimes from the begin with.”
“And the likes of Allerdyce?” Larry followed-up.
“John and other former members of the Brotherhood are an example of Charles’ cause reaching even his most vehement opponents, opening the door for their redemption,” Dr. McCoy continued. “Redemption and reform… is a primary example of the progress Charles and his dream have made in our society.”
# # # # #
Wolfsbane rounded the corridor’s corner on all four, sliding across her bestial feet and paws. The scent of surrogate mother was growing stronger. She lifted her nose to the air and took several more sniffs, then knew she was only a few rooms away. In fact, Dr. MacTaggert was dead ahead, in the room behind the large reinforced door centered at the end of the corridor.
It all made sense now. It was the research center’s safe room.
Bounding forward quickly, Wolfsbane continued into a run on all four, growling lowly as she drew closer to her destination. The corridor stopped at the safe room, but split off into two other hallways in the shape of a ‘T’.
“Mum!” she called out as she skidded to a stop before the door.
Wolfsbane reverted back to her human form as she up to her full height, her tattered nightgown hanging loosely across her slender, youthful frame. She looked up to the camera and started waving her arms as if to catch her mother’s attention, when suddenly she felt a chill run up her spine. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body went limp, causing her to collapse to the floor.
It wasn’t immediately clear whether or not anyone behind the safe room’s reinforced door saw her, but as she laid there sprawled out, two men in identical black uniforms from the corridors at each of her sides slowly approached her. Four men total encircled her in total, Lady Mastermind, the woman responsible for Wolfsbane’s collapse, was the last to approach her from the corridor at her back.
Mastermind took a moment to admire her handiwork, watching as Wolfsbane’s body raised up and down slowly with each breath. She was asleep.
“You two take her somewhere safe,” the mutant terrorist said to the comrades at her left. She lifted her wrist to her face and pressed a button on her wrist communicator. “Post, zero in on my location. We’ve located MacTaggert. It’s a safe room of some sort, so I think we’re going to need your… expertise…”
The two Brotherhood recruits got on each side of Wolfsbane and lifted her by limbs, cautiously carrying her away from the front of the safe room. It was only a matter of moments before a bright blue flash lit up the corridor, marking Post’s arrival on scene. He stepped up beside Mastermind and their comrades, readying himself.
“This it?” he asked, unimpressed.
“Yup,” she said. “It’s faint, but I can detect her mental presence in there. There must be some kind of telepathic shielding, so I can’t coerce her out.”
Post huffed, “I’ll bring it down in five seconds, flat.”
Without giving Mastermind another word in edgewise, the terrorist’s cybernetic body armor cackled with energy as he prepared to unleash an energy blast. He unleashed the energy in the form of a powerful blast that bombarded the safe room’s door, but it remained unmoved. Much to the chagrin of the Brotherhood’s resident living tank, only the paint had been chipped away.
Mastermind put a fist to her mouth, suppressing a laugh. The two faceless men beside them wouldn’t dare, especially once Post gritted his teeth and shot Mastermind an angry glare.
“Not a word,” he muttered before charging up another blast. “Not a word!”
As Post unleashed an even more powerful stream of explosive energy into the reinforced door, an area of the corridor’s reinforced ceiling behind the four began to shimmer in a golden aura and warp into a mercury-like substance. Unbeknownst to the Brotherhood, a figure slowly descended through the ceiling like it were a puddle of ooze, his body glowed in a similar transparent, golden aura.
Silently, the ghostly form reached the floor with ease, solidifying upon touch, yet remaining its same eerie glow. It was a young man with long locks of hair and a goatee. He narrowed his eyes at the back of the four terrorists.
His name was Kevin MacTaggert, better known as Proteus among Muir Island residents, and he felt a rage well inside of him that was all too familiar.
Ignorant to the mutant’s arrival, Post discontinued his energy discharge in frustration and clenched his fists. “Damn it!” he grunted. “It must be adamantium. There’s no other explan – “
Before Post could finish what he was saying, a psionic wave struck him and his comrades. Mastermind and the other Brotherhood members collapsed to their hands in knees, crying out in agony. Post twisted and stumbled about, grumbling in pain, but he managed to spin on his heel towards the source of the attack.
Proteus merely stared down the terrorist with extreme prejudice. Post’s body armor lit up with blue energy once more as he struggled to raise a fist towards their assailant, discharging a blast at him. Proteus simply waved his hand aside, causing the energy to be deflected harmlessly into the corridor wall.
“You’ll have to do better than that, jackass,” the former X-Man spat. He lifted his hand up to Post, palm out, as he intensified his psionic attack, causing the massive mutant to stagger backwards towards the safe room door. Proteus then began slowly approaching him, using his near limitless power to take hold of Post’s armored body, press him against the door, and lift him up.
Post’s cybernetic armor began sparking with electricity as the energy fizzled out of, and its wearer began gasping and choking.
“You’re only getting one chance to leave before I – “ Proteus started to say when he heard a voice in the back of his head, startling him. His eyes grew wide and he appeared shocked, then the voice became voices.
The voices grew so loud that they no longer seemed to be just in his mind. He shot his head from side to side as they became louder than the explosions, gunfire, and screams that rocked Muir Island. Then he began to see flashes of the women in his life who had meant the most to him, surrounding him, crying out to him and demanding his attention, but none by the same name.
“Charles!” a Rogue from another world reached for him with bare hands. Proteus recoiled from her and doubled back, only for him to bump into something.
“Erik!” Astra grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from Proteus. With him distracted, Rogue sunk her bare hands into him. He tried to fight them off, but they wouldn’t relenet. Their strength overwhelmed even him.
“Joseph!” Blink cried out to him, she too lunging onto him and dragging him to the ground along with Rogue and Astra.
“Kevin!” Dr. MacTaggert, his mother, whimpered as she joined the three women on top of him. They ripped and tore at his body, his hair, his clothes, and every fiber of his being. Their screams of terror became the only thing he could hear. It was impossible for him to escape them.
In reality, Proteus collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, overwhelmed with the tormenting sounds in his mind. It was all an illusion.
In his compromised state, his psionic hold over Post failed, causing the terrorist to fall sharply to the ground. Mastermind appeared at his side wiping blood from her nose, having managed to recover from his assault and choosing to act fast. She lifted her foot up and then stomped her boot down hard across the back of his head. His forehead bounced off the hard metal floor, the stomp effectively rendering him unconscious.
On the floor, Post groaned, wringing his neck of the pain caused by Proteus’s psionic powers and bearing his teeth in anger. He sprung up to his feet and marched for Proteus’s fallen form, directing a fist at the former X-Man’s head.
“Fuck what the boss says!” he proclaimed as his cybernetic armor lit up once more and he prepared a fatal blast. “This pissant dies!”
“Wait!” Mastermind ordered.
Post’s brow furrowed bitterly. “Why? You saw what he did! He’s too damn dangerous!”
Mastermind directed Post’s attention up to the section of the ceiling that Proteus had descended through. It still glowed with that same golden aura and appeared warped, a metallic liquid that could be penetrated. She then directed Post’s attention back to Proteus’s prone, shimmering golden form and grinned from ear to ear.
“I think we’ve just found our key into MacTaggert’s safe room.”
# # # # #
Larry bit his lip and turned back to the camera.
“That’s certainly an interesting point on both fronts. I suppose it’s up to the viewers at home to decide,” the host said before shooting a link to the monitor and teleprompter beside the camera. A blank screen replaced the normally blue screen, indicating that the question was not being recorded live.
“It appears this is our first mutant call-in of the evening from… am I reading that correctly? Antarctica?” Larry squinted his eyes as he read the teleprompter and seemed puzzled at first, but merely shrugged his head to the side. “Well, nonetheless, welcome to Larry King Live. What is your question, sir?”
{{ First Dr. McCoy, let me just say that I resent the previous caller’s suggestion that you’re just like Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants, }} a seemingly sincere and compassionate voice started.
“Thank you,” Dr. McCoy replied appreciatively. The caller only snickered in response.
{{ You aren’t half the man any of them are, }} the caller continued without missing a beat, his voice as smooth as ice. {{ They stood for something. They stood for their people in a time of crisis. Worthington and his X-Corporation were just a bunch of glory hounds, but you? You’re a genuine sell-out. }}
“That’s absurd!” Dr. McCoy began, nearly jumping out of his seat. “How dare you -- !”
{{ Don’t pretend like you’re not, }} the caller stopped the Director of the Xavier Institute short, scolding him like a child. {{ Pandering to racist politicians with your so-called ‘scientific research’ and giving elitist corporations a place to hide their shameful little secrets, their very own children, when your kind is being oppressed on the streets every day, miserable and suffering, crying out for revolution.
{{ That’s okay, though, Dr. McCoy. Their revolution has finally come. }}
There was a click as the line went dead. Larry sighed and shook his head as he turned to his guest. “We’re sorry, Dr. McCoy,” he started. “Sometimes prank callers get through the screening process. Would you like to respond?” he asked.
Dr. McCoy stopped short of answering, a voice in the back of his mind coming to the forefront.
Hank… Hank, please. Can you hear me…?
It was a telepathic summon from an all too familiar woman.
“Hank, we’ve just received a priority one emergency call from Muir Island!” the voice cried out in distress. “We need you in the back!”
Dr. McCoy’s eyes widened and he paused for a moment, looking to Larry.
“Excuse me, Larry,” the show’s guest quickly said, standing up and taking off his lapel and radio. He dropped both on the desk and walked off the studio set. The cameras followed him to the extent of their range, but ultimately came back to Larry.
“Uh, Dr. McCoy?” the host of Larry King Live called out. “Dr. McCoy, we’re not finished with the interview! Dr. McCoy!”
# # # # #
Gunfire and explosions continued to rock Muir Island as the research center’s security forces battled the Brotherhood of Mutants. Bodies were dropping left and right, mostly members of the security force, and the research center began taking heavy damage from the attacks. Many members of the Brotherhood had entered the facility with ease, destroying everything in their path.
All the while, the thunder storm overhead raged on.
Back in Dr. MacTaggert’s personal laboratory, Avalanche stood with two other members of the Brotherhood, both wearing identical black uniforms. He oversaw them as they emptied out filing cabinets and ripped apart computer systems.
“Destroy it all! Don’t leave a shred behind!” he ordered.
One member’s head and arms were consumed with vibrant flames, flames which he extended throughout his hands and enveloped the paper files and documents. The other member was a behemoth comprised entirely of stone, ripping apart and smashing the computers and consoles around him into bits and pieces.
As they destroyed all evidence of the research and data that had been compiled by Muir Island’s staff, the doors to the laboratory slid open, catching their attention immediately. The first thing Avalanche saw was the kicking legs of the research center’s director, Dr. MacTaggert, as she thrashed from underneath Post’s arms. She let out muffled screams and obscenities from underneath the terrorist’s hand as he carried the woman into the room against his chest like an unruly child.
Mastermind walked in behind Post, their mission complete.
“How did everything go?” Avalanche asked, his subordinates going back to work.
“We met some resistance from her kids as expected, but we dispatched them with minimal force,” Mastermind answered. Avalanche cocked a brow. “Don’t worry, Petros. We followed his orders to the T. Neither one of them was hurt.”
“They better not have been,” Avalanche advised through gritted teeth. “He’ll be here any minute, and if he finds that so much as a hair on ‘em is missing, you bet he’ll have your sweet ass.”
“Got that right,” another woman’s voice said as the doors to the laboratory slid open again. It was Fatale with a semi-automatic rifle in her hands and a brown bag over her shoulder, flanked by two members of the Brotherhood in complete uniform and face masks. Both looked around the laboratory as it was burned and torn apart.
“About damn time you got back, lady. What’s the word on the server room?”
Fatale grinned and dropped her bag, letting the blocks of C4 spill out.
“Leveled.”
Avalanche smiled. “Beautiful work.”
“What I’m here for,” she replied. Fatale shot a glance at Post’s captive, tightening her grip on her rifle. “What’s up with MacTaggert?” she asked.
“I’ve got everything we need out of her,” Mastermind reported, pointing up to her head to indicate the success of her telepathic extraction. Avalanche nodded.
“Then we’re done with her,” he said before turning back to Fatale and pointing at MacTaggert. “Cap her so we can get outta here!”
Fatale looked to Dr. MacTaggert and raised her semi-automatic rifle to the scientist’s head, clicking the safety off. Tears rushed down Dr. MacTaggert’s face as she began to hyperventilate. Fatale simply winked at her.
Dr. MacTaggert let out a final, muffled scream underneath Post’s hand before a gunshot sounded throughout the laboratory.
*BLAM!*
# # # # #
Dr. Henry “Hank” McCoy strode off at the edges of the studio set into the backstage area, where his yellow eyes darting around the area for the voice that had summoned him. On the far wall was a table with a flat screen television monitor attached to a computer console, and standing before it he saw a man of average height and build with brown hair beside a tall woman with striking red hair.
Hank instantly recognized them as his long time friends and associates within the X-Men, Bobby Drake and Jean Grey-Summers.
Upon Hank’s approach, they both turned their heads to him, expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces. Bobby immediately shook his head and crossed his arms, turning back to the television screen along with Jean, whose face was a flustered pink and wet with tears.
“Hank, buddy ol’ pal… you’re not gonna believe this…”
“What is it?” Hank almost demanded to know, wedging himself between Bobby and Jean so that he could see the screen. “What’s happening?”
His two friends didn’t say anything. They simply let him see for himself.
The monitor displayed live surveillance footage from Muir Island. Hank immediately recognized the room displayed as Moira MacTaggert’s personal laboratory, the bloodied and mutilated bodies of research staff strewn about, computer consoles smoldering and burning, and smoke and dust filling the thrashed room.
Hank urgently picked up a remote next to the computer and pressed a button on it. The image on screen changed to that of a different camera, the live footage then showing Avalanche and Mastermind as they led the charge out of the ransacked laboratory through a gaping hole in the wall. They were followed by several mutants that the three X-Men had never seen before, each wearing identical black uniforms.
A moment after they exited the laboratory, one man in a similar uniform with brown hair followed behind them, stopping short before following them out of the building. He deliberately looked to his right and then to his left, before he turned around completely to face the camera aimed at him.
His familiar face was then in full view, darkened by that of a five o’clock shadow. Noticing the camera, he drew a hand up to the gold visor that he wore and pressed a button on it, instantly unleashing a beam of energy straight for the camera. The screen flashed with light before it went to static.
Hank’s eyes grew wide with disbelief as he gasped in horror.
It was Scott Summers, the first student of Charles Xavier and former leader of the X-Men known as Cyclops, and he was working with the Brotherhood of Mutants.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT ISSUE: The X-Men race to Muir Island, but will they be able to make it in time to save the research center’s staff from the Brotherhood of Mutants?
# # # # #
MAKE WAY FOR… NEWMANIAM!
Feedback is as feedback does.
Any love, hate, or meager shrugs can be sent to [email protected]!
It’s the beginning of a new era for the X-Men at Marvel 2000. As the cliché goes, “hope you survive the experience!”
- Cory Wiegel
January 26th, 2009
occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion.
As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew.”
- President Abraham Lincoln,
December 1st, 1862
CNN Broadcasting Studios
Washington, D.C., USA
The studio set was darkened, seemingly lit only by a multi-colored, dotted map making up the entire backdrop. A sleek and broad, half-circle desk stood in front of the backdrop, where two men that couldn’t look any more distinct from each other sat side by side. Though both men wore microphone lapels, a large RCA microphone rested in front of the man centered at the table.
Host of the program, he was a short, elder man wearing large glasses with black frames, a striped blue shirt with a white collar, black suspenders, and a checkered brown tie. If one were familiar with such things, they would say that he looked as if was a throwback to early 1930s radio programs. Whether it was old age or simply poor posture, he leaned forward into the table with his shoulders hunched tightly around his head and tightened his brow as he prepared to go live with his guest.
His guest was a brutish, yet well-postured man with blue fur, sharp fangs, pointed dark blue hair, and trimmed claws. Unlike his host’s casual dress wear, he wore a fine pin-striped, navy dress suit with a dark blue tie and a white shirt. Less than tact individuals would note that he looked more like a gorilla than a man, at least so much in his simian body type, but nonetheless possessed a refined civility.
“Good evening everybody and welcome to Larry King Live,” he, Larry King, greeted the nation in his gravelly yet distinguished voice. “Here with us tonight is Dr. Henry McCoy, world-renowned authority in the field of biochemistry and more specifically on that of genetic mutations. However, Dr. McCoy is more than just a scientist. He is a political activist, super-hero and former member of the Avengers, and the Director of the Xavier Institute, a research center and school for mutants.”
Turning to his guest, Larry said, “Dr. McCoy, welcome to the program.”
“Thank you, Larry,” Dr. McCoy replied earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“Dr. McCoy, what exactly is the Xavier Institute?” Larry asked. Dr. McCoy clasped his hands and leaned forward slightly, matching Larry’s body language.
“Well, Larry, the Xavier Institute was formerly a small, private school founded by Doctor Charles Xavier. To a certain degree, it was a type of… social experiment… created as an academy for teenagers manifesting mutant abilities. Charles wanted to provide a safe place to educate gifted youngsters in not only their newfound abilities, but provide a general education equivalent to that provided by public schools.”
Larry cocked a brow. “Why do you say that it was formerly a small private school?”
Dr. McCoy smiled a toothy grin.
“Because now it is – simply put – something much, much more.”
“Could you explain what you mean by that to myself and the viewers at home?”
“Certainly,” Dr. McCoy replied with a meager nod. He paused for a moment to choose his words carefully. “Teenagers who develop mutant abilities often have a difficult time understanding the changes their bodies are going through, and on occasion an even more difficult time adjusting to society as a so-called mutant.”
Larry grunted and nodded, understandingly. Dr. McCoy went on.
“Originally, Charles developed his school to provide students with both the skills to manage their abilities safely and to enter society as responsible young adults by time they graduated,” he explained, thinking back to his mentor and friend. “Whether they would later enter college, the workforce, super-heroics, or even the government if they so chose, Charles wanted his students to have the skills and education required to become successful and valuable members of society. They were to be role models for other mutants and examples of the humanity that existed in us all.”
“And what about now?” Larry interjected. “What makes the Xavier Institute as it was once envisioned by Dr. Xavier so different than it is now?”
Dr. McCoy parted his hands from each other and moved them with his explanation, as if to explain matter-of-factly.
“Before, the Xavier Institute housed only a handful of students with Charles as the sole headmaster and teacher. He began the school with five students and shortly before his death and the closure of the school it housed roughly twenty at most.”
Then he smiled proudly.
“Now, we’ve began a new semester with over twice as many students, and we’re less of a private academy or boarding school and more of a legitimate, mainstream academic institution. I’m proud to announce today that the Xavier Institute has launched a worldwide collaboration with a multitude of universities and mutant research centers on an exciting new project.”
Larry furrowed his brow. “What kind of project?”
Dr. McCoy’s proud smile turned back into that same toothy grin.
“We like to refer to it as the Mutant Genome Research Project.”
# # # # #
Muir Island Research Center.
Muir Island, Scotland.
Inside one of the research facility’s above ground laboratories, safe from the cold rain and harsh winds that ravaged Muir Island, four men and women worked quietly amongst themselves. Thunder cracked in the distance, lighting up the dark skies that could be seen outside the windows of the laboratory.
However, its powerful roar was only faint background noise to the busy scientists absorbed in their research.
Dr. Moira MacTaggert, a middle-aged Scottish woman with a bookish yet firm demeanor, wasn’t particularly moved by the typical thunderstorm that wracked her home and place of work. She was the Director of Muir Island’s research center and its lead researcher, and throughout her career she had faced more terrifying and threatening entities than poor weather.
She sat at a desk with her eyes buried into the eyepiece of a microscope. Her glasses rested on the left of the microscope and a pen and pad of paper rested on the right side, which she diligently used to take notes as she examined the samples before her. Two of her assistants stood before a large holographic projection of double-helix strands with numerous sections highlighted, quietly discussing the chunk of data being displayed. A third was at a computer typing up a report.
The Director of the Research Center pulled her face from the microscope’s eyepiece and massaged the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath.
“Right, time for another coffee run,” she mumbled to herself before picking up her glasses from the desk and sliding them on over her eyes. “Would anyone else like some coffee while I’m up?”
Dr. MacTaggert’s three assistants barely flinched at the offer, each sounding off with a ‘no thanks’ or shake of their heads, so she picked up her coffee mug and the notepad she had been writing on and sat up. Taking a final sip from her cold coffee as she read the report, she cringed slightly at the taste and walked toward the laboratory’s exit. Definitely time for more coffee.
The doors slid open as she approached them, allowing her access to the compound’s hallways, then swiftly closed behind her.
“I’m beginning to wonder if that woman ever sleeps…” Venkat, the young assistant of Indian descent at the desk, whispered with a chuckle after she left.
“Heh, oh my God,” Jennifer, a short Vietnamese assistant wearing glasses, giggled to herself and shot Venkat a look. “With that coffee mug glued to her hand twenty-four/seven and those stained up teeth? Yeah, I’m guessing no.”
Venkat made a face at the thought of needing teeth whitener. Anja, the tall brunette assistant from Finland who stood beside Jennifer at the holographic display, burst out laughing.
“You guys are so bad!” she remarked. “I’m going to laugh the day she overhears you guys talking and –- “
Before she could finish her sentence, an explosion ripped through the computers and holographic display equipment before her. She cried out in shock as the explosion threw her to the ground under a pile of debris, smoke and dust quickly filling the air. Jennifer had been thrown aside, but managed to stumble to her feet and shuffle away from the source of the explosion.
She looked back, coughing and hacking. A gaping hole existed where the wall of computers and equipment once was, four figures standing in it.
The lead man wore a militant, dark gray jumpsuit with metal armor covering his arms, legs, and torso, complimented by a helmet covering the top half of his head. His name was Dominic Petros, the terrorist mutant known as Avalanche, and up until fairly recent times he was dead to the world.
At his right side was a tall and slender brunette woman who wore a black bodysuit, boots, gloves, and a loose fitting belt – Martinique Jason, or Mastermind in professional circles. At his left side was a slightly shorter, more muscular woman in a dark purple and gold body suit with a large energy rifle in hand. As far as her associates were concerned, Fatale was her only name.
Behind the three was a muscular man easily three times the size of his comrades. He had a grayish complexion with piercing red eyes and wore a dark blue body suit underneath a cybernetic body armor that covered most of his body. Once called Kevin Tremain, he has since become the mutant-cyborg called Post.
Together, they were part of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
Stunned, Venkat got out of his chair and quickly backpedaled to the far corner of the room, urging Jennifer to do the same. Anja remained under the debris, prone.
“Mastermind?” Avalanche shot her a look. The woman quickly shook her head, her telepathic scan quick and efficient.
“The girl’s dead and the other two don’t know her exact whereabouts. Just something about coffee,” Mastermind replied dispassionately. “They’re just assistants. Graduate students. Humans. They don’t know anything useful.”
Avalanche nodded. “Alright then. Fatale, Post. You two know what to do.”
The two stepped forward on command. Post directed a balled up fist at Venkat, mercilessly discharging a beam of fiery energy that ripped into his chest. At the same time, Fatale raised her energy weapon and fired a rapid burst into Jennifer.
Venkat let out a sickening hick-up as his body briefly convulsed in agony before he slumped forward, his chest a bloodied mess. Jennifer cried out railed back against the wall several feet behind as the energy beams struck her repeatedly. She fell back against the wall and slid down it, a streak of blood following her.
Satisfied, Avalanche turned to the hole that he and his teammates had entered through. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled, summoning several other mutants in identical black jumpsuits into the laboratory. They filed in quickly.
“Now everyone split up and find MacTaggert!” he commanded. “Remember what he said, no mutants are to be harmed! Humans are fair game.”
# # # # #
“That sounds a lot like the Human Genome Research Project completed back around 2003,” Larry commented, arching a brow. Dr. McCoy nodded.
“It is quite similar, yes,” he admitted. “In fact, many of the researchers involved in that project are collaborating with us on this one.”
“Can you tell us exactly… what the Xavier Institute and these other research agencies are doing? How is it similar or different from the Human Genome Project?”
Dr. McCoy leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach, considering the question. He breathed out and decided, “Well, if at all possible, I would rather not use our hour together talking about the precise methods and details of our research.” With a light chuckle, Dr. McCoy cocked his head to the side. “As much as it excites and fascinates me, I fear that the average viewer might be bored to tears. This simply isn’t the medium for it.”
Larry conceded to this with a meager nod, but made a gesture with his hand as if to compromise. “Can you give us the bare bones then?”
“Of course,” Dr. McCoy agreed. He sat forward again and motioned with his hands to emphasize his point. “Essentially, we’re mapping out the genome of mutant-humans and comparing it to that of typical-humans in order to truly understand the differences and similarities in both. We’re also seeking to develop a theory as to where the human race is heading.”
The host hung on to every word, continuing to nod in understanding. His guest continued.
“For so long, many have theorized that mutants are the next evolutionary step in humans, or even that they are two different species altogether. We wish to show definitely, once and for all, where mutants and humans stand in relation to each other on the evolutionary ladder. We’re doing this working together. ”
Larry let the words sink in and considered the sensitive nature of the project, the social issues and implications that they had, and what the viewers at home must be thinking. He decided to approach his next question tactfully.
“Just by looking at you here and listening to you speak, you seem very invested and passionate about the new direction of the Xavier Institute,” he said before asking his question. “Why do you feel that what you’re doing is so important?”
“Charles Xavier had a dream,” Dr. McCoy stated quickly and boldly. “Through the Xavier Institute, he wanted to build bridges between mutants and humans by showing that we share the same humanity and spirit for our world, and thus that we could make it a better place together, as equals.
“We at the Xavier Institute were once his students,” he said proudly, but then turned the phrase. “We’re now his examples. Over the years his dream has become our dream, and now we’ve taken it to the next level.”
# # # # #
Tucked away in the living quarters of the complex, a young mutant woman slept soundly in a room specially reserved for her during her regular visits.
Her name was Rahne Sinclair, the super-heroine Wolfsbane, and when she wasn’t saving the world along with her friends and teammates in Force Works she made frequent trips to Muir Island in order to visit her surrogate mother, Dr. MacTaggert.
The young woman’s eyes shot open as gunshots and explosions rocked her home away from home, a low gasp escaping her mouth. She sat up quickly, a started expression on her face, and her head shot side to side as the sounds of warfare grew louder. The startled expression quickly left her young face, replaced by a fierce sneer and an almost animalistic growl as she immediately realized what was going on.
Muir Island was under siege.
She threw the heavy blanket from over her lithe frame and leapt out of her bed to her feet, wearing only a pink satin nightgown. It was then a barrage of energy blasts ripped through the door to her room, causing the wood to explode into sawdust and pieces. She threw her arms up to cover her face instinctively, then when she brought them down she saw the terrorist Fatale standing with energy rifle poised.
Fatale looked back down the hallway and yelled, “I found her! Over here!”
Clenching her fists and bearing her teeth, Rahne’s body morphed into that of a brown werewolf nearly three times her size. She let out a ferocious howl before lunging at her would-be attacker, a set of razor sharp claws drawn back to attack. Fatale went to fire, but the weapon was knocked away with one swipe of Wolfsbane’s massive paws and the second went straight for Fatale’s throat.
Even the highly agile assassin was thrown off guard by the young heroine’s speed, but she was nonetheless able to duck back from the swipe and withdraw a dagger from her belt. Wolfsbane lunged at her and the two grappled, with Wolfsbane immediately overpowering Fatale and forcing her out into the hallway.
Fatale desperately slashed and hacked at Wolfsbane’s torso as the two struggled, but her attacks did little more than to further enrage the werewolf-like mutant. With an intense roar, Wolfsbane took Fatale into a bear hug and squeezed her with all of her strength. She could feel the terrorist’s body gradually grow limp against her bestial form as the breath was squeezed out of her. With a single mighty toss, Wolfsbane slung Fatale into the hallway wall like a rag doll, knocking her unconscious.
Breathing heavily, Wolfsbane eased down to her hands and feets, still in her animal form. She could hear the distant screams of researchers and security guards as they were slaughtered by Muir Island’s invaders and smell their blood among the energy blasts, explosions, and flames that were enveloping the research center.
Still, letting her animalistic rage subside, she sniffed through the potent aroma of death and destruction to find her surrogate mother’s scent. When she found it, she let out a low growl and took off on all four in Dr. MacTaggert’s direction. If she were still alive, she would need protection from their aggressors. If she weren’t… then God help the men and women responsible…
With Wolfsbane well on her way, the real Fatale picked up her energy rifle and emerged from the young heroine’s bedroom. The apparition that Wolfsbane had been fighting the entire time disappeared and Mastermind walked out from around a nearby corner, narrowing her eyes on Wolfsbane as the bestial mutant ran down the research center’s hallways after her captured scent.
In reality, Fatale had leapt clear of Wolfsbane’s path long before any sort of struggle could take place. Utilizing her illusion casting abilities, Lady Mastermind had seen to it that the young heroine believed otherwise.
Now, Wolfsbane would lead them directly to their target.
# # # # #
“Truly thought provoking stuff…” Larry remarked, cocking his head to the side. He looked down to the collection of papers in front of him and shifted through them before he turned to the camera in front of him. “We’re going to take a short break to answer some questions from you, the viewers at home.”
Dr. McCoy similarly turned forward to the camera before him. A monitor rested before it that went from a blue screen to a man holding a microphone in a bustling bar. He was a black male in his late thirties wearing a dirty blue mechanic’s shirt and jeans. The patch on his left breast read ‘Lambert.’
Larry introduced the man. “Our first question comes from Atlanta, Georgia.”
{{ Mr. McCoy, I’ve read news reports and articles about your school online and it seems that you only have kids from particularly wealthy backgrounds coming into your school, }} the mechanic began, frustrated. {{ How is it that you can claim to be representing all of mutant-kind when kids like my son are left behind because I can’t afford your school’s tuition? What makes one mutant better than the other? }}
“Dr. McCoy?” Larry asked. His guest’s face revealed a pronounced frown.
“Unfortunately, the Xavier Institute still remains a private boarding school that, given its nature, is quite costly to operate even with such a small staff in place,” Dr. McCoy replied with some hesitation. “The only federal funding provided to the Xavier Institute is for its research into the mutant genome, so we have little choice but to be supported by tuition. However, in the future we hope to lower the tuition fees and expand the student body to allow those from all backgrounds.”
Larry interjected with a question of his own. “Did Dr. Xavier require tuition from the parents and family of his original students?”
Dr. McCoy shook his head.
“He did not, but remember, Charles was independently wealthy and his original student body consisted of five teenagers,” he answered pointedly. “Warren Worthington III, whose father assisted in the financing of the institute, was one of those students.”
Larry nodded before turning back to the camera along with Dr. McCoy. A white male in his late twenties stood in the lobby of a large office building wearing a white short sleeve dress shirt, a blue striped tie, and tan Dockers. A receptionist at her desk and other workers walking back and forth were in the background.
“Our next question comes from Layton, Utah. Go ahead, Tony.”
{{ Mr. McCoy, you call your ‘institute’ a school, but in the past Charles Xavier and yourself have both been closely associated with terrorists like Magneto, the X-Men, and former members of the Brotherhood of Mutants, }} the businessman stated with a slight sneer. {{ How do we ‘flatscans’ know that this school isn’t another training ground for the next generation’s Magneto? }}
Dr. McCoy shook his head, visibly agitated by the man’s statements. “The X-Men are well-known heroes, sir, not terrorists. Such blatant propaganda is disgusting. My and Charles Xavier's involvement with the group has never been in such a capacity, and the Xavier Institute has never embraced their ideals or tactics as our own.”
“While I agree with you on that point, Dr. McCoy, the caller does have a point,” Larry said. “What about Dr. Xavier’s past association with Magneto? What about well-known mutants such as John Allerdyce, former terrorist and member of the X-Men?”
Larry’s guest took a moment to carefully choose his words.
“Charles and Erik Lensherr, or Magneto as he is better known as, were once colleagues who sought only to help others and further their kind. Magneto went down a dark path and Charles railed against his crimes from the begin with.”
“And the likes of Allerdyce?” Larry followed-up.
“John and other former members of the Brotherhood are an example of Charles’ cause reaching even his most vehement opponents, opening the door for their redemption,” Dr. McCoy continued. “Redemption and reform… is a primary example of the progress Charles and his dream have made in our society.”
# # # # #
Wolfsbane rounded the corridor’s corner on all four, sliding across her bestial feet and paws. The scent of surrogate mother was growing stronger. She lifted her nose to the air and took several more sniffs, then knew she was only a few rooms away. In fact, Dr. MacTaggert was dead ahead, in the room behind the large reinforced door centered at the end of the corridor.
It all made sense now. It was the research center’s safe room.
Bounding forward quickly, Wolfsbane continued into a run on all four, growling lowly as she drew closer to her destination. The corridor stopped at the safe room, but split off into two other hallways in the shape of a ‘T’.
“Mum!” she called out as she skidded to a stop before the door.
Wolfsbane reverted back to her human form as she up to her full height, her tattered nightgown hanging loosely across her slender, youthful frame. She looked up to the camera and started waving her arms as if to catch her mother’s attention, when suddenly she felt a chill run up her spine. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body went limp, causing her to collapse to the floor.
It wasn’t immediately clear whether or not anyone behind the safe room’s reinforced door saw her, but as she laid there sprawled out, two men in identical black uniforms from the corridors at each of her sides slowly approached her. Four men total encircled her in total, Lady Mastermind, the woman responsible for Wolfsbane’s collapse, was the last to approach her from the corridor at her back.
Mastermind took a moment to admire her handiwork, watching as Wolfsbane’s body raised up and down slowly with each breath. She was asleep.
“You two take her somewhere safe,” the mutant terrorist said to the comrades at her left. She lifted her wrist to her face and pressed a button on her wrist communicator. “Post, zero in on my location. We’ve located MacTaggert. It’s a safe room of some sort, so I think we’re going to need your… expertise…”
The two Brotherhood recruits got on each side of Wolfsbane and lifted her by limbs, cautiously carrying her away from the front of the safe room. It was only a matter of moments before a bright blue flash lit up the corridor, marking Post’s arrival on scene. He stepped up beside Mastermind and their comrades, readying himself.
“This it?” he asked, unimpressed.
“Yup,” she said. “It’s faint, but I can detect her mental presence in there. There must be some kind of telepathic shielding, so I can’t coerce her out.”
Post huffed, “I’ll bring it down in five seconds, flat.”
Without giving Mastermind another word in edgewise, the terrorist’s cybernetic body armor cackled with energy as he prepared to unleash an energy blast. He unleashed the energy in the form of a powerful blast that bombarded the safe room’s door, but it remained unmoved. Much to the chagrin of the Brotherhood’s resident living tank, only the paint had been chipped away.
Mastermind put a fist to her mouth, suppressing a laugh. The two faceless men beside them wouldn’t dare, especially once Post gritted his teeth and shot Mastermind an angry glare.
“Not a word,” he muttered before charging up another blast. “Not a word!”
As Post unleashed an even more powerful stream of explosive energy into the reinforced door, an area of the corridor’s reinforced ceiling behind the four began to shimmer in a golden aura and warp into a mercury-like substance. Unbeknownst to the Brotherhood, a figure slowly descended through the ceiling like it were a puddle of ooze, his body glowed in a similar transparent, golden aura.
Silently, the ghostly form reached the floor with ease, solidifying upon touch, yet remaining its same eerie glow. It was a young man with long locks of hair and a goatee. He narrowed his eyes at the back of the four terrorists.
His name was Kevin MacTaggert, better known as Proteus among Muir Island residents, and he felt a rage well inside of him that was all too familiar.
Ignorant to the mutant’s arrival, Post discontinued his energy discharge in frustration and clenched his fists. “Damn it!” he grunted. “It must be adamantium. There’s no other explan – “
Before Post could finish what he was saying, a psionic wave struck him and his comrades. Mastermind and the other Brotherhood members collapsed to their hands in knees, crying out in agony. Post twisted and stumbled about, grumbling in pain, but he managed to spin on his heel towards the source of the attack.
Proteus merely stared down the terrorist with extreme prejudice. Post’s body armor lit up with blue energy once more as he struggled to raise a fist towards their assailant, discharging a blast at him. Proteus simply waved his hand aside, causing the energy to be deflected harmlessly into the corridor wall.
“You’ll have to do better than that, jackass,” the former X-Man spat. He lifted his hand up to Post, palm out, as he intensified his psionic attack, causing the massive mutant to stagger backwards towards the safe room door. Proteus then began slowly approaching him, using his near limitless power to take hold of Post’s armored body, press him against the door, and lift him up.
Post’s cybernetic armor began sparking with electricity as the energy fizzled out of, and its wearer began gasping and choking.
“You’re only getting one chance to leave before I – “ Proteus started to say when he heard a voice in the back of his head, startling him. His eyes grew wide and he appeared shocked, then the voice became voices.
The voices grew so loud that they no longer seemed to be just in his mind. He shot his head from side to side as they became louder than the explosions, gunfire, and screams that rocked Muir Island. Then he began to see flashes of the women in his life who had meant the most to him, surrounding him, crying out to him and demanding his attention, but none by the same name.
“Charles!” a Rogue from another world reached for him with bare hands. Proteus recoiled from her and doubled back, only for him to bump into something.
“Erik!” Astra grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from Proteus. With him distracted, Rogue sunk her bare hands into him. He tried to fight them off, but they wouldn’t relenet. Their strength overwhelmed even him.
“Joseph!” Blink cried out to him, she too lunging onto him and dragging him to the ground along with Rogue and Astra.
“Kevin!” Dr. MacTaggert, his mother, whimpered as she joined the three women on top of him. They ripped and tore at his body, his hair, his clothes, and every fiber of his being. Their screams of terror became the only thing he could hear. It was impossible for him to escape them.
In reality, Proteus collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, overwhelmed with the tormenting sounds in his mind. It was all an illusion.
In his compromised state, his psionic hold over Post failed, causing the terrorist to fall sharply to the ground. Mastermind appeared at his side wiping blood from her nose, having managed to recover from his assault and choosing to act fast. She lifted her foot up and then stomped her boot down hard across the back of his head. His forehead bounced off the hard metal floor, the stomp effectively rendering him unconscious.
On the floor, Post groaned, wringing his neck of the pain caused by Proteus’s psionic powers and bearing his teeth in anger. He sprung up to his feet and marched for Proteus’s fallen form, directing a fist at the former X-Man’s head.
“Fuck what the boss says!” he proclaimed as his cybernetic armor lit up once more and he prepared a fatal blast. “This pissant dies!”
“Wait!” Mastermind ordered.
Post’s brow furrowed bitterly. “Why? You saw what he did! He’s too damn dangerous!”
Mastermind directed Post’s attention up to the section of the ceiling that Proteus had descended through. It still glowed with that same golden aura and appeared warped, a metallic liquid that could be penetrated. She then directed Post’s attention back to Proteus’s prone, shimmering golden form and grinned from ear to ear.
“I think we’ve just found our key into MacTaggert’s safe room.”
# # # # #
Larry bit his lip and turned back to the camera.
“That’s certainly an interesting point on both fronts. I suppose it’s up to the viewers at home to decide,” the host said before shooting a link to the monitor and teleprompter beside the camera. A blank screen replaced the normally blue screen, indicating that the question was not being recorded live.
“It appears this is our first mutant call-in of the evening from… am I reading that correctly? Antarctica?” Larry squinted his eyes as he read the teleprompter and seemed puzzled at first, but merely shrugged his head to the side. “Well, nonetheless, welcome to Larry King Live. What is your question, sir?”
{{ First Dr. McCoy, let me just say that I resent the previous caller’s suggestion that you’re just like Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants, }} a seemingly sincere and compassionate voice started.
“Thank you,” Dr. McCoy replied appreciatively. The caller only snickered in response.
{{ You aren’t half the man any of them are, }} the caller continued without missing a beat, his voice as smooth as ice. {{ They stood for something. They stood for their people in a time of crisis. Worthington and his X-Corporation were just a bunch of glory hounds, but you? You’re a genuine sell-out. }}
“That’s absurd!” Dr. McCoy began, nearly jumping out of his seat. “How dare you -- !”
{{ Don’t pretend like you’re not, }} the caller stopped the Director of the Xavier Institute short, scolding him like a child. {{ Pandering to racist politicians with your so-called ‘scientific research’ and giving elitist corporations a place to hide their shameful little secrets, their very own children, when your kind is being oppressed on the streets every day, miserable and suffering, crying out for revolution.
{{ That’s okay, though, Dr. McCoy. Their revolution has finally come. }}
There was a click as the line went dead. Larry sighed and shook his head as he turned to his guest. “We’re sorry, Dr. McCoy,” he started. “Sometimes prank callers get through the screening process. Would you like to respond?” he asked.
Dr. McCoy stopped short of answering, a voice in the back of his mind coming to the forefront.
Hank… Hank, please. Can you hear me…?
It was a telepathic summon from an all too familiar woman.
“Hank, we’ve just received a priority one emergency call from Muir Island!” the voice cried out in distress. “We need you in the back!”
Dr. McCoy’s eyes widened and he paused for a moment, looking to Larry.
“Excuse me, Larry,” the show’s guest quickly said, standing up and taking off his lapel and radio. He dropped both on the desk and walked off the studio set. The cameras followed him to the extent of their range, but ultimately came back to Larry.
“Uh, Dr. McCoy?” the host of Larry King Live called out. “Dr. McCoy, we’re not finished with the interview! Dr. McCoy!”
# # # # #
Gunfire and explosions continued to rock Muir Island as the research center’s security forces battled the Brotherhood of Mutants. Bodies were dropping left and right, mostly members of the security force, and the research center began taking heavy damage from the attacks. Many members of the Brotherhood had entered the facility with ease, destroying everything in their path.
All the while, the thunder storm overhead raged on.
Back in Dr. MacTaggert’s personal laboratory, Avalanche stood with two other members of the Brotherhood, both wearing identical black uniforms. He oversaw them as they emptied out filing cabinets and ripped apart computer systems.
“Destroy it all! Don’t leave a shred behind!” he ordered.
One member’s head and arms were consumed with vibrant flames, flames which he extended throughout his hands and enveloped the paper files and documents. The other member was a behemoth comprised entirely of stone, ripping apart and smashing the computers and consoles around him into bits and pieces.
As they destroyed all evidence of the research and data that had been compiled by Muir Island’s staff, the doors to the laboratory slid open, catching their attention immediately. The first thing Avalanche saw was the kicking legs of the research center’s director, Dr. MacTaggert, as she thrashed from underneath Post’s arms. She let out muffled screams and obscenities from underneath the terrorist’s hand as he carried the woman into the room against his chest like an unruly child.
Mastermind walked in behind Post, their mission complete.
“How did everything go?” Avalanche asked, his subordinates going back to work.
“We met some resistance from her kids as expected, but we dispatched them with minimal force,” Mastermind answered. Avalanche cocked a brow. “Don’t worry, Petros. We followed his orders to the T. Neither one of them was hurt.”
“They better not have been,” Avalanche advised through gritted teeth. “He’ll be here any minute, and if he finds that so much as a hair on ‘em is missing, you bet he’ll have your sweet ass.”
“Got that right,” another woman’s voice said as the doors to the laboratory slid open again. It was Fatale with a semi-automatic rifle in her hands and a brown bag over her shoulder, flanked by two members of the Brotherhood in complete uniform and face masks. Both looked around the laboratory as it was burned and torn apart.
“About damn time you got back, lady. What’s the word on the server room?”
Fatale grinned and dropped her bag, letting the blocks of C4 spill out.
“Leveled.”
Avalanche smiled. “Beautiful work.”
“What I’m here for,” she replied. Fatale shot a glance at Post’s captive, tightening her grip on her rifle. “What’s up with MacTaggert?” she asked.
“I’ve got everything we need out of her,” Mastermind reported, pointing up to her head to indicate the success of her telepathic extraction. Avalanche nodded.
“Then we’re done with her,” he said before turning back to Fatale and pointing at MacTaggert. “Cap her so we can get outta here!”
Fatale looked to Dr. MacTaggert and raised her semi-automatic rifle to the scientist’s head, clicking the safety off. Tears rushed down Dr. MacTaggert’s face as she began to hyperventilate. Fatale simply winked at her.
Dr. MacTaggert let out a final, muffled scream underneath Post’s hand before a gunshot sounded throughout the laboratory.
*BLAM!*
# # # # #
Dr. Henry “Hank” McCoy strode off at the edges of the studio set into the backstage area, where his yellow eyes darting around the area for the voice that had summoned him. On the far wall was a table with a flat screen television monitor attached to a computer console, and standing before it he saw a man of average height and build with brown hair beside a tall woman with striking red hair.
Hank instantly recognized them as his long time friends and associates within the X-Men, Bobby Drake and Jean Grey-Summers.
Upon Hank’s approach, they both turned their heads to him, expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces. Bobby immediately shook his head and crossed his arms, turning back to the television screen along with Jean, whose face was a flustered pink and wet with tears.
“Hank, buddy ol’ pal… you’re not gonna believe this…”
“What is it?” Hank almost demanded to know, wedging himself between Bobby and Jean so that he could see the screen. “What’s happening?”
His two friends didn’t say anything. They simply let him see for himself.
The monitor displayed live surveillance footage from Muir Island. Hank immediately recognized the room displayed as Moira MacTaggert’s personal laboratory, the bloodied and mutilated bodies of research staff strewn about, computer consoles smoldering and burning, and smoke and dust filling the thrashed room.
Hank urgently picked up a remote next to the computer and pressed a button on it. The image on screen changed to that of a different camera, the live footage then showing Avalanche and Mastermind as they led the charge out of the ransacked laboratory through a gaping hole in the wall. They were followed by several mutants that the three X-Men had never seen before, each wearing identical black uniforms.
A moment after they exited the laboratory, one man in a similar uniform with brown hair followed behind them, stopping short before following them out of the building. He deliberately looked to his right and then to his left, before he turned around completely to face the camera aimed at him.
His familiar face was then in full view, darkened by that of a five o’clock shadow. Noticing the camera, he drew a hand up to the gold visor that he wore and pressed a button on it, instantly unleashing a beam of energy straight for the camera. The screen flashed with light before it went to static.
Hank’s eyes grew wide with disbelief as he gasped in horror.
It was Scott Summers, the first student of Charles Xavier and former leader of the X-Men known as Cyclops, and he was working with the Brotherhood of Mutants.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT ISSUE: The X-Men race to Muir Island, but will they be able to make it in time to save the research center’s staff from the Brotherhood of Mutants?
# # # # #
MAKE WAY FOR… NEWMANIAM!
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It’s the beginning of a new era for the X-Men at Marvel 2000. As the cliché goes, “hope you survive the experience!”
- Cory Wiegel
January 26th, 2009