Back to GatefoldIssue #7 by Cory Wiegel
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Danville, Virginia, USA.
Early to rise and early to bed was a discipline that Roy McConnell had long been taught since his early days in prep school. This discipline, coupled with privilege and inheritance beyond that of the average man, allowed him to succeed in a variety pursuits beyond that of prep school. Roy succeeded in higher education, in law, in finance, and finally in politics where he found himself a U.S. Congressman. He often worked tirelessly throughout the day for his constituents, his political allies, and for his family. This work ethic and sense of satisfaction allowed him to sleep easy on most nights.
However, tonight was not like most nights. He was haunted with dreams of home invaders and missing loved ones, and of only one possible chance for escape with his life. He found himself maneuvering about his house in the dark, hugging the corners of halls, ducking low below windows, and tip toeing passed murderous assassins ransacking his home. His heart nearly beat from his chest in terror more times than he dared to notice, but he finally made it out of his home and into the van of allies awaiting his escape, who promptly slammed the vehicle doors shut and sped off into the night.
Only, though his unconscious mind would never comprehend it in the moment, his home was in fact not under siege from burglars and his family had not been vanished from their beds in his sleep. The only one who had vanished from their bed in their sleep that night was Roy himself, right into the waiting hands of mutant illusionist Martinique Jason – Lady Mastermind – before her and her cohorts vanished.
Cherry Hill, New Jersey, USA.
The Advanced Technology Laboratories of Lockheed Martin were well-lit, but the building itself was nearly uninhabited that late night aside from a pair of security guards monitoring the grounds and a sole computer engineer. Maria Yamamoto often found herself taking advantage of her company’s liberal flex-time policies, coming and going at all hours of the day and night as her bouts of inspiration and manic tendencies willed her. Late nights were the best. Not only were Type A management types tucked away safe at home with their white bread families, but so to were her socially awkward and habitually lame work peers, allowing her the freedom to work as she pleased.
With a large thermos of coffee filling her veins and a Japanese heavy metal band blasting in her head phones, the young computer engineer found herself gliding across the laboratory on a rolling office chair from system to equipment to monitor. It was on nights like these that she did her best work. However, that night she found a particular simulator was malfunctioning. When Maria moved to a console to perform a diagnostic on it, a surge of electricity exploded and sent her reeling out of her office chair. Her glasses fell from her face along with the headphones from her head. She lost her breath upon impact with the floor, her body still numb from the power surge, but she slowly collected her breath and began to move to her hands and knees.
The room was a blur. Still stunned, she patted the floor, looking for her glasses in a haze. What she found instead was a leather boot. Maria looked up, her vision still a blur, but the figure standing before her was nonetheless a man with a cybernetic frame covering most of his body. Her eyes went wide in horror as the mutant known only as Hard-Drive enveloped them both in a ball of light and teleported away.
MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida, USA.
Brigadier General William Randolph Bolte strolled out of a hangar on the south side of the Air Force base, a Classified Projects folder in hand. Security personnel saluted him as he passed, to which he reciprocated, and his personal detail joined him as he approached a military humvee. He took a seat in the back and his men settled in around him, shutting the doors behind them. He signaled for his driver to depart and they radioed ahead, then started the engine and began the drive northbound. In a short time, they were through security and off base, heading for the mainland.
Bolte turned on a reading light to review the report he brought along with him. It was going to be a long, preferably quiet, ride back to command offices. He didn’t get far into the report when the road underneath the humvee began shaking. At first the shaking was light, like a passing semi-truck, only there were no other vehicles around. Then the shaking became increasingly violent and the humvee began to swerve. The report fell from Bolte’s lap along with the reading light. He and his men struggled to brace themselves, grabbing onto seats and roof assist handles, but they continued to bounce about.
The driver tried to correct the vehicle’s path and keep it on the road, but it wasn’t long before he overcorrected and another sharp tremor unearthed the road beneath them. The humvee rolled over off the side of the road several times before slowing to a stop on its roof, several dozen yards away from the main road. After several moments, one of the doors on the humvee slammed open and Brigadier General Bolte began to crawl out, stunned and disoriented. When he looked up he saw Dominic Petros – the mutant known as Avalanche – standing over him with a satisfied grin. Bolte quickly drew his side arm to defend himself, but Avalanche drop kicked him in the face and knocked him unconscious.
West Tisbury, Dukes County, Massachusetts, USA.
A quiet ranch home rested in the orchard filled country side outside of West Tisbury in Dukes County. Half-passed one in the morning, it was still patrolled by several armed men in dark suits, men who were highly trained and motivated by a strong sense of duty to protect the property’s sole occupant. That occupant was not only a former U.S. Senator and Cabinet Secretary, but for a short time during a national crisis he was also the Interim President of the United States of America.
His name was Robert Edward Kelly.
Inside the home, he placed a blue bookmark into his novel – Robinson Crusoe – before closing it and setting it down on his end table beside a tumbler. Like the titular character, he often found himself feeling isolated and alone, removed from human society… though without the parrots and cannibals. He reached for the tumbler and took one last sip of the golden brown liquor with a satisfying “ah.”
Standing up from his chair, Robert approached the fire place illuminating his study and picked up a square decanter from the mantle, pouring himself another two fingers of bourbon. He set the decanter down and took another sip of bourbon before the sight of a picture frame on his mantle caught his eye. It was an old photo of Sharon, his one and only wife, who was taken from him too soon during a time of his life that he had come to frequently regret. She was the one part of his life that he had not regretted, though the circumstances of her death were indeed the most regrettable.
He set the tumbler down and lifted the frame closer to his face, smiling tiredly. When he set the frame back on the mantle, a ruby glimmer and a man’s face appeared in the reflection of the glass. Robert gasped and tried to turn on his would be attacker, but Scott Summers – Cyclops – captured him in his arms and covered his mouth tightly to prevent his calls for help before dragging him away.
All throughout that late night and early morning, high ranking members of the United States government and key contractors in their military operation were abducted in their homes or places of work by the Brotherhood of Mutants, and no one was the wiser until it was too late.
Early to rise and early to bed was a discipline that Roy McConnell had long been taught since his early days in prep school. This discipline, coupled with privilege and inheritance beyond that of the average man, allowed him to succeed in a variety pursuits beyond that of prep school. Roy succeeded in higher education, in law, in finance, and finally in politics where he found himself a U.S. Congressman. He often worked tirelessly throughout the day for his constituents, his political allies, and for his family. This work ethic and sense of satisfaction allowed him to sleep easy on most nights.
However, tonight was not like most nights. He was haunted with dreams of home invaders and missing loved ones, and of only one possible chance for escape with his life. He found himself maneuvering about his house in the dark, hugging the corners of halls, ducking low below windows, and tip toeing passed murderous assassins ransacking his home. His heart nearly beat from his chest in terror more times than he dared to notice, but he finally made it out of his home and into the van of allies awaiting his escape, who promptly slammed the vehicle doors shut and sped off into the night.
Only, though his unconscious mind would never comprehend it in the moment, his home was in fact not under siege from burglars and his family had not been vanished from their beds in his sleep. The only one who had vanished from their bed in their sleep that night was Roy himself, right into the waiting hands of mutant illusionist Martinique Jason – Lady Mastermind – before her and her cohorts vanished.
Cherry Hill, New Jersey, USA.
The Advanced Technology Laboratories of Lockheed Martin were well-lit, but the building itself was nearly uninhabited that late night aside from a pair of security guards monitoring the grounds and a sole computer engineer. Maria Yamamoto often found herself taking advantage of her company’s liberal flex-time policies, coming and going at all hours of the day and night as her bouts of inspiration and manic tendencies willed her. Late nights were the best. Not only were Type A management types tucked away safe at home with their white bread families, but so to were her socially awkward and habitually lame work peers, allowing her the freedom to work as she pleased.
With a large thermos of coffee filling her veins and a Japanese heavy metal band blasting in her head phones, the young computer engineer found herself gliding across the laboratory on a rolling office chair from system to equipment to monitor. It was on nights like these that she did her best work. However, that night she found a particular simulator was malfunctioning. When Maria moved to a console to perform a diagnostic on it, a surge of electricity exploded and sent her reeling out of her office chair. Her glasses fell from her face along with the headphones from her head. She lost her breath upon impact with the floor, her body still numb from the power surge, but she slowly collected her breath and began to move to her hands and knees.
The room was a blur. Still stunned, she patted the floor, looking for her glasses in a haze. What she found instead was a leather boot. Maria looked up, her vision still a blur, but the figure standing before her was nonetheless a man with a cybernetic frame covering most of his body. Her eyes went wide in horror as the mutant known only as Hard-Drive enveloped them both in a ball of light and teleported away.
MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida, USA.
Brigadier General William Randolph Bolte strolled out of a hangar on the south side of the Air Force base, a Classified Projects folder in hand. Security personnel saluted him as he passed, to which he reciprocated, and his personal detail joined him as he approached a military humvee. He took a seat in the back and his men settled in around him, shutting the doors behind them. He signaled for his driver to depart and they radioed ahead, then started the engine and began the drive northbound. In a short time, they were through security and off base, heading for the mainland.
Bolte turned on a reading light to review the report he brought along with him. It was going to be a long, preferably quiet, ride back to command offices. He didn’t get far into the report when the road underneath the humvee began shaking. At first the shaking was light, like a passing semi-truck, only there were no other vehicles around. Then the shaking became increasingly violent and the humvee began to swerve. The report fell from Bolte’s lap along with the reading light. He and his men struggled to brace themselves, grabbing onto seats and roof assist handles, but they continued to bounce about.
The driver tried to correct the vehicle’s path and keep it on the road, but it wasn’t long before he overcorrected and another sharp tremor unearthed the road beneath them. The humvee rolled over off the side of the road several times before slowing to a stop on its roof, several dozen yards away from the main road. After several moments, one of the doors on the humvee slammed open and Brigadier General Bolte began to crawl out, stunned and disoriented. When he looked up he saw Dominic Petros – the mutant known as Avalanche – standing over him with a satisfied grin. Bolte quickly drew his side arm to defend himself, but Avalanche drop kicked him in the face and knocked him unconscious.
West Tisbury, Dukes County, Massachusetts, USA.
A quiet ranch home rested in the orchard filled country side outside of West Tisbury in Dukes County. Half-passed one in the morning, it was still patrolled by several armed men in dark suits, men who were highly trained and motivated by a strong sense of duty to protect the property’s sole occupant. That occupant was not only a former U.S. Senator and Cabinet Secretary, but for a short time during a national crisis he was also the Interim President of the United States of America.
His name was Robert Edward Kelly.
Inside the home, he placed a blue bookmark into his novel – Robinson Crusoe – before closing it and setting it down on his end table beside a tumbler. Like the titular character, he often found himself feeling isolated and alone, removed from human society… though without the parrots and cannibals. He reached for the tumbler and took one last sip of the golden brown liquor with a satisfying “ah.”
Standing up from his chair, Robert approached the fire place illuminating his study and picked up a square decanter from the mantle, pouring himself another two fingers of bourbon. He set the decanter down and took another sip of bourbon before the sight of a picture frame on his mantle caught his eye. It was an old photo of Sharon, his one and only wife, who was taken from him too soon during a time of his life that he had come to frequently regret. She was the one part of his life that he had not regretted, though the circumstances of her death were indeed the most regrettable.
He set the tumbler down and lifted the frame closer to his face, smiling tiredly. When he set the frame back on the mantle, a ruby glimmer and a man’s face appeared in the reflection of the glass. Robert gasped and tried to turn on his would be attacker, but Scott Summers – Cyclops – captured him in his arms and covered his mouth tightly to prevent his calls for help before dragging him away.
All throughout that late night and early morning, high ranking members of the United States government and key contractors in their military operation were abducted in their homes or places of work by the Brotherhood of Mutants, and no one was the wiser until it was too late.
“SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL – PART TWO”
PREVIOUSLY IN NEW X-MEN #6: At the behest of Abigail Brand and the X.S.E., Havok visited the Xavier Institute for the first time in years and took a tour of the new school. However, his visit wasn’t exactly a social call. He was actually feeling the team out and seeing exactly who he could count on to bring Cyclops and the Brotherhood down. Meanwhile, a glimpse six months into the past revealed that Cyclops and Domino were ambushed by the Fallen Angels while on a clandestine mission in Hammer Bay, Genosha! Deus intervened and invited Cyclops to join him and his new Brotherhood of Mutants, but Cyclops refused and was overrun by Magneto’s acolytes…
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Gamma Base One.
The Chihuahuan Desert, New Mexico, USA.
In the Chihuahuan Desert of New Mexico, tucked near the border of Mexico and the state of Chuhuahua, laid a military base under construction. The military installation was designated by the United States government as Gamma Base One.
Formerly known as the Project Greenskin Base, or as the Hulkbuster Base to some, its staff and team eventually relocated to Gamma Base Two in Death Valley, Neveda before being taken over temporarily by the government mutant relocation and eradication program Operation: Zero Tolerance. Shortly after that, Gama Base One was claimed by the outlaw band of mutants known as the Exiles and used as their base of operations. However, after the Exiles’ mission was completed and the team disbanded, both bases were eventually left abandoned and in a state of disrepair.
In recent months, Gamma Base One has been reclaimed and repurposed by the X-Factor Sanction Enforcement – the X.S.E. – as their command center. It was currently under construction by S.H.I.E.L.D. engineers and complimented by private government contracted construction crews. Construction vehicles and equipment were operating around the clock to ensure that the facility was fully operational, but they were still weeks away from completion. The primary functions of the base were up and running, however, and the X.S.E. was able to begin implementing its mission statement.
Abigail Brand, the organization’s director, practically lived off of black coffee and operated around the clock herself. It didn’t help that her office was attached to the facility’s operations room, the very heart of the base, on the second floor overseeing her team’s day-to-day activities. Every day was a marathon of administrative meetings, staff briefings, preliminary field missions, agent recruitment, operational training sessions, and worst of all paperwork. At that moment, she was about to experience a combination of many of those responsibilities all at once.
{{ Director Brand, Alex Summers and Victoria Hand are here to see you, }} a man’s voice spoke from the intercom at her desk. She continued working while she responded.
“Thank you, Agent Ingram. See them in.”
A couple of moments passed when Agent Ingram opened the door to Director Brand’s office. Alex Summers, the government liaison and former X-Man known as Havok, walked in. Victoria Hand, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and liaison, stepped in close behind him. Director Brand stood up to greet them as Agent Ingram shut the door to her office as he left.
“Good morning, Mr. Summers, Agent Hand,” she said, shaking their hands. “Please, take a seat.”
Alex and Victoria took a seat at the table in her office. She joined them at the head of it.
“How’s the strike team coming along?”
“So far so good,” Alex replied. “In fact, I think we’re just about ready to put them in the field.”
Victoria nodded in agreement. She reached down into her bag and retrieved a set of files, then handed them to Director Brand. She immediately began skimming the files.
“We’ve developed quite the roster,” Victoria said. “Short of robots and aliens, I’d say it’s one of the most diverse teams ever assembled by an organization such as ours.”
“Is that your way of saying that we’ve assembled a ragtag group of eclectics?” Director Brand asked dryly. Alex smirked and held back a chuckle, but Victoria didn’t notice.
“By no means. I was just suggesting that --” she started to say. Director Brand put up a hand.
“Relax, Agent Hand,” she said, continuing to review the files. She nodded her head and sorted the files before looking back up to the two. “This will do. Good work. Let’s begin to --“
Agent Ingram’s voice interrupted his superior this time.
{{ Director Brand, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you really need to see. }}
“What is it?” she responded with a furrowed brow.
{{ The Brotherhood have resurfaced. }}
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Antarctica.
A lone citadel rested in the heavy snow that blanketed the landmass that morning. Deep within the citadel was a dark room, illuminated only by the dozen or so large screens that lined a wall that displayed a continuous stream of news reports all over the world. Words were streaming across the screens, but were also being broadcast in surround sound. It took a brilliant mind to comprehend all that was displayed and heard in that room. Deus, the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants and the savior of those lost in the Hecatomb, had just such a mind.
{{ “Trish Tilby reporting. The current administration has yet to comment on these leaks –“ }}
{{ “Breaking news: Mutants are not the next stage in human evolution!” }}
{{ “These ‘resurrections’ haven’t been confirmed by the government. They could just be ghost stories or – ” }}
{{ “I don’t know what you call a mutant Uncle Tom, but this McCoy fella fits the bill to a T.” }}
{{ “Honestly, if you ask me, this only shows great integrity. Who else would defy their race and tell the truth with proof? Humans should be ecstatic!” }}
{{ “I was just sitting in my kitchen when these yellow and black ants just swarmed all over me! I kept screaming and hitting myself and trying to get them off, but it hurt so much –“ }}
{{ “No official press release from the Xavier Institute. How long will they remain silent?” }}
{{ -“- then I don’t know what happened. I just opened my eyes and I was laying there, on the ground, in some large bunker. I was alive again!” }}
{{ “Any kind of medical authority will tell you this research. Just. Can’t. Be. True.” }}
{{ “His name was Deus… and he saved us all from death!” }}
Deus leaned back into his large, plush chair, tilting his head with a sense of satisfaction. His campaign against the Xavier Institute was coming along better than planned. Muir Island’s Research Center was crippled by the Brotherhood’s attack, putting an end to their participation in Dr. Henry McCoy’s Mutant Genome Project and leaving his allies bloodied, murdered, or demoralized. Better yet, the information they retrieved from Moira MacTaggert’s research databanks was not just crucial to the Brotherhood’s next steps, but when twisted the right way it was inflammatory to the mutant population as a whole. It would only be a matter of time before they turned on the X-Men’s mission.
With the slight wave of Deus’s hand, Francis approached him from the right with a serving tray. The manservant handed him a cup of freshly brewed tea. He took it without looking at him, instead settling even more comfortably in his chair as the media reports cycled through the display monitors.
“Quite the news day, eh Francis?” Deus said before sipping from his tea.
“Indeed, sir.”
Deus rested the cup in his lap and nodded. “It won’t be long now…”
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The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.
Salem Center, Westchester County, New York, U.S.A.
Dr. Henry “Hank” McCoy stood at the large window of the Xavier Institute’s library, his hands clasped behind his back. He had a perfect view of the men and women standing at the front gate of the estate, picketing while holding signs and banners with slogans like, “The Xavier Institute = Cell Outs!”, “My Genes Aren’t For Sale!”, and “#MutantLivesMatter.” When he and his colleagues re-opened the Xavier Institute as a school and research center, he expected these types of displays from humans. Watchdog groups, non-profits, extreme political movements… He did not, however, expect other mutants to object so passionately to their mission. Every day that they protested his heart sank deeper.
There was a soft knock at the library doorway. Hank emerged from the depth of his thoughts suddenly and turned towards the sound. Jean Grey was the first of his longtime comrades to enter, smiling at him warmly. Marie Charleston followed with Bobby Drake strolling nonchalantly behind them, chugging from a large can of energy drink. He shut the door behind them before they all sat down.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Hank said as he sat down at the head of the table. He began preparing himself a cup of tea from the pot and set at the center of the table. “As you all know, the start of our little endeavor has been nothing short of… engrossing...”
“You can say that again,” Marie remarked before taking a swig from her water bottle. Hank nodded and took a sip of his tea before continuing.
“I thought it would be nice to take some time to gather our bearings and process the events of the last few months,” he said. “Are there any concerns or motions to start us with?”
Bobby’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Robert?”
“Okay, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: teenagers are totally perverts,” Bobby said with mock earnest. “Jean, I’m proposing you telepathically cull their sexual impulses.”
Jean rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s unethical from medical, developmental, and psychological standpoints…” She glanced at Hank for support. He winced as he cleared his throat and took off his glasses, wiping them clean with a cloth.
“Yes, it most certainly is.”
Bobby conceded the point. “Alrighty then. How about we ban yoga pants for anyone under the age of eighteen? For boys and girls, just to be safe.”
There appeared to be no serious objections – only furrowed brows and mild exasperation.
“All in favor?” Hank asked. Everyone’s hands half-heartedly rose, except for Bobby’s whose shot up. Hank shrugged and sipped his tea. “Motion passed.”
Bobby clapped his hands with gusto. “Woo! Democracy in action!”
“While I would hate to speak for Hank, I think the purpose of our meeting was to discuss other matters,” Jean suggested with a friendly glare directed toward Bobby. “Student reports, updates on the protests, progress on the institute’s latest research project…”
“How ‘bout teammates missin’-in-action?” Marie interjected, gesturing to the empty chair at the table. “Does anybody know how Logan’s been of late?”
The four quietly looked at each other with unease. Bobby then looked at the cardboard box in the corner of the room. It was propped up on one side by a stick with a string attached to it and a six pack of Moosehead Lager was underneath it.
“Can’t be good,” he said with a sigh. “Beer trap didn’t work. That’s like the third staff meeting…” Marie promptly punched him in the arm.
“This ain’t a joke, Bobby.”
“You think I’m joking? I had to check out like five BevMo!s to find a decent Canadian beer!”
Hank shook his head with a sigh as Bobby and Marie bickered. “Jean?”
“I wish I knew. He barely even speaks to me these days, but it’s obvious that something’s wrong,” Jean said somberly as she cradled her tea cup. “Maybe it’s time we find out what…”
********************************************************************
Logan sat at the edge of the Xavier estate’s boating dock, one leg sprawled out and the other hunched up to his chest. One arm hung off his arched knee, a half-smoked cigar in hand, as he gazed out across the vast lake at sundown. A cowboy sat upside down next to him with a pack of cigars and a Zippo lighter in it. He took a puff from the stogie in hand and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly.
Although he found some form of tranquility in the estate’s cemetery and the surrounding orchards, the docks were where he found the most peace. It was there, somewhere on the edge between the scientific advancements of the future found in the institute and estate’s open natural expanse, where Logan felt like the observer that he had become, free to come and go between the two worlds that he inhabited. The world of man was changing and he didn’t quite belong in it anymore. Maybe he never did…
During his respite, Logan was blocking out the sounds of teenagers talking, laughing, and running about in the distance, instead choosing to soak in the warm sun and feel the cool autumn breeze. The mansion had gotten awfully crowded in recent months for his tastes. Research staff and new students moved about, mindlessly prattling on and chatting amongst themselves, going about their studies and research, building something… It was of no concern to him because he had nothing to contribute. He wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t even formally educated. All he was, and has ever been, was a murderer; a weapon; a tool for others to exact their will or at worst his own.
He rested the cigar on his lips and glanced down to his knuckles, examining the discolored calluses that formed over where his adamantium claws emerged from. He rubbed them gently and exhaled smoke from his nose. The staff and students were unsettled by him. Scared of him. If only they knew the truth: he was but a relic of the past; a war machine running out of steam; a tired old man with no other place to go. Who else would have him?
Logan took another puff from his cigar and retrieved it from his mouth, exhaling a puff of smoke. It dissipated into the air above the lake. He let his thoughts dissipate similarly… that is, until a woman’s voice called out to him gently from the back of his mind.
“Logan… Logan, it’s Jean… I’ve been wanting to speak with you… Please come back to the mansion…”
With a bit of a tired sigh, Logan took one last puff from his cigar and put it out on dock, and left it behind with his hat, cigars, and Zippo. Jean had been trying to summon him periodically throughout the evening. He reckoned it was finally time to stop avoiding her.
********************************************************************
Beneath the Xavier Institute in the lower levels of the facility, Logan walked through the sliding doorway of the X-Men’s medical bay. He stopped suddenly when he realized the lights of the room were dimmed unusually low. In the center of the woman, a woman with long red hair tied back sat in a white lab coat on a table with her back to him. He recognized her scent and body language in an instant.
“Jean?” Logan said, narrowing his eyes. “What is all this?”
Jean turned around on the table, crossing her legs in the process. She moved a lollipop to her mouth, taking a suck of it, and smiled flirtatiously.
“Well, hey there, Mr. Logan,” Jean said playfully. She held up a clipboard and looked over. “According to our records, you’re about thirty-five years past your annual check-up.”
Jean set down the clipboard and hopped off of the examination bed, grabbing an examination gown and spinning it around in her hand while she continued to work on the lollipop. “Are you ready to change into something a little more… comfortable?”
She tossed the gown across the room at Logan. He knocked it away with his hand.
“I’ll pass,” he grunted. He turned away from her, heading for the door. The sliding doors to the medical bay opened, but before he could pass through them there was a telekinetic tug at his flannel’s collar. He gritted his teeth at being held in place by the invisible force.
“Nuh-uh,” Jean said as she walked towards him. She spun him around with her telekinesis and the sliding door shut behind him, trapping him in place. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Grr…”
“Oh, come on, Logan,” she said coyly, running her finger down his chest. “I’m one of the world’s most powerful telepaths. You think I don’t know that you’ve always wanted to play doctor with me?”
Logan lurched forward and grabbed her by the arms violently.
“Damnit, Jeanie!” he barked at her. “Quit screwin’ around!”
Jean’s eyes flared and she broke his grasp on her with a telekinetic shove, taking a step back in the process. It was clear that his sense of humor and mischief was in poor form, and to that end she was no longer willing to play around, either. She tossed the lollipop aside and jabbed a finger at him.
“Okay, Logan. The kid gloves are off,” she began. “It’s time to drop the selfish loner crap! We all thought you had finally gotten over that and learned how to be a part of the family, but clearly not, so here it is: We’re all worried about you. You haven’t been yourself in months. Walking through the halls like a ghost, not giving your friends a second glance, only talking to us when there’s a mission…”
Jean leaned in closer to Wolverine, reaching to touch his face gently.
“Whatever you’re going through, please, tell us. Let us help you…”
Logan hung his head down and sighed. “Fine,” he relented.
He stepped passed her and walked toward the center of the medical bay, stopping before the examination bed with his back to her. He paused for a moment, his head still down, and he closed his eye. He slowly began to unbutton his long sleeve flannel, first at the cuffs then at the torso.
“You wanna play doctor…” Logan loosened the flannel from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Jean’s eyes widened and she gasped in horror at what she saw.
Countless scars, lesions, carcinomas, and melanomas covered his discolored arms and torso. Dried blood and puss covered his wounds. He turned to face her with a look of tired humiliation and shame.
“Then let’s play doctor.”
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The Indian Ocean.
Several miles off of the coast of Hammer Bay, Genosha.
A half-dozen platforms and buildings, connected by bridges and struts, made up a marine decontamination facility in Genosha’s surrounding body of ocean. Its construction was in the process of being completed. To celebrate, a collection of United Nations officials, diplomats, private investors, and businessmen were invited to tour the decontamination facility that promised to cleanse the ocean of crude oil. These men and women stood before a man in a white short sleeved shirt, khaki pants, and a yellow hard hat. He was leading them through the facility, reviewing the origin of the platform.
“During the most recent civil conflict that Genosha faced, a type of ‘oil garden’ being grown in the ocean surrounding the island was attacked by mutant forces. Explosions caused the crude to be spilled for miles and massive fires erupted in the sea. Coupled with a tear in the electromagnetic field at the heart of the island, this oil spill and the resulting fires caused one of the greatest ecological disasters in the history of the world. The relief effort was also one of the greatest international collaborations in the history of the world. As such, we hope this platform will stand long after its purpose has been served as a symbol of nature’s resilience and social accountability.”
The tour group began clapping proudly and the project lead smiled graciously. When the applause eased, he began to say something when a violent earthquake shook the room. The tour group began chatting and speculating amongst themselves about what was happening.
“Everyone find some cover! I’ll try to figure out –“
Before the project lead could finish his sentence, the shaking increased violently and knocked many of the group to the ground. Machines exploded and pipes burst, flooding the room with filthy sea water and diluted crude in waves. The men and women struggled to move to safety when pink and purple energy portals spontaneously manifested across the room, cackling with electricity. Horrific screams emerged with the portals along with demonic beasts, many of which flew on pterodactyl-like wings, and all of which attacked the tour group. The scene was that of utter chaos.
Of course, to the three terrorists who entered the pump room, it looked more like a thing of beauty. No water was flooding the room; no portals were exploded with electricity; and no demonic beasts were flying about attacking their prey. There were only human men and women scrambled into each other, swiping and kicking at the air, and crying loudly in fetal positions.
It was all a master illusion, manipulating their mental faculties.
“Nice job, lady,” Avalanche said to Mastermind with a nod. She winked at him in response.
“Just like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Sauron bared his claws as he eyed the flailing humans.
“Speaking of fish – ” he said as he took a stop forward.
“Stop!” a man’s voice commanded. The trio turned just as Cyclops walked into the room from behind them. “Let’s try to keep it professional. Remember, we have a job to do here.”
The three begrudgingly acknowledged his orders and began to secure the humans.
********************************************************************
Naked with the exception of his plaid boxers, Logan laid on a table that slid him into the large tubular machine at the end of the medical bay. It was a highly advanced diagnostic tool utilizing technology inspired by the Shi’ar and adjusted for human-mutant physiology. It hummed lowly, then whirred and clicked away rapidly as Jean operated its various functions and ran numerous body scans. Diagnostic information was displayed on Jean’s monitored and catalogued in the computer’s databases.
Jean spent over an hour examining her longtime friend and analyzing the data that was produced. When she had finally completed every last test available to her, she sighed and pressed a button on the console. Logan’s body slid out of the machine and he opened his eyes, tiredly, and gradually sat up.
“We’re finished,” Jean said with resignation. “I’ve run every body and diagnostic scan available to us, and… We’re finished.”
Logan nodded his head quietly and reached for his clothes. He began putting his flannel shirt back on first. Silence fell between them as he dressed. Jean continued reading through the reports. She wasn’t in disbelief; she wasn’t trying to understand them better; she was merely stalling for the strength to push on. Finally, she took a deep breath and moved around the console, approaching her friend.
“Logan… This is so hard to tell you, but…”
“Aggressive Stage IV Skin Cancer,” Logan interjected simply. “Ever since that nuke went off in New Mexico all those months back. It’s spread t’ just about every organ in me, includin’ my brain, I know.” He stood from the table as he pulled up his jeans and turned away from her, buckling his pants in the process. “Already been around the world, talked t’ every doctor, mystic, shaman, and monk that’d have me. They all say the damn thing.”
Jean covered her mouth. Tears began to well up in her eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder at her.
“There ain’t no savin’ me, darlin’.”
“We’re your friends, Logan. Your family. We deserved to know!” she suddenly cried, balling her fists and fighting back tears. It was easier to be angry at him. “We specialize in this. Now more than ever we could have been there for you, could have helped you. Why didn’t you let us?!”
Logan just looked away from her again. “I’ve lived a long life. If it’s my time it’s my time,” he said quietly. “You’d have all just have been neglectin’ folks who really needed you.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make!” Jean shot back, breathing heavily. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and hugged him tightly close to her, pressing her head into his as she sobbed and protested. “We’re not… I’m not going to you let you die... I’ve lost too many people in the last few years, I can’t lose you too!”
He stiffened as she touched his disfigured body, even if it was over his clothes, but he closed his eyes and slowly eased himself into her. He reached up and touched her arm with his fingers, gripping it slightly. He loved her and always had, but now more than ever she was breaking his heart. He was going to die, much sooner rather than later, and he knew she would fight to his last breath to keep him alive even if it was in vain. However, for the briefest of moments, he took solace in feeling that for the first time in months he didn’t feel so damn alone…
It was a moment that wouldn’t last. The medical bay’s communication system came to life and interrupted them with an urgent message from Hank.
{{ Wolverine and Phoenix, please report to the school recreation room immediately! }}
Jean and Logan loosened their embrace. She wiped the tears from her eyes and he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. They looked to each other, a silent agreement made between the two of them, and then they moved to leave the medical bay.
********************************************************************
In a matter of moments, Jean and Logan were exiting an elevator from the lower levels into the mansion hallway. Several students rushed past them with a mixture of excitement and concern; the two of them followed suit. When they reached the recreation room, several students were surrounding the big screen television and the couches in front of it. It was there they found Hank and Marie sitting with the students, fixedly watching the news program on air, with Bobby standing at their side.
“Hank, what is it?” Jean asked imperatively.
Hank didn’t respond. He simply steepled his fingers and leaned in attentively, taking a deep breath. Bobby crossed his arms and looked at Jean and Logan, nodding to the television.
They looked at the television with the group and saw what looked like a large oil platform with several struts surrounding it connected by bridges from the perspective of a news helicopter. The helicopter was circling the platform, its view and thus that of the viewers changing perspective constantly. Several men and women in suits were being marched out onto the core platform by what looked like members of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
{{ We have a chopper on scene, high above the marine decontamination facility off of the coast of Genosha, where mutant terrorists have stormed the facility and taken visiting diplomats and inspectors hostage, }} the television’s news broadcaster reported. {{ Wait a moment now. Somebody else is emerging from the facility… }}
A man with brown hair and a black combat suit exited the main core’s building. The camera zoomed in closer to him, revealing a gold visor with a ruby quartz lens. Cyclops began calling the shots, ordering the Brotherhood to move the hostages about, when suddenly he looked up to the helicopter and the camera pointed at him. A ruby glimmer ran across his visor’s lens.
“It looks like our old friend’s found his way back on prime time,” Bobby quipped. Hank stood up and his teammates looked to him, awaiting his command.
“X-Men, report to the ready room. It’s time that we put a stop to this.”
********************************************************************
TO BE CONTINUED…
********************************************************************
NEXT ISSUE: The X-Men and the X.S.E. join forces to intervene on the attack led by Cyclops and the Brotherhood of Mutants. However, when Havok assembles a strike team to do just that, not every member of Beast’s X-Men will be drafted…
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MAKE WAY FOR… NEWMANIAM!
Feedback is as feedback does.
Any love, hate, or meager shrugs can be sent to [email protected]!
I’ll keep this short and sweet: It’s great to be back! Look forward to more. Also, there may be some questions about continuity and where this story falls. Fret not. All will be answered soon.
Cory Wiegel
July 20th, 2016
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Gamma Base One.
The Chihuahuan Desert, New Mexico, USA.
In the Chihuahuan Desert of New Mexico, tucked near the border of Mexico and the state of Chuhuahua, laid a military base under construction. The military installation was designated by the United States government as Gamma Base One.
Formerly known as the Project Greenskin Base, or as the Hulkbuster Base to some, its staff and team eventually relocated to Gamma Base Two in Death Valley, Neveda before being taken over temporarily by the government mutant relocation and eradication program Operation: Zero Tolerance. Shortly after that, Gama Base One was claimed by the outlaw band of mutants known as the Exiles and used as their base of operations. However, after the Exiles’ mission was completed and the team disbanded, both bases were eventually left abandoned and in a state of disrepair.
In recent months, Gamma Base One has been reclaimed and repurposed by the X-Factor Sanction Enforcement – the X.S.E. – as their command center. It was currently under construction by S.H.I.E.L.D. engineers and complimented by private government contracted construction crews. Construction vehicles and equipment were operating around the clock to ensure that the facility was fully operational, but they were still weeks away from completion. The primary functions of the base were up and running, however, and the X.S.E. was able to begin implementing its mission statement.
Abigail Brand, the organization’s director, practically lived off of black coffee and operated around the clock herself. It didn’t help that her office was attached to the facility’s operations room, the very heart of the base, on the second floor overseeing her team’s day-to-day activities. Every day was a marathon of administrative meetings, staff briefings, preliminary field missions, agent recruitment, operational training sessions, and worst of all paperwork. At that moment, she was about to experience a combination of many of those responsibilities all at once.
{{ Director Brand, Alex Summers and Victoria Hand are here to see you, }} a man’s voice spoke from the intercom at her desk. She continued working while she responded.
“Thank you, Agent Ingram. See them in.”
A couple of moments passed when Agent Ingram opened the door to Director Brand’s office. Alex Summers, the government liaison and former X-Man known as Havok, walked in. Victoria Hand, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and liaison, stepped in close behind him. Director Brand stood up to greet them as Agent Ingram shut the door to her office as he left.
“Good morning, Mr. Summers, Agent Hand,” she said, shaking their hands. “Please, take a seat.”
Alex and Victoria took a seat at the table in her office. She joined them at the head of it.
“How’s the strike team coming along?”
“So far so good,” Alex replied. “In fact, I think we’re just about ready to put them in the field.”
Victoria nodded in agreement. She reached down into her bag and retrieved a set of files, then handed them to Director Brand. She immediately began skimming the files.
“We’ve developed quite the roster,” Victoria said. “Short of robots and aliens, I’d say it’s one of the most diverse teams ever assembled by an organization such as ours.”
“Is that your way of saying that we’ve assembled a ragtag group of eclectics?” Director Brand asked dryly. Alex smirked and held back a chuckle, but Victoria didn’t notice.
“By no means. I was just suggesting that --” she started to say. Director Brand put up a hand.
“Relax, Agent Hand,” she said, continuing to review the files. She nodded her head and sorted the files before looking back up to the two. “This will do. Good work. Let’s begin to --“
Agent Ingram’s voice interrupted his superior this time.
{{ Director Brand, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you really need to see. }}
“What is it?” she responded with a furrowed brow.
{{ The Brotherhood have resurfaced. }}
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Antarctica.
A lone citadel rested in the heavy snow that blanketed the landmass that morning. Deep within the citadel was a dark room, illuminated only by the dozen or so large screens that lined a wall that displayed a continuous stream of news reports all over the world. Words were streaming across the screens, but were also being broadcast in surround sound. It took a brilliant mind to comprehend all that was displayed and heard in that room. Deus, the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants and the savior of those lost in the Hecatomb, had just such a mind.
{{ “Trish Tilby reporting. The current administration has yet to comment on these leaks –“ }}
{{ “Breaking news: Mutants are not the next stage in human evolution!” }}
{{ “These ‘resurrections’ haven’t been confirmed by the government. They could just be ghost stories or – ” }}
{{ “I don’t know what you call a mutant Uncle Tom, but this McCoy fella fits the bill to a T.” }}
{{ “Honestly, if you ask me, this only shows great integrity. Who else would defy their race and tell the truth with proof? Humans should be ecstatic!” }}
{{ “I was just sitting in my kitchen when these yellow and black ants just swarmed all over me! I kept screaming and hitting myself and trying to get them off, but it hurt so much –“ }}
{{ “No official press release from the Xavier Institute. How long will they remain silent?” }}
{{ -“- then I don’t know what happened. I just opened my eyes and I was laying there, on the ground, in some large bunker. I was alive again!” }}
{{ “Any kind of medical authority will tell you this research. Just. Can’t. Be. True.” }}
{{ “His name was Deus… and he saved us all from death!” }}
Deus leaned back into his large, plush chair, tilting his head with a sense of satisfaction. His campaign against the Xavier Institute was coming along better than planned. Muir Island’s Research Center was crippled by the Brotherhood’s attack, putting an end to their participation in Dr. Henry McCoy’s Mutant Genome Project and leaving his allies bloodied, murdered, or demoralized. Better yet, the information they retrieved from Moira MacTaggert’s research databanks was not just crucial to the Brotherhood’s next steps, but when twisted the right way it was inflammatory to the mutant population as a whole. It would only be a matter of time before they turned on the X-Men’s mission.
With the slight wave of Deus’s hand, Francis approached him from the right with a serving tray. The manservant handed him a cup of freshly brewed tea. He took it without looking at him, instead settling even more comfortably in his chair as the media reports cycled through the display monitors.
“Quite the news day, eh Francis?” Deus said before sipping from his tea.
“Indeed, sir.”
Deus rested the cup in his lap and nodded. “It won’t be long now…”
********************************************************************
The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.
Salem Center, Westchester County, New York, U.S.A.
Dr. Henry “Hank” McCoy stood at the large window of the Xavier Institute’s library, his hands clasped behind his back. He had a perfect view of the men and women standing at the front gate of the estate, picketing while holding signs and banners with slogans like, “The Xavier Institute = Cell Outs!”, “My Genes Aren’t For Sale!”, and “#MutantLivesMatter.” When he and his colleagues re-opened the Xavier Institute as a school and research center, he expected these types of displays from humans. Watchdog groups, non-profits, extreme political movements… He did not, however, expect other mutants to object so passionately to their mission. Every day that they protested his heart sank deeper.
There was a soft knock at the library doorway. Hank emerged from the depth of his thoughts suddenly and turned towards the sound. Jean Grey was the first of his longtime comrades to enter, smiling at him warmly. Marie Charleston followed with Bobby Drake strolling nonchalantly behind them, chugging from a large can of energy drink. He shut the door behind them before they all sat down.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Hank said as he sat down at the head of the table. He began preparing himself a cup of tea from the pot and set at the center of the table. “As you all know, the start of our little endeavor has been nothing short of… engrossing...”
“You can say that again,” Marie remarked before taking a swig from her water bottle. Hank nodded and took a sip of his tea before continuing.
“I thought it would be nice to take some time to gather our bearings and process the events of the last few months,” he said. “Are there any concerns or motions to start us with?”
Bobby’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Robert?”
“Okay, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: teenagers are totally perverts,” Bobby said with mock earnest. “Jean, I’m proposing you telepathically cull their sexual impulses.”
Jean rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s unethical from medical, developmental, and psychological standpoints…” She glanced at Hank for support. He winced as he cleared his throat and took off his glasses, wiping them clean with a cloth.
“Yes, it most certainly is.”
Bobby conceded the point. “Alrighty then. How about we ban yoga pants for anyone under the age of eighteen? For boys and girls, just to be safe.”
There appeared to be no serious objections – only furrowed brows and mild exasperation.
“All in favor?” Hank asked. Everyone’s hands half-heartedly rose, except for Bobby’s whose shot up. Hank shrugged and sipped his tea. “Motion passed.”
Bobby clapped his hands with gusto. “Woo! Democracy in action!”
“While I would hate to speak for Hank, I think the purpose of our meeting was to discuss other matters,” Jean suggested with a friendly glare directed toward Bobby. “Student reports, updates on the protests, progress on the institute’s latest research project…”
“How ‘bout teammates missin’-in-action?” Marie interjected, gesturing to the empty chair at the table. “Does anybody know how Logan’s been of late?”
The four quietly looked at each other with unease. Bobby then looked at the cardboard box in the corner of the room. It was propped up on one side by a stick with a string attached to it and a six pack of Moosehead Lager was underneath it.
“Can’t be good,” he said with a sigh. “Beer trap didn’t work. That’s like the third staff meeting…” Marie promptly punched him in the arm.
“This ain’t a joke, Bobby.”
“You think I’m joking? I had to check out like five BevMo!s to find a decent Canadian beer!”
Hank shook his head with a sigh as Bobby and Marie bickered. “Jean?”
“I wish I knew. He barely even speaks to me these days, but it’s obvious that something’s wrong,” Jean said somberly as she cradled her tea cup. “Maybe it’s time we find out what…”
********************************************************************
Logan sat at the edge of the Xavier estate’s boating dock, one leg sprawled out and the other hunched up to his chest. One arm hung off his arched knee, a half-smoked cigar in hand, as he gazed out across the vast lake at sundown. A cowboy sat upside down next to him with a pack of cigars and a Zippo lighter in it. He took a puff from the stogie in hand and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly.
Although he found some form of tranquility in the estate’s cemetery and the surrounding orchards, the docks were where he found the most peace. It was there, somewhere on the edge between the scientific advancements of the future found in the institute and estate’s open natural expanse, where Logan felt like the observer that he had become, free to come and go between the two worlds that he inhabited. The world of man was changing and he didn’t quite belong in it anymore. Maybe he never did…
During his respite, Logan was blocking out the sounds of teenagers talking, laughing, and running about in the distance, instead choosing to soak in the warm sun and feel the cool autumn breeze. The mansion had gotten awfully crowded in recent months for his tastes. Research staff and new students moved about, mindlessly prattling on and chatting amongst themselves, going about their studies and research, building something… It was of no concern to him because he had nothing to contribute. He wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t even formally educated. All he was, and has ever been, was a murderer; a weapon; a tool for others to exact their will or at worst his own.
He rested the cigar on his lips and glanced down to his knuckles, examining the discolored calluses that formed over where his adamantium claws emerged from. He rubbed them gently and exhaled smoke from his nose. The staff and students were unsettled by him. Scared of him. If only they knew the truth: he was but a relic of the past; a war machine running out of steam; a tired old man with no other place to go. Who else would have him?
Logan took another puff from his cigar and retrieved it from his mouth, exhaling a puff of smoke. It dissipated into the air above the lake. He let his thoughts dissipate similarly… that is, until a woman’s voice called out to him gently from the back of his mind.
“Logan… Logan, it’s Jean… I’ve been wanting to speak with you… Please come back to the mansion…”
With a bit of a tired sigh, Logan took one last puff from his cigar and put it out on dock, and left it behind with his hat, cigars, and Zippo. Jean had been trying to summon him periodically throughout the evening. He reckoned it was finally time to stop avoiding her.
********************************************************************
Beneath the Xavier Institute in the lower levels of the facility, Logan walked through the sliding doorway of the X-Men’s medical bay. He stopped suddenly when he realized the lights of the room were dimmed unusually low. In the center of the woman, a woman with long red hair tied back sat in a white lab coat on a table with her back to him. He recognized her scent and body language in an instant.
“Jean?” Logan said, narrowing his eyes. “What is all this?”
Jean turned around on the table, crossing her legs in the process. She moved a lollipop to her mouth, taking a suck of it, and smiled flirtatiously.
“Well, hey there, Mr. Logan,” Jean said playfully. She held up a clipboard and looked over. “According to our records, you’re about thirty-five years past your annual check-up.”
Jean set down the clipboard and hopped off of the examination bed, grabbing an examination gown and spinning it around in her hand while she continued to work on the lollipop. “Are you ready to change into something a little more… comfortable?”
She tossed the gown across the room at Logan. He knocked it away with his hand.
“I’ll pass,” he grunted. He turned away from her, heading for the door. The sliding doors to the medical bay opened, but before he could pass through them there was a telekinetic tug at his flannel’s collar. He gritted his teeth at being held in place by the invisible force.
“Nuh-uh,” Jean said as she walked towards him. She spun him around with her telekinesis and the sliding door shut behind him, trapping him in place. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Grr…”
“Oh, come on, Logan,” she said coyly, running her finger down his chest. “I’m one of the world’s most powerful telepaths. You think I don’t know that you’ve always wanted to play doctor with me?”
Logan lurched forward and grabbed her by the arms violently.
“Damnit, Jeanie!” he barked at her. “Quit screwin’ around!”
Jean’s eyes flared and she broke his grasp on her with a telekinetic shove, taking a step back in the process. It was clear that his sense of humor and mischief was in poor form, and to that end she was no longer willing to play around, either. She tossed the lollipop aside and jabbed a finger at him.
“Okay, Logan. The kid gloves are off,” she began. “It’s time to drop the selfish loner crap! We all thought you had finally gotten over that and learned how to be a part of the family, but clearly not, so here it is: We’re all worried about you. You haven’t been yourself in months. Walking through the halls like a ghost, not giving your friends a second glance, only talking to us when there’s a mission…”
Jean leaned in closer to Wolverine, reaching to touch his face gently.
“Whatever you’re going through, please, tell us. Let us help you…”
Logan hung his head down and sighed. “Fine,” he relented.
He stepped passed her and walked toward the center of the medical bay, stopping before the examination bed with his back to her. He paused for a moment, his head still down, and he closed his eye. He slowly began to unbutton his long sleeve flannel, first at the cuffs then at the torso.
“You wanna play doctor…” Logan loosened the flannel from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Jean’s eyes widened and she gasped in horror at what she saw.
Countless scars, lesions, carcinomas, and melanomas covered his discolored arms and torso. Dried blood and puss covered his wounds. He turned to face her with a look of tired humiliation and shame.
“Then let’s play doctor.”
********************************************************************
The Indian Ocean.
Several miles off of the coast of Hammer Bay, Genosha.
A half-dozen platforms and buildings, connected by bridges and struts, made up a marine decontamination facility in Genosha’s surrounding body of ocean. Its construction was in the process of being completed. To celebrate, a collection of United Nations officials, diplomats, private investors, and businessmen were invited to tour the decontamination facility that promised to cleanse the ocean of crude oil. These men and women stood before a man in a white short sleeved shirt, khaki pants, and a yellow hard hat. He was leading them through the facility, reviewing the origin of the platform.
“During the most recent civil conflict that Genosha faced, a type of ‘oil garden’ being grown in the ocean surrounding the island was attacked by mutant forces. Explosions caused the crude to be spilled for miles and massive fires erupted in the sea. Coupled with a tear in the electromagnetic field at the heart of the island, this oil spill and the resulting fires caused one of the greatest ecological disasters in the history of the world. The relief effort was also one of the greatest international collaborations in the history of the world. As such, we hope this platform will stand long after its purpose has been served as a symbol of nature’s resilience and social accountability.”
The tour group began clapping proudly and the project lead smiled graciously. When the applause eased, he began to say something when a violent earthquake shook the room. The tour group began chatting and speculating amongst themselves about what was happening.
“Everyone find some cover! I’ll try to figure out –“
Before the project lead could finish his sentence, the shaking increased violently and knocked many of the group to the ground. Machines exploded and pipes burst, flooding the room with filthy sea water and diluted crude in waves. The men and women struggled to move to safety when pink and purple energy portals spontaneously manifested across the room, cackling with electricity. Horrific screams emerged with the portals along with demonic beasts, many of which flew on pterodactyl-like wings, and all of which attacked the tour group. The scene was that of utter chaos.
Of course, to the three terrorists who entered the pump room, it looked more like a thing of beauty. No water was flooding the room; no portals were exploded with electricity; and no demonic beasts were flying about attacking their prey. There were only human men and women scrambled into each other, swiping and kicking at the air, and crying loudly in fetal positions.
It was all a master illusion, manipulating their mental faculties.
“Nice job, lady,” Avalanche said to Mastermind with a nod. She winked at him in response.
“Just like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Sauron bared his claws as he eyed the flailing humans.
“Speaking of fish – ” he said as he took a stop forward.
“Stop!” a man’s voice commanded. The trio turned just as Cyclops walked into the room from behind them. “Let’s try to keep it professional. Remember, we have a job to do here.”
The three begrudgingly acknowledged his orders and began to secure the humans.
********************************************************************
Naked with the exception of his plaid boxers, Logan laid on a table that slid him into the large tubular machine at the end of the medical bay. It was a highly advanced diagnostic tool utilizing technology inspired by the Shi’ar and adjusted for human-mutant physiology. It hummed lowly, then whirred and clicked away rapidly as Jean operated its various functions and ran numerous body scans. Diagnostic information was displayed on Jean’s monitored and catalogued in the computer’s databases.
Jean spent over an hour examining her longtime friend and analyzing the data that was produced. When she had finally completed every last test available to her, she sighed and pressed a button on the console. Logan’s body slid out of the machine and he opened his eyes, tiredly, and gradually sat up.
“We’re finished,” Jean said with resignation. “I’ve run every body and diagnostic scan available to us, and… We’re finished.”
Logan nodded his head quietly and reached for his clothes. He began putting his flannel shirt back on first. Silence fell between them as he dressed. Jean continued reading through the reports. She wasn’t in disbelief; she wasn’t trying to understand them better; she was merely stalling for the strength to push on. Finally, she took a deep breath and moved around the console, approaching her friend.
“Logan… This is so hard to tell you, but…”
“Aggressive Stage IV Skin Cancer,” Logan interjected simply. “Ever since that nuke went off in New Mexico all those months back. It’s spread t’ just about every organ in me, includin’ my brain, I know.” He stood from the table as he pulled up his jeans and turned away from her, buckling his pants in the process. “Already been around the world, talked t’ every doctor, mystic, shaman, and monk that’d have me. They all say the damn thing.”
Jean covered her mouth. Tears began to well up in her eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder at her.
“There ain’t no savin’ me, darlin’.”
“We’re your friends, Logan. Your family. We deserved to know!” she suddenly cried, balling her fists and fighting back tears. It was easier to be angry at him. “We specialize in this. Now more than ever we could have been there for you, could have helped you. Why didn’t you let us?!”
Logan just looked away from her again. “I’ve lived a long life. If it’s my time it’s my time,” he said quietly. “You’d have all just have been neglectin’ folks who really needed you.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make!” Jean shot back, breathing heavily. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and hugged him tightly close to her, pressing her head into his as she sobbed and protested. “We’re not… I’m not going to you let you die... I’ve lost too many people in the last few years, I can’t lose you too!”
He stiffened as she touched his disfigured body, even if it was over his clothes, but he closed his eyes and slowly eased himself into her. He reached up and touched her arm with his fingers, gripping it slightly. He loved her and always had, but now more than ever she was breaking his heart. He was going to die, much sooner rather than later, and he knew she would fight to his last breath to keep him alive even if it was in vain. However, for the briefest of moments, he took solace in feeling that for the first time in months he didn’t feel so damn alone…
It was a moment that wouldn’t last. The medical bay’s communication system came to life and interrupted them with an urgent message from Hank.
{{ Wolverine and Phoenix, please report to the school recreation room immediately! }}
Jean and Logan loosened their embrace. She wiped the tears from her eyes and he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. They looked to each other, a silent agreement made between the two of them, and then they moved to leave the medical bay.
********************************************************************
In a matter of moments, Jean and Logan were exiting an elevator from the lower levels into the mansion hallway. Several students rushed past them with a mixture of excitement and concern; the two of them followed suit. When they reached the recreation room, several students were surrounding the big screen television and the couches in front of it. It was there they found Hank and Marie sitting with the students, fixedly watching the news program on air, with Bobby standing at their side.
“Hank, what is it?” Jean asked imperatively.
Hank didn’t respond. He simply steepled his fingers and leaned in attentively, taking a deep breath. Bobby crossed his arms and looked at Jean and Logan, nodding to the television.
They looked at the television with the group and saw what looked like a large oil platform with several struts surrounding it connected by bridges from the perspective of a news helicopter. The helicopter was circling the platform, its view and thus that of the viewers changing perspective constantly. Several men and women in suits were being marched out onto the core platform by what looked like members of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
{{ We have a chopper on scene, high above the marine decontamination facility off of the coast of Genosha, where mutant terrorists have stormed the facility and taken visiting diplomats and inspectors hostage, }} the television’s news broadcaster reported. {{ Wait a moment now. Somebody else is emerging from the facility… }}
A man with brown hair and a black combat suit exited the main core’s building. The camera zoomed in closer to him, revealing a gold visor with a ruby quartz lens. Cyclops began calling the shots, ordering the Brotherhood to move the hostages about, when suddenly he looked up to the helicopter and the camera pointed at him. A ruby glimmer ran across his visor’s lens.
“It looks like our old friend’s found his way back on prime time,” Bobby quipped. Hank stood up and his teammates looked to him, awaiting his command.
“X-Men, report to the ready room. It’s time that we put a stop to this.”
********************************************************************
TO BE CONTINUED…
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NEXT ISSUE: The X-Men and the X.S.E. join forces to intervene on the attack led by Cyclops and the Brotherhood of Mutants. However, when Havok assembles a strike team to do just that, not every member of Beast’s X-Men will be drafted…
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MAKE WAY FOR… NEWMANIAM!
Feedback is as feedback does.
Any love, hate, or meager shrugs can be sent to [email protected]!
I’ll keep this short and sweet: It’s great to be back! Look forward to more. Also, there may be some questions about continuity and where this story falls. Fret not. All will be answered soon.
Cory Wiegel
July 20th, 2016