Issue #4 by Jake Hawkins
Feb 2024 |
WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NEW YORK XAVIER FAMILY MANSION
The shower in the master bedroom's connected bathroom hummed softly with the sound of running water, accompanying the melodic tunes of David Bowie playing on the sound system. Charles Xavier, the sole occupant of the sprawling thirty-room mansion nestled on a picturesque forty-five acres of land, sang softly to himself as 'Heroes' concluded its rendition on his Pandora radio selection. Seated on a specially built bench inside the shower, he allowed the water to cascade over him, gazing at his state-of-the-art touch remote wheelchair just outside the waterfall-like stream. Despite facing numerous trials over his forty-plus years of life, Xavier found himself uncertain if he was truly ready for the challenges of the day ahead. He had meticulously reviewed his syllabus the night before, ensuring it was suitable for the occasion. Exiting the bathroom in a dark blue cotton blend robe, Xavier headed directly towards his closet. The sliding doors effortlessly opened as his wheelchair approached within three feet. He carefully selected the outfit he had chosen for the first day of full classes. Armed with the notebook containing today's lecture points and the week's assignment layout, he sighed, already feeling a profound sense of exhaustion, the cause of which eluded him. The only answer he could find, after three months of settling back into the mansion, was that taking up the offered position would keep him busy. This was his hope, especially as the last year and a half had left him feeling listless since leaving someone behind. While waiting for the chauffeur service that would transport him into the city, Xavier grappled with a lingering feeling of apathy. He listened to the Daily Bugle news network, wondering if their report on the anniversary of the Coney Island attack contributed to his anxiety. As he tuned into a roundtable panel of journalists discussing the impact of the attack on relations between humans and mutants, Xavier shook his head in disgust at the narrative being spun. “While the attack and loss of lives were absolutely heinous, we cannot deny that Magneto’s actions forced the hand of the president and Congress to put in place a litany of federal laws in favor of mutants,” one journalist pointed out. “You’re trying to say that the US was strong-armed into giving mutants rights alongside the rest of the world? You think they should have done differently?” another replied assertively. “Now that is not what I am trying to convey! What I am saying is that our response since the Coney Island attack and the fact that the man who perpetrated it is still at large—” Xavier couldn't help but shake his head in disgust at the narrative being spun on the news network. While not surprised, this trend had started when Governors in Michigan and California began speaking out for Mutant rights during their reelection campaigns. Certainly, they met with him, took photographs, and had expensive lunches. Charles was no cynic, and he had to be honest with himself—then and now. They did listen to him for hours about the issues facing his people. However, it didn't require his telepathic abilities for him to harbor doubts about the sincerity behind it all. As the driver finally pulled up the long driveway to the mansion, Charles felt a sense of relief. He hoped that the ride into the city would provide some respite and perhaps help ease his unsettled mind. YONKERS, NEW YORK LOX UNIVERSITY Charles navigated through the bustling halls of the university's central administration building, seeking the office he had in mind. Upon finding it, he entered and approached the front desk, greeted by a work-study student. “Professor Xavier, it's a pleasure to meet you,” the student said, extending a handshake. “Dean Pelton is expecting you. I’ll let her know you’re on your way in.” Returning the warm smile, Charles made his way to the dean's office. A friendly "Come on in" reached his ears as he pushed open the door. Dean Laura Pelton looked up from her computer and desk phone. Charles, pausing in the doorway, debated whether to enter immediately or wait, considering her apparent busyness. However, she motioned for him to come in, and he obliged, taking a moment to observe her wrapping up a phone conversation. “I understand. I appreciate your time. I have one of my new professors here, so we can reconvene this afternoon if you’re free. Sounds great,” the dean concluded her call, her smile towards Xavier appearing somewhat forced. Charles couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Despite being overqualified due to his history as an activist, recent years had posed challenges for him to secure a tenured position. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt with my early arrival,” Charles apologized, extending a hand to shake with the seemingly hesitant dean. “No trouble at all, Charles. I appreciate the promptness, trust me. We have an overdue need for someone with your reputation for professionalism on the teaching staff,” Dean Pelton remarked, her emotions registering as muddled through Charles's telepathy. “I did have some questions about the syllabus you submitted. I’m assuming you have a few minutes to go over it?” Charles raised his eyebrows, surprised by the unexpected queries about the materials he planned to present in class so close to the semester beginning. “Yes, of course. Were there some sort of concerns I hadn’t addressed in our correspondence over the summer?” Charles settled back in his chair, curious to hear the concerns she had about his coursework. He couldn't shake the feeling that his hiring might not be something she particularly favored, and perhaps it was the school’s board of directors he had to thank for his newfound employment. “No, you were very, ahem, thorough in your breakdown of what would be covered. I just wanted to broach the topic of how some of your…non-mutant students might feel about sections of the genetics class.” “Well, I don’t believe anything I’ve included in my planned lectures is particularly controversial, nor does it deviate from anything I’ve stated in my dissertation from Oxford, nor my book that the board has decided to keep at this university’s library.” Dean Pelton offered him a curt smile. “I understand that, Charles, I do. However, as I am sure you’re aware, as a man who has represented your people for decades, how others might feel about your approach.” “Then I can assure you, Dean Pelton, they will be more than welcome to voice their feelings in my classroom,” Xavier rebutted, unflinching under the scrutinizing stare from the dean. Hours later, Charles found himself wrapping up his second class of the day. A brief check of his watch affirmed his satisfaction with his timing. As he prepared to conclude, he reminded the students about the upcoming quiz and encouraged them to review assigned material. However, chattering from the middle to the back rows drew his attention, and his gaze fixed on a blonde-haired sophomore attempting to impress a red-haired young woman. “Did you have a question, sir?” Charles inquired, catching the sophomore off guard, and he seemed almost offended by the attempt to single him out. He smirked as half the class waited for his rebuttal, ready to seize the opportunity of attention seemingly handed to him. "Yeah, I wanted to know if you expect us to believe any of this shit is scientifically accurate. I mean, maybe just a handful of people like your ancestors were sipping bleach and standing too close to microwaves or something." The room echoed with the derisive laughter of students, amused by the skepticism in his tone. "I mean, who's to say there'll be any more of y'all ten years from now? Shit, five years from now if De Sannas gets in office-" Xavier, maintaining his composure, responded with a kind smile, choosing not to engage with the provocations. Before he could offer a rebuttal, a freshman with wavy brown hair, adorned in a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses in the row behind, chimed in. "If you don't like the subject matter he's covering, then you're in luck! You've got a few options, like shutting up and walking out of here." The freshman, with red-tinted shades, retorted calmly. The sophomore turned his attention toward the young man, sizing him up on the spot. "I got a right to say my piece on whatever we're supposed to be studying, man. Including him saying all of us or our kids are going to turn into-" "Into what? A loud-mouthed moron like yourself? Well, let me be the first one, on behalf of everyone in this hall, to not wish that on ANY of our kids, including yours." Laughter rippled through the room, a collective response to the freshman's sharp comeback. Sensing the need to bring an end to the spectacle and the class for the day, Xavier spoke up. "Alright, you're all dismissed. Again, make sure you go over everything before our next class on Thursday." The room came alive with the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor, shoes squeaking, and the shuffle of students exiting the lecture hall. “An age like no other” Scott Summers delicately adjusted his glasses, ensuring they sat just right as he scratched behind his ear. His focus danced between hurriedly scribbling notes on a flashcard and absorbing the dense information sprawled across the open textbook on his desk. The first day of courses weighed on him like an oppressive force, the workload already threatening to drown him. He promised himself a few weeks before contemplating it fully, but a nagging thought insisted—maybe his mother was onto something; perhaps his ambitions were too lofty. Nevertheless, the notion of dropping even a single class was one he defiantly rejected. With a resigned sigh, Scott let his freshly sharpened pencil drop onto the desk. Overwhelmed by the academic demands after just one day, he considered taking a short break to clear his head. The memory of his mother's struggles, working hard to provide for him and Alex, flashed in his mind. The idea of a mutant attending university had once been a jest, an absurd tale. Now, it was a reality owed to his mother—an opportunity he couldn't afford to squander. Shifting his gaze from the textbooks, Scott's phone vibrated on the laptop mouse pad, a timely interruption to his contemplations. A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw the caller ID. He swiped to answer, playfully teasing his brother Alex the moment the call connected. The carefree laughter on the other end warmed Scott's heart—a reminder of home. "Missing your big brother already? I don't blame you," Scott teased. "Mom just wanted me to call and make sure you did your laundry this weekend. No reason for me to miss you," Alex joked. "Man of the house now or something?" Scott toyed, leaning back in his chair, his gaze drifting over the expansive athletic fields on campus. "More man than you were, now that I'm the first sophomore to make varsity this year!" Alex's excitement burst through the phone, and Scott couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. A knot in his gut reminded him he wouldn't be there for Alex's first game. "I'm proud of you, man. Should I expect anything less than a state title this year?" Scott smirked, his tone brimming with pride. "Of course not!" Alex's confidence echoed through the phone. "Is Mom around?" Scott asked, anticipating the answer. "Nah, she picked up some extra hours all week. I'm picking her up around 11." Scott sighed for the third time that evening but held back his emotions. He didn't want his brother burdened with his feelings. With the football season starting on Friday, Alex needed to keep his mind on the game. "Just don't leave her waiting all night. Try to get there early, alright?" Scott reminded his brother, who reassured him with the familiar tone of a sibling who knew how to ease worries. "Relax, you know I will be. Besides, you need to make sure you don't flunk out of that place. You're all she talks about to anyone since you left." Scott smiled, appreciating his brother's effort to keep him connected to their mother. As the conversation shifted, Alex's tone became more serious. "Hey Scott, you see those things on the news that the little bald fat dude senator has been pushing? It's been all over the internet, man." Scott flipped open his laptop, navigating to the desktop application of his Mess Hall social media account. He scrolled through the hashtag, filled with videos from the hearings in D.C. on the military creations that had caused panic in the mutant community. "There's not a chance they get these things approved, man. Don't let this garbage get you riled up about the wrong stuff," Scott tried to ease his brother's worries, though even he wasn't sure if he believed his own words as he watched highlights of Senator Trask's presentation. "I don't know, Scott. The last few years, I feel like things have only gotten worse. You know how things are here. Could you imagine if it got out that I had abilities?" The fear in his brother's voice stabbed at Scott's gut. "Alex, you're getting lost in your own head. Keep your focus on taking care of Mom and that playbook, alright? I'll be back by Thanksgiving, and we can marvel over whatever ring they give you for winning states." Scott stopped scrolling, deciding to take his own advice. "Yeah, you're right. Hey, I'll call you from the bus on Friday, alright?" "Yeah, man. Take care. Tell Mom I'll try to call her tomorrow." Scott hung up and closed his laptop, tossing it onto his bed. He faced the view of the fields, eyes landing on the lone figure racing up and down the soccer practice field. Admiring her commitment, Scott decided to follow suit. He gathered his books, flashcards, laptop, and his favorite headphones, a gift from Alex. Planning a long night in the library, he aimed to buckle down and make the first weeks of college a bit easier on himself. Ten minutes later, he stepped off the elevator inside Sheek Hall and made his way to the library. Before reaching the back entrance, he spotted his genetics professor studying the school events board. "Professor Xavier?" Charles turned his chair, recognizing Scott from earlier. "Mr. Summers, was it?" Charles and Scott shook hands. "Getting a jump on your studies, I see. I like the initiative." "Thanks, just want to make sure I at least make it till the end of the year. What's got you here this late?" Scott wondered, hoping he didn't sound too nosy. "Oh, just trying to get acclimated to the place as much as I can. It's my first year too, you know." Charles answered before his gaze returned to the flyers on the bulletin board. "One of these gatherings advertised for homecoming weekend caught my attention as well, coincidentally enough." Scott looked up at the flyer that Professor Xavier was interested in and was shocked to see what was printed against the neon pink and purple poster that took up a nice chunk of the right side of the board. "Some people are just too bold. Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, but it's a thing," Scott remarked after reading the poster. He had seen the same footage the rest of the world had seen from the Coney Island Massacre. He wasn't interested in anything the Brotherhood movement would be pushing and was somewhat upset they were allowed on campus. He read the location once more, wondering where exactly that was, then figured, well, maybe they weren't. But clearly, there were people who sympathized with the creator of the mutant supremacy ideology and wanted their presence known across Lox University. "Yes, Scott, those were the same sentiments I was feeling about this, honestly." Xavier bit back a chuckle as he saw the incredulous look of confusion on the young man’s face. "I apologize. I’m usually very careful about respecting one's privacy with my abilities, but your feelings were radiating off you, hard to keep them quiet it seems." Scott marveled at the revelation from the professor, even more astonishing was the amazing power with which he apparently had marvelous control. “I knew you were a mutant, but I had no idea-” Xavier chuckled. “Yes, although as active as I have been on the front lines for our people, I try not to broadcast my abilities too much.” “Trust me, Professor. I get it. I don’t wear these for the fashion statement.” Scott turned back to the flyer, jerking his thumb in its direction. “As for this garbage, like everything else related to the nonsense they spew, it's only going to hurt mutants rather than help us. You’d think people would see that by now.” “I understand your train of thought, Scott. But unfortunately, with any issue this delicate, people will always let emotions triumph over logical conclusions. This has been an issue for as long as the Brotherhood movement has existed, dare I say since I was in post-grad.” Xavier revealed, his explanation keeping Scott’s attention. “If I can give a suggestion, dear boy, try not to judge any of your classmates that may attend this function too harshly, if at all.” Scott pondered Charles's suggestion as the professor slowly turned away from the bulletin board. “I guess sometimes it's hard for me to wrap my head around a line of thinking. I guess that’s close-minded of me, though it's not intentional.” “Only if you’re unwilling to take the time to look at anything from a different angle. That doesn’t mean you have to agree. But it does go a long way towards extending the olive branch to our fellow man…or in this case, mutant.” Charles advised further, giving Scott a substantial amount to chew on. Scott nodded, appreciative of the insight. As Charles started back in the direction Scott came, realizing his driver was surely waiting on him, he couldn’t help but pause and turn back around enough to bend the young man’s ear once more. “I hadn’t made the announcement in all my classes yet, but I am planning a weekly ‘Mutant History’ group that will meet in the AV room. If you manage to have some free time, you should stop by.” Charles gave Scott a nod of departure following the offer before continuing off. Scott took one last, long look at the Brotherhood poster and kept walking towards the library. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the sweating red-headed girl in a Kotaro hoodie coming in from one of the side doors that led into the hall. They bumped into each other, sending the books under Scott’s arms to the floor. Scott opened his mouth to apologize until he was left in utter amazement by two things at that very moment. The girl in front of him, who he realized had been the one he saw on the field from his room, was more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen before. She also levitated his books back into his open arms with just a gesture of her hand guiding them. “Sorry about that. Take it easy.” She jogged past him and up the stairs, leaving Scott to stare after her, his jaw slightly hanging. “Wow.” Was all he could utter. WASHINGTON, D.C. COZY’S KEY STEAKHOUSE The maitre d’ of the illustrious five-star steakhouse swung open the grand double doors, revealing a secluded and opulent private room bathed in the warm glow of ambient lighting. "I’ll send the waiter along for your order momentarily," he announced with a deferential bow. “No need, I won’t be staying that long.” The plump, balding man in a perfectly tailored gray suit dismissed the offer with a wave, his demeanor signaling a single-minded focus on business. Once the double doors closed behind him, he entered the banquet room, where a small group of men and women were already seated, engaged in various stages of savoring their appetizers or salads. His beady eyes swept across each fellow senator he had managed to corral into this clandestine meeting. Some had been adversaries since his first step on Capitol Hill, but today, there was no room for petty squabbles. Senator Bolivar Trask had come to a profound realization over the past few years, particularly now that the specter of extinction loomed for the first time in centuries. “You want to get on with it, Trask, or are you going to sit there like the condescending bastard you are,” remarked a woman at the far end of the table once he had settled into his chair. He responded with a stern but wry smile. “By now, I assume all of you have perused the dossier on my creations since the hearing.” He interpreted the absence of disagreement as confirmation and pressed on. “As you can all agree, I don’t have the luxury of waiting for bleeding-heart pacifists who view mutants as people to wring their hands over matters of humanity, not after Coney Island, not after that incident in South Carolina a few weeks ago.” “And you want us to go scrounging for votes. As much as I support what you and Bill are attempting here, Trask, I’m no beggar. I didn’t get here with my hand out,” Senator Wambs protested from his chair, expressing dissatisfaction with what he believed Trask had convened them to discuss. “I’m not telling you to scrounge or have your hat in your hand,” Trask retorted sharply. “What I am here to convey is that after the demonstration Stryker is preparing, you will be prepared to do whatever it takes for us to secure the Mutant Defense funding bill much sooner than later.” “What demonstration are you referring to?” Another senator interjected, leaning forward with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “One you’ll all be receiving links to, granting access to a private server for observation when the operation begins,” Trask answered briskly. “Sergeant Stryker believes there's a nest of Brotherhood sympathizing mutants in a village off the coast of Brazil. He will be coordinating a small strike team, supported by two of our Sentinel Mark I models.” Trask observed with subdued and constrained enthusiasm as the senators exchanged murmurs and grumbles at the table. “These robots of yours, will they be piloted by US soldiers?” Senator Brown inquired, her intrigue getting the better of her. “Some of the very best men and women, handpicked by Stryker, will be inside the cockpits of the Mark I’s. In emergency situations, remote piloting is an option,” Trask replied, delivering the carefully practiced sales pitch he had honed during the plane ride to D.C. “You let us see something of substance from Stryker and your toys, we can talk,” Senator Wambs agreed gruffly. “Seconded. And I’ll go a step further; you’ll have the full strength of my office behind your efforts if I like what I see,” Senator Brown added. One by one, the gathered politicians fell in line, their initial skepticism giving way to tentative interest in what Trask was offering. He had done his part; now the fate of his proposal rested in William's capable hands. SHIELD OUTPOST JUST OUTSIDE UBATUBA, BRAZIL William Stryker felt every ache in his bones as he stomped down the halls toward the central command of the outpost. Three days in the oppressive heat of the jungle had taken its toll, the nearby ocean only intensifying the humidity to unbearable levels. Yet, Stryker would not be deterred. His intel teams had been monitoring mutant activity in this country for months, and the last few had brought them to the doorstep of something he hoped would be substantial. He stood behind a pair of military officers at their stations, overseeing the intricate surveillance equipment being utilized to monitor the entire village. “What have we got?” He demanded to know rather than ask. The startled officers quickly cobbled together answers they hoped would be sufficient for the Sergeant. “Air scans from the sentinels show that there are at least a dozen mutant signatures in the village,” one of the officers informed him. The information received only a gruff grumble from the sergeant, who waited for the other officer to follow up. “We are currently waiting for confirmation from the tech team on if some of the propaganda being posted across various social media circles is, in fact, coming from one of the homes with the X-gene signatures.” They hastily gave their report, which almost drew a pleased look from their commanding officer. Almost. “I want something that looks like something so I can give the green light for infantry. Get me that within the next twenty-four hours. Is that understood?” They both nodded quickly and got right back to work. Stryker stormed away, cursing under his breath with every step. He expected to have created results by now, and all this waiting didn’t do his operation any favors. Most information on the Brotherhood’s key members had been scarcer than ever since their leader’s disappearance, and this was unacceptable to Stryker. He had told General Ross, President Cherryh, and anyone else that he would be responsible for bringing that helmet-wearing maniac to justice or sending him to his grave. Yet, there had not been enough of an inkling for Stryker and his elite team to act on, until recently. A few traced IP addresses and cracked VPNs had led Stryker to the coast of Brazil, a place any other man would be enjoying, but not him. The only thing that had been on William Stryker’s mind since landing in this country was the thought of dealing a crippling blow to the monsters he felt were trying not just to overtake his country, but the world. “Sergeant Stryker?” He turned away from the map screens in front of him towards the soldier who had called his name. “There is an urgent call for you.” Stryker huffed and stormed past the soldier, heading towards the communications array that was protected by a private server. He assumed it was Trask calling to let him know how his whining and dining of those useless-suited bastards went. He ignored the salute greeting he received from the pair of armed men standing outside the always-secured door before it slid open for him. To his surprise, which didn’t happen often if at all, the hologram form in front of him was not of Trask, but of the director of SHIELD herself. “Sergeant Stryker, sorry to pull you away from your op. But I thought there were a few things we needed to discuss as personally as both our circumstances will allow at the moment.” Maria turned around from whatever preoccupied her where she was calling from, giving William her full attention. “Maria, it has been a while. From what I’ve been told you’re currently fighting the good fight same as I am. Any progress?” Stryker wondered. He was intrigued as to why Hill was reaching out now. He had been told she wasn’t a fan of his nor Trask's so-called “open aggressiveness” on the mutant issue. But her own problems with the only mutant nearly as big a problem as the Brotherhood’s leader was surely one of many things keeping the director’s hands full currently. “Not as much as I would like. I’m sure you can understand that.” Maria replied briskly. “I’ve been told you have two of Trask’s combat-ready prototypes running air surveillance. “That is correct. We are in the process of identifying the crop of homes where the POI’s are laying their heads. We’ll have sooner than later.” “I’m glad to hear that. Should you be successful, the president has asked me to inform you personally that he would be interested in helping you and Trask get the bill for funding passed. With utmost discretion, of course.” Stryker smiled like a cat with the fattest canary in its paw. “Please tell the president that we appreciate that. Would you possibly be interested in us deploying some of the Mark I’s to the location?” Maria smirked, recognizing the smugness that Stryker was clearly letting overwhelm him. “You worry about landing your fish. Let me worry about catching mine.” Stryker gave her a curt nod. “I do have some recent intelligence reports on possible Brotherhood encampments we believe to be in a few areas not too far from where I believe you’re currently positioned.” “Send over the information and I’ll have Agent Woo’s team take a look,” Maria answered after a moment of careful deliberation. “Don’t allow whatever you’re doing to turn into an incident that can be weaponized against our interests, Sergeant Stryker. The president is turning a blind eye to your activities as it is. Neither he nor I for that matter need to deal with that kind of blowback. Not when these walking WMDs need to be corralled immediately.” Maria pressed a key on her wristwatch and cut the hologram abruptly. The door into the room slid open once again as one of the outpost’s lieutenants hurried into the room. “I’m sorry sir, but we have something you’ll want to see!” Stryker motioned for the lieutenant to get on with it as he led the way back out of the room. “We believe we have enough to initiate contact. A couple of channels we’ve been keeping an eye on-” The lieutenant pointed to a few different areas on the map of the village they’d stopped in front of. “We believe the supporters we’ve been tracking are at these locations.” “Sure enough for a greenlight?” Stryker demanded to know with a raised eyebrow. “I believe so, sir, yes.” “Alright, well then what are we waiting for? Turn this place into hell for these folks. Let’s get some answers.” DAVID STYLES LIBRARY LOX UNIVERSITY Scott rushed down the steps, zipping between students as fast as he could. He hit the floor the library was on and rushed down the hall. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he still had a few minutes to spare before the first club meeting began. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk once he entered the library and hurried towards the sets of conference rooms in the back. As he searched for the one Professor Xavier had scheduled to preoccupy for that evening, he stopped when he saw the professor in discussion with the Dean of Lox U herself. Not wanting to awkwardly walk past what looked to be a serious discussion, he decided to head the long way around a few rows of books to his destination. “I understand there was an incident after one of your lectures yesterday.” Dean Pelton stated flatly to Charles. Her folded arms and tight shoulders were enough to show him how displeased she was. “I wouldn’t call it in incident. That seems rather, well dramatic.” Charles's friendly and cordial demeanor was doing him no favors with the dean he could tell, but still, he wouldn’t meet her animosity with anything but. “I had a student's parents contact me because he felt and I quote ‘silenced’ in your classroom.” “He voiced his disagreement with the subject matter, and another student voiced their disagreement with his disagreement. I merely wrapped the lesson when it was time to do so.” “I hope I won’t be receiving these kinds of complaints all semester, Xavier.” The dean gave the statement with a hint of an ominous warning. “I should certainly hope not. Excuse me, I’m almost late for our first meeting. As you can see, the turnout seems to be better than I expected.” Xavier turned away and headed into the conference room. Dean Pelton stared at the back of his head, carefully stifling the seething annoyance she had with him. She stormed away after finally deciding to leave this problem for another day. Scott was so transfixed in trying not to stare at the girl who’d picked up his books for him that he didn’t feel his phone vibrating constantly from the stream of texts flooding it. As the professor entered the room, Scott finally noticed everyone, including the redhead on his mind for twenty-four hours, had suddenly pulled out their cells. “I see something has all of your att-” A pain seized the professor for a moment, a throng of emotions hitting him from everyone in the room. Slowly, pieces of their thoughts washed over him. How could this be allowed? God those are children. This is sick… Disgusting..I can’t Why did this happen? There can’t be a good reason- Xavier snatched up the remote to the flat-screen television mounted on the wall behind him and turned it on. Every channel was occupied by news footage of what he was sure each of his students was reacting to. “From what we have been told by the white house, there was strong intel that this village was a hive for a local nests of Brotherhood operatives. When they received confirmation that there were persons of interest in the village of Ubatuba, Secretary of Defense Ross and the president both agreed to sanction the operation.” Karen Page reported live from outside the white house. The banner across the bottom of the screen on the Daily Bugle News Network read the headline that Karen was giving further insight on. BROTHERHOOD OPERATIVES CAPTURED DURING RAID IN BRAZIL Following Karen’s initial report, they cut to B-roll as she continued to speak with the co-anchor. “I have to ask about some of the footage we are seeing here Karen. It looks like there are even some teenagers and children being cuffed and loaded into these containment vehicles.” The co-anchor stated heatedly, just as upset as every viewer in the room at the aftermath of what was clearly complete carnage. “Well, Robbie they have apparently decided on the ground to detain all mutants that they found until they could sort out which were part of the Brotherhood cell operating here, or which have ties to ones who may have escaped.” Xavier turned away from the TV, unable to watch any more of the camera panning across the bodies laying in the streets as the newscast continued its footage. “One thing is certain Robbie, Senator Trask’s inventions were a huge boost to the armed forces engaged in this operation, and this could certainly be a catalyst for the passing of the bill he’s suggested numerous times.” Xavier couldn’t help but look back up at the TV screen as two hulking robots skulked through the land, their cold red eyes scanning for any more of his brethren they could find a reason to massacre. TO BE CONTINUED IN ULTIMATE X-MEN #1 |