[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: High In The Skies Above The Middle East…]
Sean Cassidy sat in the fore of the passenger area of a C-130 Galaxy, the wound on his upper arm being tended to by a Marine medic. The medic regarded him with barely masked admiration, stealing glances at him in between stitch loops. Cassidy seemed to barely notice, simply looking down at the Interpol dossier on the table.
“Eyes on your work, Private,” John Proudstar commanded.
“Yes sir, Corporal,” the medic replied, focusing on his work.
“Don’t worry about fookin’ it up, lad,” Sean smirked, “Lasses dig scars, and my pretty face more than makes up for it.”
“Ha,” John chuckled, “you would be more worried about your looks. I guess if you had brains to match you wouldn’t have charged into that warehouse full of Republican Guardsmen.”
“If I were a smarter man, John, ye wouldn’t have anything over me.”
John nodded. “If you were a smarter man, two marine’s wives would be getting folded flags instead of their husbands back.” He placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder, and the Irishman caught a glimpse of John’s unit patch, a black bird with yellow and black striped wings wreathed in red flames. “I never believed my grandfather’s stories about spirits, but someone put you in Iraq for a reason, old friend.”
“Aye, my boss, and he’ll be none too pleased that Nefaria is still under a rock.”
“An Italian arms dealer selling to Iraq is not going to blend easily,” John replied. “He’ll be flushed out sooner or later. My squad is going back in as soon as we re-supply at base. The Thunderbirds will get your man, Irish.”
The intercom crackled and then erupted with the pilot’s voice. “INCOMI-”
An explosion rocked the plane as shrapnel tore gaping wounds into the side of the transport.
Sean Cassidy sat in the fore of the passenger area of a C-130 Galaxy, the wound on his upper arm being tended to by a Marine medic. The medic regarded him with barely masked admiration, stealing glances at him in between stitch loops. Cassidy seemed to barely notice, simply looking down at the Interpol dossier on the table.
“Eyes on your work, Private,” John Proudstar commanded.
“Yes sir, Corporal,” the medic replied, focusing on his work.
“Don’t worry about fookin’ it up, lad,” Sean smirked, “Lasses dig scars, and my pretty face more than makes up for it.”
“Ha,” John chuckled, “you would be more worried about your looks. I guess if you had brains to match you wouldn’t have charged into that warehouse full of Republican Guardsmen.”
“If I were a smarter man, John, ye wouldn’t have anything over me.”
John nodded. “If you were a smarter man, two marine’s wives would be getting folded flags instead of their husbands back.” He placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder, and the Irishman caught a glimpse of John’s unit patch, a black bird with yellow and black striped wings wreathed in red flames. “I never believed my grandfather’s stories about spirits, but someone put you in Iraq for a reason, old friend.”
“Aye, my boss, and he’ll be none too pleased that Nefaria is still under a rock.”
“An Italian arms dealer selling to Iraq is not going to blend easily,” John replied. “He’ll be flushed out sooner or later. My squad is going back in as soon as we re-supply at base. The Thunderbirds will get your man, Irish.”
The intercom crackled and then erupted with the pilot’s voice. “INCOMI-”
An explosion rocked the plane as shrapnel tore gaping wounds into the side of the transport.
“CONTAGION”
[NOW: The Skies Above Munich…]
“Scott,” Jean whispered, “we need to talk about this. I think Charles needs to know about what we’re doing.”
“Professor X is fully aware of our mission parameters,” Scott answered, perusing the file open on the transports computer. On it, the captured image of Wormwood running amok in the streets flickered.
“You know what I mean, Scott. Erik Lensherr has vowed to destroy him, he might take us working with his acolytes as a personal betrayal.”
“Charles would see the logic behind what we’re doing.”
“Then why not tell him?” Jean retored.
“Because his superiors wouldn’t. And in his position, he cannot afford to be compromised.”
Jean nodded, looking down sullenly. “You’ve examined all the angles.”
“It’s what I do, love. I don’t like surprises.”
“Cyclops, we’re on final approach,” Sean announced. “Ye might want to see this, lad.”
Scott made his way to the front of the Weapon X transport. He gave a casual glance at Sean, but the elder Irishman did not notice. His eyes were transfixed on the screen.
Scott viewed the panic in the streets below him and frowned. People were fleeing, but that is not what struck Scott as strange. What struck him as strange is that they were fleeing in all directions.
“What the Hell is going on down there?”
Whether he liked them or not, Scott was about to face a whole nest of surprises.
Sean activated the craft’s stealth package and guided it to a darkened stadium nearby.
Within minutes, Scott, Jean, Sean, Kitty and Bobby were making their way towards the center of the panic in blue jumpsuits with white piping and a white X on the left side of the chest. If anyone noticed that these oddly uniformed strangers were going towards the center of the disturbance rather than running away from it, they did not indicate it.
“Marvel Girl,” Scott said, “Link us up.”
{Psi-link established,} Marvel Girl responded.
{Weapon X, let’s go.} Scott thought.
Before they could advance, there was another scream and an explosion off to the left. They turned and watched as a young girl sprinted from cover inside a large building into the street. Suddenly, a thick scaly tentacle whipped forward and caught her by the ankle, slamming her to the ground, where her jaw shattered, the torrent of blood erupting from her ruined face unable to suppress her horrified scream as she was dragged back into the darkened interior of the shop.
{MOVE!} Scott commanded, and they broke into a run.
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: Somewhat Lower In The Skies Above The Middle East…]
“John!” Sean yelled, dazed and gushing blood from a nasty cut on his head. “What happened, lad?”
“Scud!” John bellowed, though the men could not hear each other over the thunderous roar of the inrushing air. He grabbed the unconscious body of the medic that had been attending to Sean’s wounds and slung a parachute over the man’s back.
Sean watched as John dragged the medic to the edge of the ragged hole in the side of the plane. He felt himself being grappled with a moment later, and realized that John had strapped a parachute onto him as well.
“Sean! You’re going to have to pull his ripcord! He’s unconscious!”
“You first,” Sean muttered weakly.
“No can do, Irish,” John said, “I have to try to get the pilot out.”
Before Sean could object further, John shoved the medic into his arms, sending them both tumbling out of the plane. Sean spun madly in the air, losing his grip on the medic’s unconscious form, watching with alarm as the ground suddenly loomed very large. He struggled to swim through the air, directing himself to the limp form plummeting next to him. His hand touched and then slipped from the rigging of the man’s parachute, and Sean silently cursed. He maneuvered again, finally grasping the harness and reaching for the ripcord. He paused as he saw the plane descending quicker and quicker towards the ground below. “John, for God’s sake, Laddie- get off the plane!” he implored. He pulled the medic’s ripcord, and the parachute deployed, a black and yellow striped sail that seemingly lifted him out of Sean’s arms like the squad’s namesake.
His eyes found the plane. It seemed to be filled from within by a harsh white light. It lasted for a brief heartbeat, and then the plane careened into the ground in a tremendous fireball.
[NOW: Munich…]
{What the Hell is that thing?} Kitty grimaced.
The creature with the tentacles hissed as Weapon X stepped into the room, its head turning to face these new opponents. Its tentacles swiped through the air, flinging about like stray live wires. Behind it, the girl who had been smashed into the sidewalk moaned through what was left of her mouth. Alive, but barely.
“Step away from the girl!” Scott announced, his hand going to the side of his visor.
The creature hissed again, baring its blood-drenched, glistening razor teeth, but made no move towards them or away from the girl.
“You heard him, Sleazoid,” Kitty commanded, “Shoo!”
{Iceman,} Scott began, {I want you to lower-}
{Wait,} Jean interrupted, {Cyclops… Scott, look… its attached to her.}
Scott looked down at the young woman’s abdomen and saw a thick proboscis, impaling the navel. As they watched, an interior bulge shifted, traveling the length of the limb and seemingly entering the girl’s stomach.
“Sainted Jesus,” Sean whispered.
{Oh, my God, is that thing fucking her?!} Kitty asked, fighting back the rise of her gorge.
Scott unleashed a burst of energy from his visor, slicing the probe off in mid shaft. The sleazoid howled in pain as sticky yellow ichor poured out onto the girl’s stomach. It leapt at Scott, but was slammed down by a wall of solid sound as Sean screamed in rage.
“Abomination!” Sean bellowed. “Get ye back to Hell!” He drew in another breath and let loose a piercing cry that rippled the air in front of him in a sharp point. The sleazoid was knocked back by the attack, wheeling in mid air as its tentacles sought to cushion its landing. As it hit the ground, it slammed its tentacles into the rubble of the storefront, sending bits of shrapnel at Sean. They crackled against a wall of ice that suddenly sprung up between them.
Scott fired another blast at the sleazoid, burning a groove into its skin in the creature’s back. {Marvel Girl, Shadowcat, see to the girl! Iceman, containment. Banshee… pulp that thing.}
Jean and Kitty knelt in front of the young girl, sprawled among the shatter brick and glass. Between the blood loss and what that monster had done to her, neither woman understood how the girl was still breathing. Her eyes fluttered open weakly.
“Ir gehen Sie raus hier,” Jean said, and Kitty heard it echo in her mind in English, {We’re going to get you out of here.}
“Töte mich,” the girl whispered, “Bitte.” Kitty again heard it in English. {Kill me. Please.}
{You are going to be okay,} Jean began, but stopped when the girl grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit and screamed “BITTE!”
Sean screamed as he approached the sleazoid, waves of sonic energy compressing into jackhammer blows on the head of the creature. The sleazoid slashed out with its tentacles, trying to silence the Irish mutant, but soon resorted to wrapping its tentacles around its head and screaming. As Sean built the pressure, he strode at it menacingly, his fury coursing through him, urging him forward.
With a ghastly shriek, the sleazoid’s head exploded in a shower of blood and brain, fragments of its plated dermis spraying out like shrapnel.
Jean and Kitty had both shielded the girl with their bodies, and now they looked at her as they leaned back. Her hand slipped weakly off her leg to the ground, landing in the rubble as her fingers clutched reflexively.
{Marvel Girl,} Scott began, {what’s her status?}
{Pretty bad, Cyclops,} Jean replied. {We need to get her to a doctor-}
“Nein!” the girl screamed, and her hand lurched up from the floor, swinging in a wide arc.
Kitty leaned back and instinctively tunneled, but she needn’t have, as she was not the girl’s target. The jagged shard of glass found its true target, slicing neatly through the young girl’s jugular, sending an arcing spray of blood down the front of her body, covering the yellow plasm that the sleazoid had bled onto her.
“No!” Kitty cried, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. The girl looked in Kitty’s eyes and smiled, her other hand pointing feebly towards the door to the back room before she died.
Scott tensed and turned towards the back room. He stepped cautiously towards the door and looked into the dark interior of the shop’s back room. Instantly, his breath seemed to disappear out of him, and his skin went ice cold. He swallowed hard, a dry click resonating in his ears as he took in the grim tableau before him.
“We have a problem,” he said stoically. “Shadowcat, contact Colossus, ask him and the others to meet us here. We’re going to need some help.”
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: The Middle East…]
“You saved that medic’s life, Agent Cassidy,” Sergeant Cox said, leading Sean back to the hangar. “As well as those men held by the Guard. We owe you a debt of gratitude. We’ve arranged ground transport out of the combat zone, where a secured transport will take you the rest of the way back home.” Sergeant Cox fell silent for a moment as they walked. “I’m sorry about your friend. Corporal Proudstar was one of the finest soldiers I have ever had the honor of meeting.”
“Aye,” Sean rasped, his voice hoarse, reflecting on the last moments of his friend’s life.
“Did Proudstar have family?”
“Aye, his parents, and a little brother. Jimmy. He’s but a wee lad.” Sean stared ahead grimly. “As soon as I get home, I get to go to Arizona and tell him that his brother died a hero. Not that he’ll find any solace in that.” He paused, and then resumed in a more questioning tone. “There was a bright flash from within the plane before it hit. Almost like a bolt of lightning.” He smiled a hollow smile. “Like a Thunderbird.”
“The electronics in the cockpit exploding, most likely,” Cox replied, “probably looked a lot like lightning as it went up. Radio chatter from the crash picked up him yelling at the end. Any idea what his last words meant?”
“Aye,” Sean said. “Hokahey. It’s from Lakota, part of the Apache tribe. It means ‘it is a good day to die.’ ”
[NOW: Munich…]
The air was split by a high-pitched shriek as a sliver of purple light erupted into the air within the ruined shop. The sliver ripped open, like a tear in the sky, and from the gap strode four members of the Brotherhood of Men; Storm, Nightcrawler, Colossus, and Sunfire.
“Storm, thank you for coming,” Jean greeted them.
“What’s the bloody Brotherhood doing here?” Sean asked.
“Banshee,” Scott said, “we don’t have time to get into this as deeply as I think you deserve. Long story short, we’re working with certain members of the Brotherhood in a sort of joint task force, if you will. Pooling intel and resources to help keep the world a safer place.”
“I was similarly not informed of any alliance,” Shiro said gruffly. “Storm, you know I want nothing to do with Weapon X.”
“Sunfire,” Jean began, and then smiled. “Shiro. I know well enough why you want nothing to do with the Weapon X program. But I assure you, this task force doesn’t answer to those responsible for corrupting- for your reasons to stay away.”
“And there are bigger things at play here than our differences,” Scott added. He motioned towards the back room.
“Bozshi Moi,” Piotr said softly, looking at the bodies of the young girl and of the dead creature on the floor, “Katya, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, “that… thing… was… impregnating her. She was just a kid, and she killed herself rather than let it take her.”
Scott led them into the room.
“Mein Gott, what happened here?” Kurt stood in the doorway, looking into the backroom.
Stuck on the wall with a thick, slimy crust was the body of something that was not quite human. Clothed in tattered police garb, it looked like a cross between a human and one of the sleazoids. The teeth were elongated and sharpened, and the skin was calloused and discolored. The arms had a thin, willowy quality to them, caught halfway between the arms they were and the tentacles they were transforming into. In the forehead, where there was once the beginnings of a tribal-like marking emerging, a ragged hole was blown by the weapon that this creature had taken its own life with.
Kurt began to pray for the soul of the lost man.
“Whatever these things are,” Ororo said, “they must stick their victims in these crusty pods, transform them, subsume them. This man must have known what he was becoming, and chose to take his own life rather than let it consume him.”
“That’s my guess as well,” Scott replied. “And here’s where the news gets really bad. There are four more ‘pods’ here.”
“What are these things?” Sean asked. “Aliens? Demons?”
“Neither,” Logan said, suddenly making his presence known from the door of the shop.
“Wolverine!” Kitty gasped. “You scared the living shit out of me!”
“He’s like freaking Batman, I swear,” Bobby shook his head.
Logan walked up to Scott and Ororo and handed them a file folder. “Local hospital took in a burn victim last night, signed her into the desk just a few minutes before all Hell broke loose. Only surviving desk clerk said that before she transformed into a giant insect, the patient was a security guard at Vermicom Biotech.”
Kitty felt her blood run cold. She'd been in that building just weeks ago, just before she met Piotr. What nightmares had they been cooking up behind those walls?
"They were working on a bio-weapon call BrewD," Logan continued, lighting up a cigar. "Turns out there was a saboteur, irradiated the place to high Hell and doused this woman in the Brew. We're looking at the German version of the Weapon X trials gone horribly wrong."
"It looks like there are four more of these things out there," Scott replied. "We have to track them down and take them out before anyone else gets hurt."
"This is what your science has wrought," Shiro scornfully replied.
"Sunfire, we don't have time to turn this into a theological debate," Ororo admonished. "Let's get out there and make sure everyone is safe."
"X-Men," Scott said, "let's move."
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: The Skies Above the Middle East...]
John watched as the parachute deployed, and then turned toward the cockpit. He opened the door, and immediately saw that the pilots were beyond help. Blood and entrails covered the control surfaces, and a ragged hole had been torn into the cockpit by exploding shrapnel. The radio shrieked, the channel locked open by the co-pilot’s clenched dead hand.
"Dammit," John growled, grabbing the pilots’ dog tags. Looking out the ruined windshield, he saw the ground growing dangerously close. He heard the crackle of electricity beginning to build, and he knew the systems were about to overload. It was already too late. The ground was too close, he would not get clear in time. There was no regret over his actions; he had to take that chance to see if the pilots were alive.
“Hokahey,” he yelled, and waited for impact.
After a few seconds, he was astonished to see he was still alive. The ground loomed outside the window, the plane seemingly hovering a few hundred feet above the desert hardpan. He turned, and was astounded to see a large grey skinned man standing calmly in the chaos. Suddenly, the world seemed to freeze around him, debris from the rapidly decaying plane seeming to hang in midair, suspended like a bug in amber. "Who the Hell are you?" John exclaimed.
"John Proudstar, I am Wormwood, harbinger of the end times. We currently exist in the moment between moments, the instant before this vessel explodes and kills you. You are the ultimate bringer of war, a warrior amongst a warrior people, a paragon of combat. I am here to offer you a choice; you can die in this aircraft, knowing there is still injustice in this world to be dealt with, or you can come with me, and let your death serve as a catalyst to transform you, to remake you into one who will strengthen the human race, to allow the strong to survive. Either way you will die, but only through me can you be reborn as the warrior you were always destined to be, a true Thunderbird of the Gods.”
John looked back. If this mysterious stranger could freeze time like this, perhaps there was time to make a run for it and jump?
“This conversation is taking place entirely in your mind at speeds you could not comprehend,” Wormwood answered the unasked question, “you will be dead before your next heartbeat.”
“So die either way, but with you I get to save others.”
“You will ensure the survival of the fittest,” Wormwood grinned, “your brother among them.”
John nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, and Wormwood teleported them out of the aircraft with a burst of bright light a moment before the plane crashed and transformed into a fireball.
[NOW: Munich…]
“We should split up,” Scott said, “we need to find these creatures before they can transform anyone else. Recon the situation, and call for backup once you find them. Do not engage alone unless there is no alternative. Storm, Shadowcat, Colossus, take the North end of this street. Banshee, Nightcrawler, Iceman, you take the South. Marvel Girl and I will take the East, Sunfire and Wolverine will take West.”
“I’ll be better on my own,” Wolverine replied gruffly. “No offense, Shiro.”
“Sunfire,” Scott replied without missing a beat, “you’re with us. Let’s be careful out there, people.”
“X-Men!” a voice yelled from the shadows. “Thank the Goddess I’ve found you!” As one, the team spun to look at the new arrival who knew them by the name that only they themselves knew. A lone, extensively tattooed figure, dressed in a blue tunic adorned with gold trim and a scarlet neckerchief, approached them. “The future as you know it is doomed!”
“A bit over-dramatic,” Ororo said, “and who are you who purports to know our futures?”
“Only one timeline is- was clear to me, Ororo. In that timeline, you spent your teenage years orphaned, your parents killed by President Mohamed Aidid, training under Erik Lensherr to gain mastery over the forces of nature to have your revenge.”
“How- how do you know that?” Ororo stammered.
“Because you told me when I was a child… Mother.”
[NOW: Elsewhere…]
Wormwood smiled as he watched events transpire on the monitor. These individuals were proving to be a greater force than he had anticipated. Soon, his machinations would be ready, and he would step in and lead these beings into a new age. They would be the vanguard, serving under he and the horsemen, to build a new world for the strong.
“Build your strength, X-Men. For only the strong shall survive the coming of the Apocalypse!”
[To Be Continued…]
“Scott,” Jean whispered, “we need to talk about this. I think Charles needs to know about what we’re doing.”
“Professor X is fully aware of our mission parameters,” Scott answered, perusing the file open on the transports computer. On it, the captured image of Wormwood running amok in the streets flickered.
“You know what I mean, Scott. Erik Lensherr has vowed to destroy him, he might take us working with his acolytes as a personal betrayal.”
“Charles would see the logic behind what we’re doing.”
“Then why not tell him?” Jean retored.
“Because his superiors wouldn’t. And in his position, he cannot afford to be compromised.”
Jean nodded, looking down sullenly. “You’ve examined all the angles.”
“It’s what I do, love. I don’t like surprises.”
“Cyclops, we’re on final approach,” Sean announced. “Ye might want to see this, lad.”
Scott made his way to the front of the Weapon X transport. He gave a casual glance at Sean, but the elder Irishman did not notice. His eyes were transfixed on the screen.
Scott viewed the panic in the streets below him and frowned. People were fleeing, but that is not what struck Scott as strange. What struck him as strange is that they were fleeing in all directions.
“What the Hell is going on down there?”
Whether he liked them or not, Scott was about to face a whole nest of surprises.
Sean activated the craft’s stealth package and guided it to a darkened stadium nearby.
Within minutes, Scott, Jean, Sean, Kitty and Bobby were making their way towards the center of the panic in blue jumpsuits with white piping and a white X on the left side of the chest. If anyone noticed that these oddly uniformed strangers were going towards the center of the disturbance rather than running away from it, they did not indicate it.
“Marvel Girl,” Scott said, “Link us up.”
{Psi-link established,} Marvel Girl responded.
{Weapon X, let’s go.} Scott thought.
Before they could advance, there was another scream and an explosion off to the left. They turned and watched as a young girl sprinted from cover inside a large building into the street. Suddenly, a thick scaly tentacle whipped forward and caught her by the ankle, slamming her to the ground, where her jaw shattered, the torrent of blood erupting from her ruined face unable to suppress her horrified scream as she was dragged back into the darkened interior of the shop.
{MOVE!} Scott commanded, and they broke into a run.
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: Somewhat Lower In The Skies Above The Middle East…]
“John!” Sean yelled, dazed and gushing blood from a nasty cut on his head. “What happened, lad?”
“Scud!” John bellowed, though the men could not hear each other over the thunderous roar of the inrushing air. He grabbed the unconscious body of the medic that had been attending to Sean’s wounds and slung a parachute over the man’s back.
Sean watched as John dragged the medic to the edge of the ragged hole in the side of the plane. He felt himself being grappled with a moment later, and realized that John had strapped a parachute onto him as well.
“Sean! You’re going to have to pull his ripcord! He’s unconscious!”
“You first,” Sean muttered weakly.
“No can do, Irish,” John said, “I have to try to get the pilot out.”
Before Sean could object further, John shoved the medic into his arms, sending them both tumbling out of the plane. Sean spun madly in the air, losing his grip on the medic’s unconscious form, watching with alarm as the ground suddenly loomed very large. He struggled to swim through the air, directing himself to the limp form plummeting next to him. His hand touched and then slipped from the rigging of the man’s parachute, and Sean silently cursed. He maneuvered again, finally grasping the harness and reaching for the ripcord. He paused as he saw the plane descending quicker and quicker towards the ground below. “John, for God’s sake, Laddie- get off the plane!” he implored. He pulled the medic’s ripcord, and the parachute deployed, a black and yellow striped sail that seemingly lifted him out of Sean’s arms like the squad’s namesake.
His eyes found the plane. It seemed to be filled from within by a harsh white light. It lasted for a brief heartbeat, and then the plane careened into the ground in a tremendous fireball.
[NOW: Munich…]
{What the Hell is that thing?} Kitty grimaced.
The creature with the tentacles hissed as Weapon X stepped into the room, its head turning to face these new opponents. Its tentacles swiped through the air, flinging about like stray live wires. Behind it, the girl who had been smashed into the sidewalk moaned through what was left of her mouth. Alive, but barely.
“Step away from the girl!” Scott announced, his hand going to the side of his visor.
The creature hissed again, baring its blood-drenched, glistening razor teeth, but made no move towards them or away from the girl.
“You heard him, Sleazoid,” Kitty commanded, “Shoo!”
{Iceman,} Scott began, {I want you to lower-}
{Wait,} Jean interrupted, {Cyclops… Scott, look… its attached to her.}
Scott looked down at the young woman’s abdomen and saw a thick proboscis, impaling the navel. As they watched, an interior bulge shifted, traveling the length of the limb and seemingly entering the girl’s stomach.
“Sainted Jesus,” Sean whispered.
{Oh, my God, is that thing fucking her?!} Kitty asked, fighting back the rise of her gorge.
Scott unleashed a burst of energy from his visor, slicing the probe off in mid shaft. The sleazoid howled in pain as sticky yellow ichor poured out onto the girl’s stomach. It leapt at Scott, but was slammed down by a wall of solid sound as Sean screamed in rage.
“Abomination!” Sean bellowed. “Get ye back to Hell!” He drew in another breath and let loose a piercing cry that rippled the air in front of him in a sharp point. The sleazoid was knocked back by the attack, wheeling in mid air as its tentacles sought to cushion its landing. As it hit the ground, it slammed its tentacles into the rubble of the storefront, sending bits of shrapnel at Sean. They crackled against a wall of ice that suddenly sprung up between them.
Scott fired another blast at the sleazoid, burning a groove into its skin in the creature’s back. {Marvel Girl, Shadowcat, see to the girl! Iceman, containment. Banshee… pulp that thing.}
Jean and Kitty knelt in front of the young girl, sprawled among the shatter brick and glass. Between the blood loss and what that monster had done to her, neither woman understood how the girl was still breathing. Her eyes fluttered open weakly.
“Ir gehen Sie raus hier,” Jean said, and Kitty heard it echo in her mind in English, {We’re going to get you out of here.}
“Töte mich,” the girl whispered, “Bitte.” Kitty again heard it in English. {Kill me. Please.}
{You are going to be okay,} Jean began, but stopped when the girl grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit and screamed “BITTE!”
Sean screamed as he approached the sleazoid, waves of sonic energy compressing into jackhammer blows on the head of the creature. The sleazoid slashed out with its tentacles, trying to silence the Irish mutant, but soon resorted to wrapping its tentacles around its head and screaming. As Sean built the pressure, he strode at it menacingly, his fury coursing through him, urging him forward.
With a ghastly shriek, the sleazoid’s head exploded in a shower of blood and brain, fragments of its plated dermis spraying out like shrapnel.
Jean and Kitty had both shielded the girl with their bodies, and now they looked at her as they leaned back. Her hand slipped weakly off her leg to the ground, landing in the rubble as her fingers clutched reflexively.
{Marvel Girl,} Scott began, {what’s her status?}
{Pretty bad, Cyclops,} Jean replied. {We need to get her to a doctor-}
“Nein!” the girl screamed, and her hand lurched up from the floor, swinging in a wide arc.
Kitty leaned back and instinctively tunneled, but she needn’t have, as she was not the girl’s target. The jagged shard of glass found its true target, slicing neatly through the young girl’s jugular, sending an arcing spray of blood down the front of her body, covering the yellow plasm that the sleazoid had bled onto her.
“No!” Kitty cried, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. The girl looked in Kitty’s eyes and smiled, her other hand pointing feebly towards the door to the back room before she died.
Scott tensed and turned towards the back room. He stepped cautiously towards the door and looked into the dark interior of the shop’s back room. Instantly, his breath seemed to disappear out of him, and his skin went ice cold. He swallowed hard, a dry click resonating in his ears as he took in the grim tableau before him.
“We have a problem,” he said stoically. “Shadowcat, contact Colossus, ask him and the others to meet us here. We’re going to need some help.”
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: The Middle East…]
“You saved that medic’s life, Agent Cassidy,” Sergeant Cox said, leading Sean back to the hangar. “As well as those men held by the Guard. We owe you a debt of gratitude. We’ve arranged ground transport out of the combat zone, where a secured transport will take you the rest of the way back home.” Sergeant Cox fell silent for a moment as they walked. “I’m sorry about your friend. Corporal Proudstar was one of the finest soldiers I have ever had the honor of meeting.”
“Aye,” Sean rasped, his voice hoarse, reflecting on the last moments of his friend’s life.
“Did Proudstar have family?”
“Aye, his parents, and a little brother. Jimmy. He’s but a wee lad.” Sean stared ahead grimly. “As soon as I get home, I get to go to Arizona and tell him that his brother died a hero. Not that he’ll find any solace in that.” He paused, and then resumed in a more questioning tone. “There was a bright flash from within the plane before it hit. Almost like a bolt of lightning.” He smiled a hollow smile. “Like a Thunderbird.”
“The electronics in the cockpit exploding, most likely,” Cox replied, “probably looked a lot like lightning as it went up. Radio chatter from the crash picked up him yelling at the end. Any idea what his last words meant?”
“Aye,” Sean said. “Hokahey. It’s from Lakota, part of the Apache tribe. It means ‘it is a good day to die.’ ”
[NOW: Munich…]
The air was split by a high-pitched shriek as a sliver of purple light erupted into the air within the ruined shop. The sliver ripped open, like a tear in the sky, and from the gap strode four members of the Brotherhood of Men; Storm, Nightcrawler, Colossus, and Sunfire.
“Storm, thank you for coming,” Jean greeted them.
“What’s the bloody Brotherhood doing here?” Sean asked.
“Banshee,” Scott said, “we don’t have time to get into this as deeply as I think you deserve. Long story short, we’re working with certain members of the Brotherhood in a sort of joint task force, if you will. Pooling intel and resources to help keep the world a safer place.”
“I was similarly not informed of any alliance,” Shiro said gruffly. “Storm, you know I want nothing to do with Weapon X.”
“Sunfire,” Jean began, and then smiled. “Shiro. I know well enough why you want nothing to do with the Weapon X program. But I assure you, this task force doesn’t answer to those responsible for corrupting- for your reasons to stay away.”
“And there are bigger things at play here than our differences,” Scott added. He motioned towards the back room.
“Bozshi Moi,” Piotr said softly, looking at the bodies of the young girl and of the dead creature on the floor, “Katya, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, “that… thing… was… impregnating her. She was just a kid, and she killed herself rather than let it take her.”
Scott led them into the room.
“Mein Gott, what happened here?” Kurt stood in the doorway, looking into the backroom.
Stuck on the wall with a thick, slimy crust was the body of something that was not quite human. Clothed in tattered police garb, it looked like a cross between a human and one of the sleazoids. The teeth were elongated and sharpened, and the skin was calloused and discolored. The arms had a thin, willowy quality to them, caught halfway between the arms they were and the tentacles they were transforming into. In the forehead, where there was once the beginnings of a tribal-like marking emerging, a ragged hole was blown by the weapon that this creature had taken its own life with.
Kurt began to pray for the soul of the lost man.
“Whatever these things are,” Ororo said, “they must stick their victims in these crusty pods, transform them, subsume them. This man must have known what he was becoming, and chose to take his own life rather than let it consume him.”
“That’s my guess as well,” Scott replied. “And here’s where the news gets really bad. There are four more ‘pods’ here.”
“What are these things?” Sean asked. “Aliens? Demons?”
“Neither,” Logan said, suddenly making his presence known from the door of the shop.
“Wolverine!” Kitty gasped. “You scared the living shit out of me!”
“He’s like freaking Batman, I swear,” Bobby shook his head.
Logan walked up to Scott and Ororo and handed them a file folder. “Local hospital took in a burn victim last night, signed her into the desk just a few minutes before all Hell broke loose. Only surviving desk clerk said that before she transformed into a giant insect, the patient was a security guard at Vermicom Biotech.”
Kitty felt her blood run cold. She'd been in that building just weeks ago, just before she met Piotr. What nightmares had they been cooking up behind those walls?
"They were working on a bio-weapon call BrewD," Logan continued, lighting up a cigar. "Turns out there was a saboteur, irradiated the place to high Hell and doused this woman in the Brew. We're looking at the German version of the Weapon X trials gone horribly wrong."
"It looks like there are four more of these things out there," Scott replied. "We have to track them down and take them out before anyone else gets hurt."
"This is what your science has wrought," Shiro scornfully replied.
"Sunfire, we don't have time to turn this into a theological debate," Ororo admonished. "Let's get out there and make sure everyone is safe."
"X-Men," Scott said, "let's move."
[SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO: The Skies Above the Middle East...]
John watched as the parachute deployed, and then turned toward the cockpit. He opened the door, and immediately saw that the pilots were beyond help. Blood and entrails covered the control surfaces, and a ragged hole had been torn into the cockpit by exploding shrapnel. The radio shrieked, the channel locked open by the co-pilot’s clenched dead hand.
"Dammit," John growled, grabbing the pilots’ dog tags. Looking out the ruined windshield, he saw the ground growing dangerously close. He heard the crackle of electricity beginning to build, and he knew the systems were about to overload. It was already too late. The ground was too close, he would not get clear in time. There was no regret over his actions; he had to take that chance to see if the pilots were alive.
“Hokahey,” he yelled, and waited for impact.
After a few seconds, he was astonished to see he was still alive. The ground loomed outside the window, the plane seemingly hovering a few hundred feet above the desert hardpan. He turned, and was astounded to see a large grey skinned man standing calmly in the chaos. Suddenly, the world seemed to freeze around him, debris from the rapidly decaying plane seeming to hang in midair, suspended like a bug in amber. "Who the Hell are you?" John exclaimed.
"John Proudstar, I am Wormwood, harbinger of the end times. We currently exist in the moment between moments, the instant before this vessel explodes and kills you. You are the ultimate bringer of war, a warrior amongst a warrior people, a paragon of combat. I am here to offer you a choice; you can die in this aircraft, knowing there is still injustice in this world to be dealt with, or you can come with me, and let your death serve as a catalyst to transform you, to remake you into one who will strengthen the human race, to allow the strong to survive. Either way you will die, but only through me can you be reborn as the warrior you were always destined to be, a true Thunderbird of the Gods.”
John looked back. If this mysterious stranger could freeze time like this, perhaps there was time to make a run for it and jump?
“This conversation is taking place entirely in your mind at speeds you could not comprehend,” Wormwood answered the unasked question, “you will be dead before your next heartbeat.”
“So die either way, but with you I get to save others.”
“You will ensure the survival of the fittest,” Wormwood grinned, “your brother among them.”
John nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, and Wormwood teleported them out of the aircraft with a burst of bright light a moment before the plane crashed and transformed into a fireball.
[NOW: Munich…]
“We should split up,” Scott said, “we need to find these creatures before they can transform anyone else. Recon the situation, and call for backup once you find them. Do not engage alone unless there is no alternative. Storm, Shadowcat, Colossus, take the North end of this street. Banshee, Nightcrawler, Iceman, you take the South. Marvel Girl and I will take the East, Sunfire and Wolverine will take West.”
“I’ll be better on my own,” Wolverine replied gruffly. “No offense, Shiro.”
“Sunfire,” Scott replied without missing a beat, “you’re with us. Let’s be careful out there, people.”
“X-Men!” a voice yelled from the shadows. “Thank the Goddess I’ve found you!” As one, the team spun to look at the new arrival who knew them by the name that only they themselves knew. A lone, extensively tattooed figure, dressed in a blue tunic adorned with gold trim and a scarlet neckerchief, approached them. “The future as you know it is doomed!”
“A bit over-dramatic,” Ororo said, “and who are you who purports to know our futures?”
“Only one timeline is- was clear to me, Ororo. In that timeline, you spent your teenage years orphaned, your parents killed by President Mohamed Aidid, training under Erik Lensherr to gain mastery over the forces of nature to have your revenge.”
“How- how do you know that?” Ororo stammered.
“Because you told me when I was a child… Mother.”
[NOW: Elsewhere…]
Wormwood smiled as he watched events transpire on the monitor. These individuals were proving to be a greater force than he had anticipated. Soon, his machinations would be ready, and he would step in and lead these beings into a new age. They would be the vanguard, serving under he and the horsemen, to build a new world for the strong.
“Build your strength, X-Men. For only the strong shall survive the coming of the Apocalypse!”
[To Be Continued…]