[FOUR YEARS AGO: Weapon X Labs…]
Hank McCoy tented his fingers and scowled. As a man of science, he prided himself on being able to solve any equation. He had multiple PhD’s in Chemistry, Biology, Physics, and a host of other disciplines, but none of his vast education had bothered to touch upon the area he found himself immersed in at the present moment. Before him on the table, a leather bound tome rested open, its pages worn and yellowed, its writing a faded deep umber.
“Dr. Henry McCoy, personal log, entry number 3691. The so-called ‘Book of Cytorrak’ continues to obfuscate me. The book has a number of properties that violate not only logic, but the laws of physics. The paper within defies carbon-dating, the composition of the ink cannot be identified against any known mixture, and the writing within has proven undecipherable. No known cryptography has been able to decode it, a task made more difficult by the fact that the characters seem to change from time to time. The book defies all logic. Investigation of the location in which it was discovered has yielded no actionable results. ”
He switched off the recording device looking down at the pages, exasperated. Hank was not used to failure. He graduated high school at age nine, earned his bachelor’s degree in chemistry at age eleven, and his first PhD at age fourteen. He had won a Nobel Prize for Physics by age twenty. His wall was decorated with more degrees, awards, and citations than an entire University’s worth of professors, and to top it off, there were even two GQ covers and a place in People Magazine’s 100 Sexiest Men Alive. He ranked just behind Denzel Washington, but Hank doubted that Denzel could accurately chart the pathway of a Tungsten electron during ionization.
“What the Devil are you?” he sighed. “Nothing I have ever observed has suggested how to even come close to unlocking your mysteries.” He turned the page with a pair of tweezers. “Maybe that is the reason I have been stonewalled at every turn. Perhaps it is time to approach this from an alternate vector.”
He grabbed the book with his hands, cradling the tome in his arms as he looked down at the page. He cleared his mind, taking in the overall flow of the writing, allowing himself to not care about its chemical composition, or the geometry of the symbols. Instead, he let the writing move his eyes for him, letting his vision wander wherever the shape of the runes seemed to lead them. For a brief moment, the book seemed to writhe in his hands, shifting subtly. The characters shimmered, shifting position and shape, the texture of the cover becoming watery beneath his fingers.
“Helinrop, hetenec, sneseroh,” he mumbled, his lips twisted by a voice that seemed alien and sinister. “Meriadhis, chonphlint, krashtamis.” The pages fluttered briefly, settling back down as Hank muttered his unconscious litany. “Shisoks, sirelits, enosragned!”
The room was flooded with a deep thunderous crack, and Hank McCoy was enrobed in muted indigo flame. He screamed, dropping the book and looking down at his body, watching as the flames snapped back and forth like tiny flags. The flames instantly charred the skin on his hands to a dark blue, disappearing before he was even aware of them. There was a sense of burning, but not painfully. It was more like a cascade of energy, like a waterfall of life pouring over him. The world seemed louder, brighter. He tasted blood, and realized that had had bitten his lower lip. Touching his teeth with his tongue, he discovered that his incisors had grown in length and sharpness.
With a blaring claxon, the fire suppression systems engaged, filling the room with Halon gas. Hank watched in amazement as the flames surrounding his body seemingly laid down against him, and it was at this moment that he realized they were not flames that leapt from his body; thick indigo fur had instantly grown from his follicles, standing up with the coursing energy that had surged through him.
As the gas quickly dispersed, he looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the lab. What stared back at his was something was something both leonine and simian. A gorilla and lion, fused into one being, covered with purplish blue fur.
“Oh, my stars and garters,” Hank gasped, and fell unconscious onto the cold lab floor.
Hank McCoy tented his fingers and scowled. As a man of science, he prided himself on being able to solve any equation. He had multiple PhD’s in Chemistry, Biology, Physics, and a host of other disciplines, but none of his vast education had bothered to touch upon the area he found himself immersed in at the present moment. Before him on the table, a leather bound tome rested open, its pages worn and yellowed, its writing a faded deep umber.
“Dr. Henry McCoy, personal log, entry number 3691. The so-called ‘Book of Cytorrak’ continues to obfuscate me. The book has a number of properties that violate not only logic, but the laws of physics. The paper within defies carbon-dating, the composition of the ink cannot be identified against any known mixture, and the writing within has proven undecipherable. No known cryptography has been able to decode it, a task made more difficult by the fact that the characters seem to change from time to time. The book defies all logic. Investigation of the location in which it was discovered has yielded no actionable results. ”
He switched off the recording device looking down at the pages, exasperated. Hank was not used to failure. He graduated high school at age nine, earned his bachelor’s degree in chemistry at age eleven, and his first PhD at age fourteen. He had won a Nobel Prize for Physics by age twenty. His wall was decorated with more degrees, awards, and citations than an entire University’s worth of professors, and to top it off, there were even two GQ covers and a place in People Magazine’s 100 Sexiest Men Alive. He ranked just behind Denzel Washington, but Hank doubted that Denzel could accurately chart the pathway of a Tungsten electron during ionization.
“What the Devil are you?” he sighed. “Nothing I have ever observed has suggested how to even come close to unlocking your mysteries.” He turned the page with a pair of tweezers. “Maybe that is the reason I have been stonewalled at every turn. Perhaps it is time to approach this from an alternate vector.”
He grabbed the book with his hands, cradling the tome in his arms as he looked down at the page. He cleared his mind, taking in the overall flow of the writing, allowing himself to not care about its chemical composition, or the geometry of the symbols. Instead, he let the writing move his eyes for him, letting his vision wander wherever the shape of the runes seemed to lead them. For a brief moment, the book seemed to writhe in his hands, shifting subtly. The characters shimmered, shifting position and shape, the texture of the cover becoming watery beneath his fingers.
“Helinrop, hetenec, sneseroh,” he mumbled, his lips twisted by a voice that seemed alien and sinister. “Meriadhis, chonphlint, krashtamis.” The pages fluttered briefly, settling back down as Hank muttered his unconscious litany. “Shisoks, sirelits, enosragned!”
The room was flooded with a deep thunderous crack, and Hank McCoy was enrobed in muted indigo flame. He screamed, dropping the book and looking down at his body, watching as the flames snapped back and forth like tiny flags. The flames instantly charred the skin on his hands to a dark blue, disappearing before he was even aware of them. There was a sense of burning, but not painfully. It was more like a cascade of energy, like a waterfall of life pouring over him. The world seemed louder, brighter. He tasted blood, and realized that had had bitten his lower lip. Touching his teeth with his tongue, he discovered that his incisors had grown in length and sharpness.
With a blaring claxon, the fire suppression systems engaged, filling the room with Halon gas. Hank watched in amazement as the flames surrounding his body seemingly laid down against him, and it was at this moment that he realized they were not flames that leapt from his body; thick indigo fur had instantly grown from his follicles, standing up with the coursing energy that had surged through him.
As the gas quickly dispersed, he looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the lab. What stared back at his was something was something both leonine and simian. A gorilla and lion, fused into one being, covered with purplish blue fur.
“Oh, my stars and garters,” Hank gasped, and fell unconscious onto the cold lab floor.
“ULTIMATE GENESIS – PART THREE”
[NOW: Weapon X Labs...]
Hank strode into the lab, stopping short in his tracks at the site of himself standing over his notes. Even he was shocked at times by the severity of the transformation. His formerly lithe, human form was now massively muscular, his arms elongated, his skin covered with thick blue fur, his lower face drawn and snout like. Even his fingers were thicker, ending in razor sharp claws.
“What have I told you about accessing my lab, Darkhölm?”
Raven turned and smiled, her form shifting into that of a highly attractive young woman. “Relax, Henry,” she said, tossing her red hair back over her fair skin. Her skintight blue body suit was unzipped down to below her breasts, giving Hank more of a view of her cleavage than he cared for. “I was just trying on the fur coat for size. Scott has been looking for you.”
“That does not give you the right to violate the security of my lab,” he snarled, holding out his arm, pointing the way out of the lab impatiently.
“Oh, Henry. You still don’t get it do you? I am the person you want on your side. Your fur won’t protect you if Allerdyce wants to singe it off, and all your muscle can’t move Dukes if he decides he wants to sit on you.”
“I don’t care how many of our operatives you have seduced to do your bidding. My lab is considered top access only, coming straight down from Fred Duncan. Just keep one thing in mind; I designed the nano-imagers that were grafted into your epidermis. I also have the codes that will allow me to disable them. If I catch you in here again, I’ll make sure everyone gets to see the real you, Ray.”
Raven’s eyes flashed, her mouth turning down into a scowl of hatred. “Go to Hell, McCoy,” she said, striding out of the lab angrily.
“After you,” he said, sneering. He keyed the door, the sharp hiss of air filling the now silent lab.
He keyed in the video intercom, clicking on the icon that would connect him with Scott’s office.
“Hank,” Scott said, “glad you called. We need to talk about Jean.”
“Of course,” Hank said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The doctor is always in. Come by the lab in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Hank,” Scott said, and the screen went blank.
“Of course,” Hank said, sighing. Scott Summers was the greatest tactical genius Weapon X had seen, and was one of the most deadly warriors every trained by the government. He was a brave man, who engendered tremendous loyalty and trust among those he led. Even so, in Hank’s opinion, when it came to Jean Grey, Scott Summers was a giant wimp.
[FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Anchorage, Alaska…]
Jimmy Hanson skulked along the plastic wall, holding his laser gun up in a ready position, as he had seen it done in a hundred sci-fi movies. This wasn’t a movie, it was laser tag, and it wasn’t a robot he was stalking, or a vampire, or a ghost, or a pod-person from Mars. But the fear one might feel when matched up against such a fictional adversary snaked a chill finger down his spine. His friends were all eliminated. He was down to his last hit. His opponent was a legend, the greatest laser tag player ever to walk these halls. And he was a good six years younger than Jimmy.
The deafening techno music could barely mask the thundering of his heart. The dry ice smoke drifting across the floor couldn’t cool the perspiration building on his brow. The black light made everything white glow a brilliant incandescent blue. He peeked around the corner and saw a silver marble the size of a golf ball rolling down the aisle. He stared at it, hypnotized, watching and the neon lights of the arena reflected in its perfectly polished surface. As the marble rolled past him, he saw a brilliant red flash, and suddenly, his chest sensor erupted in a cacophony of buzzing and beeping, its red lights flashing madly. He was out.
“What the Hell do you call that?” he said, stepping from behind the obstacle.
“Winning,” the younger kid said, holstering his laser gun as he strode forward confidently.
“Cheating, more like it,” Jimmy said, shoving the boy in the shoulder.
“You’re shoving around an eleven year old because he beat you at laser tag? Why not just staple a ‘please beat me down in the locker room shower’ sign to your back, Jimmy.”
“Kiss my ass, you little freak,” Hanson said, stripping off his vest and walking towards the return counter.
The young boy smiled and walked towards the counter himself. That was one of his favorite tactics. He had a steady enough aim to hit the highly polished moving orb, bouncing his laser at angles that rendered cover nearly useless. He set the gun and vest down and got his student ID back, tucking it into his pocket. As he turned, he saw a tall man in an Air Force uniform standing in front of him.
“Scott Summers?”
Scott swallowed hard. Something happened to his father.
“My name is Major Tom Corsi. I need you to come with me, son. There’s been an accident.”
Scott stared out the window of the large government-issue sedan, ignoring the men sitting in the car with him. He could not understand any of what was going on. He should be crying, seeking solace from anyone who could offer it. He should be screaming, cursing God, begging anyone to tell him why his father was gone, but all he could do is stare at the passing trees. His father was dead, killed in a test flight, and it should have been the end of his world. But he could only see it as the next challenge to overcome.
He heard a familiar voice say his name. He turned, and saw his father’s old friend and his new guardian looking at him from the seat next to him. He was about to turn away again when he heard the voice again, telling him that he would indeed overcome the challenge. But the man’s lips never moved.
“Did you say something, Dr. Xavier?”
“No, Scott,” Charles Xavier said, smiling slightly, “I didn’t say a word.”
[NOW: Weapon X Headquarters…]
Kitty stepped into the room and stopped short. She had been warned by Hank that there was a surprise planned for her return from Munich, but she didn’t know what to expect. The room was full of people, all looking at her with big grins on their faces. There were champagne glasses in everybody’s hands, and a platter of baked goods in the middle of the table. She felt instantly mortified, like she did whenever her mother starting drawing attention to her.
“What is this?” Kitty asked, looking warily at everyone gathered in the briefing room.
“Congratulations!” Sean Cassidy smiled, walking up to her and putting his arm on her shoulders, his pipe tucked securely in the corner of his mouth, wagging as he spoke in his thick brough. “Ye did a fine job in Munich, Lassie! Your first operation, ye accomplished the mission, returned good intel, and ye made it back unscathed. ‘Tis a cause for celebration!”
“As if you Pommies knew the first thing about how to celebrate,” St. John Allerdyce said, scoffing. His smug grin was tinted with a genuine disdain for the elder Irishman.
“Eh, don’t be on about the Irish, lad, just because we spanked your Aussie arses in the footie match last week.”
“Piss off, you bloody plonker!” St. John said, forking his two fingers at him.
“Not too shabby, Kitty,” a thin guy with sandy hair said, patting her shoulder. Behind him, his exact duplicate was picking cookies out of the platter, and across the room, another copy of him was sipping from a glass of champagne.
“Thanks, Jamie,” Kitty said, smiling awkwardly. Speaking to Jamie Madrox was always an unnerving experience, because she was never quite sure which Jamie she was talking to. No one was, because the duplicates made were exact in every single way. Every attempt to mark the original Jamie was reproduced on the duplicate, and every duplicate was under the impression that he was the original Jamie. So even Jamie didn’t know which one was the original.
By the time Kitty felt comfortable with the general atmosphere of the gathering, forty-five minutes had passed, and she had fended off three advances from Bobby. As she moved towards the cookie tray, her phone chirped, and she looked down at it. It was a text message.
Down an empty hallway, she flipped out her phone’s screen and opened her chat program. Piotr was signed on, and she began to type.
Shad0kat: Hello Piotr how r u?
Koloccvc: I am well. How was your return trip?
Shad0kat: Long flight no sleep and they served gross chicken in green sauce
Koloccvc: Airline food is like that
Shad0kat: It was pretty tough keeping it down
Koloccvc: You think that’s bad you should try teleporting
Shad0kat: You can teleport?!?
Koloccvc: I have a friend who can its very upsetting to the stomach
Shad0kat: I should get back to the party
Koloccvc: I am sorry I did not know you were at a party
Shad0kat: No its a work thing
Koloccvc: You have work parties? Maybe I need to switch jobs ;)
Shad0kat: Why not have your friend teleport you here lol
Kitty looked up when Scott rounded the corner, wearing his field uniform. “Kitty, hate to interrupt the party, but we have a situation. Report to the hangar, we’re wheels up in twenty.”
“Okay,” she replied. When he was gone, she looked down at the screen again, and saw another message from Piotr.
Koloccvc: Hate to cut this short but I have to go talk soon dosvidanya
Kitty frowned and put her phone away. Living the life of a super powered secret agent was sure putting a crimp on her social life. Having a teleporter would definitely make things easier. Then she stopped. Maybe the reason Piotr had to go was the same reason she was about to go into action. Her initial eagerness to see him again was quickly replaced with dread at the prospect that maybe, just maybe, their respective organizations were about to come into conflict.
[FIVE YEARS AGO: Central Court Building, Berlin…]
“Murderer!”
Kurt Wagner flinched, looking around skittishly at the assembled protestors. His lawyer Evangeline Whedon stood by his side, with her hand on his shoulder, urging him to keep walking.
“I didn’t do it!” Kurt yelled. “The jury even agreed that-”
“No comment!” Evangeline said. She leaned close to Kurt’s ear and still had to yell over the din. “There’s no talking to them, Kurt. These people are ignorant, and they will never believe that you didn’t kill that woman, no matter how many juries we convince. Just ignore-”
Her chest exploded as her body jerked backwards, blood splattering all over Kurt’s face.
“Mein Gott!” Kurt screamed, holding her and lowering her to the pavement amidst the screams coming from the crowd. Some of the protestors had turned and fled after the gunshot, but many of them were still screaming angrily. The police attempted to shield Kurt, but more shots rang out, and an officer was struck in the shoulder, sending him spinning backwards.
“They won’t save you, Kurt,” she gasped. “Get out of here. Run…” her eyes lost their focus, and her head lolled backwards.
Kurt watched as her body gently slumped out of his arms. He closed her eyes, and the looked around at the officers that were supposed to be protecting him. They were leaning against the planters that lined the courtyard, and Kurt realized just how exposed he still was. One of the officers was looking right at him, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“We’re getting shot at because of you, murderer,” his eyes said.
Kurt stood and ran for the corner of the courthouse, ducking behind the columns. The remains of the angry crowd grew louder and more frenzied as he fled.
“Get him!”
He looked back as he rounded the corner and saw the crowd break into a run after him. Tried and acquitted of murder, Kurt was still going to be executed for the crime. He sprinted for the far end of the alley, and was dismayed to see a ten foot chain link fence standing between him and the street beyond. He leapt as he reached the fence, his hands finding the top railing, and he slammed his feet into it. He used the flex of the fence to swing his feet out, up, and over his head, his hands swiveling like a gymnast on the uneven bars. The crowd he was used to performing in front of wasn’t out for his blood. This was not the circus.
He landed on the ground with an almost supernatural grace and sprinted for the other end of the alley, but stopped when he saw a car screech to a halt at the opening to the street. Three people jumped out of the car, one of them pointing a very large handgun at him. He turned back, and stopped again when he saw the mob reach the fence and begin climbing.
Looking around in desperation, he saw a fire escape ladder hanging down. He sprinted to the wall, jumping up and springing off of it, catching the bottom rung of the ladder with his hand. As he tried to pull himself up, another shot rang out, and a burning fire lanced through his left arm. He fell back to the ground, screaming sharply. He grabbed his left arm tightly, pistoning his legs to push himself up against the wall. The crowd gathered around him, weapons protruding from the line of people like a cannonade.
“Die, Murderer!” someone in the crowd screamed, and a loud crack split the air. Kurt closed his eyes waiting for the bullet to slice through him, but nothing happened. Shot after shot rang out, and he never felt a thing. After a few seconds, the gunfire stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. He opened his eyes, and saw nine bullets suspended in the air in from of him, floating perfectly motionless. The people around him stared as well, terrified of the impossible feat they were witnessing.
Suddenly, every weapon in the crowd was ripped from the hand that held it, streaking into the sky, collecting into a large cluster twenty feet overhead. The crowd watched mesmerized as the weapons disassembled as one, their components lining up like soldiers on review, hovering in formation.
Kurt looked through the crowd and saw a man wearing a dark crimson suit holding his hand up. As the man brought his hand down, the pieces of the guns came down with it, pelting the crowd with sharp metal shrapnel. The attackers fell like wheat before a scythe, creating a semi-circle of bodies around the astonished Kurt Wagner. Some of the attackers fell back, seeking refuge among the garbage cans and doorways of the alley.
The man in the crimson suit approached him and held out his hand. “Mister Wagner,” he said, “my name is Erik Lensherr. I am a spiritual leader with the Brotherhood of Men. I can provide sanctuary.”
Kurt looked down at his arm, bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound, and then looked at the remaining attackers. One of them was approaching again, with a brick in his hand.
“I can’t do anything about bricks, Kurt,” Erik said. “Time is short.”
Kurt nodded, and took Erik’s hand.
[NOW: The Brotherhood’s Prep Chamber…]
“Kurt,” Piotr said, sitting next to his teammate, “I am not quite certain I understand something. This is a stealth task, is it not? I can understand why you and Ororo would be beneficial to the mission, but my talents are not exactly quiet. Why am I going with you?”
“Because James says you are uniquely suited to the mission at hand. And he’s one of our best agents, so Erik and Ororo are inclined to trust him.”
“Do you?”
“I have faith. I might not agree with his methods, but he works for the greater good. I am willing to trust his judgment. James is a complex man. He spends so long out in the field that many of us don’t see him for months at a time. Being isolated like that takes its toll. But I believe we work towards the same goal.”
Piotr looked down at his hands and closed his eyes. “Kurt… I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Kurt smiled. “You can tell me anything, Piotr. Confession is good for the soul.”
“I am worried about our goals. I am not a violent man, but it seems that our mission is leading us to violence. My powers… they seem geared specifically towards destruction. I am a peaceful man. How can I stay that way when our mission is constantly requiring that I hit things?”
“I understand what you’re gong through, Piotr. But your gift is more than the ability to hit things. The closed fist can be used to strike the largest of adversaries, but it can also be used to protect the tiniest of God’s creatures. Violence in defense of others is sometimes justified, but that never makes it easy for a conscionable soul to live with.”
“Thank you, Kurt,” Piotr said.
Ororo came through the doorway, her skin looking especially dark in the red light of the room’s interior. “He’s ready.”
They walked into the next room, and saw a small man sitting next to a fire. There were several small bones and shiny trinkets splayed out around him in a large radial shape. He picked up a bullroarer from the small leather bag next to him, and as he began to twirl it, the fire grew steadily brighter.
“Spaceeba, Comrade Gateway,” Piotr said, stepping through the gate after his teammates. The aborigine merely sat in silence, twirling his bullroarer.
[TWO YEARS AGO: Weapon X Headquarters…]
Jean Grey sat on her bed, unpacking the small bag of personal effects and laying them out on the bed. Her movements were slow and methodical, like those of someone in shock. She gently placed her belongings on the comforter, arranging them into a large radial shape. Her eyes seemed to look beyond the shape she was making.
The door opened quickly and Scott walked through the door. “Jean,” he said, walking over to her. She smiled brightly, rose to her feet, and embraced him.
“Hello, Scott.”
“Welcome home,” he said, kissing her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Glad to be back.”
“I’ve seen the report, but I need to know from you directly. What was it like?”
Jean looked at him, unsure at first of how to respond. “It was… strange. “
“That’s it? You spent eight months with the enemy, and all you can say is it was strange?”
“What do you want me to say? That they’re all standing around in robes worshipping Satan and bathing in the blood of newborns?” She turned and sat back down on her bed. “They’re just people, Scott. They have different beliefs, different values, but they’re still people. And they don’t refer to us as the enemy, not all of them, anyway.”
“All the right ones do.”
“It’s just Erik and his son. But some of the others don’t see why we’re fighting.”
“Do you?” Scott asked, looking sternly at her.
She was quiet for a few moments.
“I don’t know anymore, Scott.”
“So do you believe we’re wrong?”
“No, but I don’t believe there’s a black and white line between our sides. I think that we could probably work together and be more effective than working against each other.”
“Really,” Scott said, looking away. When he turned back, she could see anger in his eyes. “Jean, they’re terrorists.”
Jean shook her head. “People say the same about us, Scott. I’m not saying that they’re right and we’re wrong… but we can learn a great deal from each other.”
“We have nothing to learn from those monsters.” He turned and walked out of the room.
[NOW: Somewhere Over Illinois…]
Jean stared out the window of the Weapon X transport, watching the open fields passing beneath. The cabin of the transport was chilly, but that was to be expected, with Bobby in tow. Scott was piloting the sleek jet, his crimson eyes focused on the sky in front of them. Jean looked at him with a genuine feeling of sadness. Sometimes it felt as if he were living with his head in the sand.
She looked back into the rear of the cabin and saw Bobby and Kitty sitting next to each other.
“Scott and Jean are a couple,” Bobby said, smiling as he leaned back in his seat.
“Yeah,” Kitty nodded, “I know.”
“So is this our first double date?”
“Eww,” Kitty grimaced, “not even.”
“Why not, beautiful? You’re young, I’m young, you’re good looking, I’m extremely good looking, you’re smart, I’m smart,” he said.
“You are a jackass,” Kitty said. “I don’t know why the four of us were specifically chosen for this operation, but it wasn’t so you could put the moves on me.”
“No, baby,” Bobby said, “that’s just a fringe benefit.”
“I’d like to jump out of the plane,” Kitty said to Jean, prompting her to smile.
“No can do, Kitty. Intel says you’re needed for this mission,” Jean smiled.
“Can I throw him out?” Kitty replied.
“Cut the chatter, kids,” Scott said, “we’re on the ground in sixty seconds.”
“The captain has illuminated the ‘no fun’ sign,” Jean whispered, and Kitty couldn’t help but chuckle.
The jet touched down in an abandoned train yard, the stealth systems muting the sounds of the engines down to a near whisper. Kitty dropped down through the belly of the craft, solidifying and landing softly on the ground in a crouch. She looked around, and then gave a sharp rap on the hull. The door opened, and Scott paced down the gang plank. He handed Kitty a communications device, which she tucked behind her ear. “Be ready,” Scott said, lowering his tactical visor down over his eyes, activating their power supply. “Call signs only from this point on. Testing comms.”
“Copy, Cyclops,” Bobby said, condensation swirling from his mouth as he lowered his body temperature even further. “Iceman reads five by five.”
“Marvel Girl reads,” Jean said.
“Shadowcat reads,” Kitty said.
“Let’s move.”
“Not so fast, Slim,” a gruff voice came from behind them from the shadows. Kitty and Bobby spun quickly, startled by the sudden sound. Scott turned with a look of visible disdain, while Jean stared straight ahead. “There’s something you need to know. The Brotherhood is here.”
“What?!?” Scott said, his face growing stormy. “How many?”
“Three person team. Mobile, strong, ranged. Good tactical balance.”
“Damn,” Scott said. “We need to move quick-”
“Hold on, Slim,” Logan said, emerging from the shadows. “The Brotherhood is here because I brought them here!”
[NEXT: Battleground!]
Hank strode into the lab, stopping short in his tracks at the site of himself standing over his notes. Even he was shocked at times by the severity of the transformation. His formerly lithe, human form was now massively muscular, his arms elongated, his skin covered with thick blue fur, his lower face drawn and snout like. Even his fingers were thicker, ending in razor sharp claws.
“What have I told you about accessing my lab, Darkhölm?”
Raven turned and smiled, her form shifting into that of a highly attractive young woman. “Relax, Henry,” she said, tossing her red hair back over her fair skin. Her skintight blue body suit was unzipped down to below her breasts, giving Hank more of a view of her cleavage than he cared for. “I was just trying on the fur coat for size. Scott has been looking for you.”
“That does not give you the right to violate the security of my lab,” he snarled, holding out his arm, pointing the way out of the lab impatiently.
“Oh, Henry. You still don’t get it do you? I am the person you want on your side. Your fur won’t protect you if Allerdyce wants to singe it off, and all your muscle can’t move Dukes if he decides he wants to sit on you.”
“I don’t care how many of our operatives you have seduced to do your bidding. My lab is considered top access only, coming straight down from Fred Duncan. Just keep one thing in mind; I designed the nano-imagers that were grafted into your epidermis. I also have the codes that will allow me to disable them. If I catch you in here again, I’ll make sure everyone gets to see the real you, Ray.”
Raven’s eyes flashed, her mouth turning down into a scowl of hatred. “Go to Hell, McCoy,” she said, striding out of the lab angrily.
“After you,” he said, sneering. He keyed the door, the sharp hiss of air filling the now silent lab.
He keyed in the video intercom, clicking on the icon that would connect him with Scott’s office.
“Hank,” Scott said, “glad you called. We need to talk about Jean.”
“Of course,” Hank said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The doctor is always in. Come by the lab in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Hank,” Scott said, and the screen went blank.
“Of course,” Hank said, sighing. Scott Summers was the greatest tactical genius Weapon X had seen, and was one of the most deadly warriors every trained by the government. He was a brave man, who engendered tremendous loyalty and trust among those he led. Even so, in Hank’s opinion, when it came to Jean Grey, Scott Summers was a giant wimp.
[FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Anchorage, Alaska…]
Jimmy Hanson skulked along the plastic wall, holding his laser gun up in a ready position, as he had seen it done in a hundred sci-fi movies. This wasn’t a movie, it was laser tag, and it wasn’t a robot he was stalking, or a vampire, or a ghost, or a pod-person from Mars. But the fear one might feel when matched up against such a fictional adversary snaked a chill finger down his spine. His friends were all eliminated. He was down to his last hit. His opponent was a legend, the greatest laser tag player ever to walk these halls. And he was a good six years younger than Jimmy.
The deafening techno music could barely mask the thundering of his heart. The dry ice smoke drifting across the floor couldn’t cool the perspiration building on his brow. The black light made everything white glow a brilliant incandescent blue. He peeked around the corner and saw a silver marble the size of a golf ball rolling down the aisle. He stared at it, hypnotized, watching and the neon lights of the arena reflected in its perfectly polished surface. As the marble rolled past him, he saw a brilliant red flash, and suddenly, his chest sensor erupted in a cacophony of buzzing and beeping, its red lights flashing madly. He was out.
“What the Hell do you call that?” he said, stepping from behind the obstacle.
“Winning,” the younger kid said, holstering his laser gun as he strode forward confidently.
“Cheating, more like it,” Jimmy said, shoving the boy in the shoulder.
“You’re shoving around an eleven year old because he beat you at laser tag? Why not just staple a ‘please beat me down in the locker room shower’ sign to your back, Jimmy.”
“Kiss my ass, you little freak,” Hanson said, stripping off his vest and walking towards the return counter.
The young boy smiled and walked towards the counter himself. That was one of his favorite tactics. He had a steady enough aim to hit the highly polished moving orb, bouncing his laser at angles that rendered cover nearly useless. He set the gun and vest down and got his student ID back, tucking it into his pocket. As he turned, he saw a tall man in an Air Force uniform standing in front of him.
“Scott Summers?”
Scott swallowed hard. Something happened to his father.
“My name is Major Tom Corsi. I need you to come with me, son. There’s been an accident.”
Scott stared out the window of the large government-issue sedan, ignoring the men sitting in the car with him. He could not understand any of what was going on. He should be crying, seeking solace from anyone who could offer it. He should be screaming, cursing God, begging anyone to tell him why his father was gone, but all he could do is stare at the passing trees. His father was dead, killed in a test flight, and it should have been the end of his world. But he could only see it as the next challenge to overcome.
He heard a familiar voice say his name. He turned, and saw his father’s old friend and his new guardian looking at him from the seat next to him. He was about to turn away again when he heard the voice again, telling him that he would indeed overcome the challenge. But the man’s lips never moved.
“Did you say something, Dr. Xavier?”
“No, Scott,” Charles Xavier said, smiling slightly, “I didn’t say a word.”
[NOW: Weapon X Headquarters…]
Kitty stepped into the room and stopped short. She had been warned by Hank that there was a surprise planned for her return from Munich, but she didn’t know what to expect. The room was full of people, all looking at her with big grins on their faces. There were champagne glasses in everybody’s hands, and a platter of baked goods in the middle of the table. She felt instantly mortified, like she did whenever her mother starting drawing attention to her.
“What is this?” Kitty asked, looking warily at everyone gathered in the briefing room.
“Congratulations!” Sean Cassidy smiled, walking up to her and putting his arm on her shoulders, his pipe tucked securely in the corner of his mouth, wagging as he spoke in his thick brough. “Ye did a fine job in Munich, Lassie! Your first operation, ye accomplished the mission, returned good intel, and ye made it back unscathed. ‘Tis a cause for celebration!”
“As if you Pommies knew the first thing about how to celebrate,” St. John Allerdyce said, scoffing. His smug grin was tinted with a genuine disdain for the elder Irishman.
“Eh, don’t be on about the Irish, lad, just because we spanked your Aussie arses in the footie match last week.”
“Piss off, you bloody plonker!” St. John said, forking his two fingers at him.
“Not too shabby, Kitty,” a thin guy with sandy hair said, patting her shoulder. Behind him, his exact duplicate was picking cookies out of the platter, and across the room, another copy of him was sipping from a glass of champagne.
“Thanks, Jamie,” Kitty said, smiling awkwardly. Speaking to Jamie Madrox was always an unnerving experience, because she was never quite sure which Jamie she was talking to. No one was, because the duplicates made were exact in every single way. Every attempt to mark the original Jamie was reproduced on the duplicate, and every duplicate was under the impression that he was the original Jamie. So even Jamie didn’t know which one was the original.
By the time Kitty felt comfortable with the general atmosphere of the gathering, forty-five minutes had passed, and she had fended off three advances from Bobby. As she moved towards the cookie tray, her phone chirped, and she looked down at it. It was a text message.
Down an empty hallway, she flipped out her phone’s screen and opened her chat program. Piotr was signed on, and she began to type.
Shad0kat: Hello Piotr how r u?
Koloccvc: I am well. How was your return trip?
Shad0kat: Long flight no sleep and they served gross chicken in green sauce
Koloccvc: Airline food is like that
Shad0kat: It was pretty tough keeping it down
Koloccvc: You think that’s bad you should try teleporting
Shad0kat: You can teleport?!?
Koloccvc: I have a friend who can its very upsetting to the stomach
Shad0kat: I should get back to the party
Koloccvc: I am sorry I did not know you were at a party
Shad0kat: No its a work thing
Koloccvc: You have work parties? Maybe I need to switch jobs ;)
Shad0kat: Why not have your friend teleport you here lol
Kitty looked up when Scott rounded the corner, wearing his field uniform. “Kitty, hate to interrupt the party, but we have a situation. Report to the hangar, we’re wheels up in twenty.”
“Okay,” she replied. When he was gone, she looked down at the screen again, and saw another message from Piotr.
Koloccvc: Hate to cut this short but I have to go talk soon dosvidanya
Kitty frowned and put her phone away. Living the life of a super powered secret agent was sure putting a crimp on her social life. Having a teleporter would definitely make things easier. Then she stopped. Maybe the reason Piotr had to go was the same reason she was about to go into action. Her initial eagerness to see him again was quickly replaced with dread at the prospect that maybe, just maybe, their respective organizations were about to come into conflict.
[FIVE YEARS AGO: Central Court Building, Berlin…]
“Murderer!”
Kurt Wagner flinched, looking around skittishly at the assembled protestors. His lawyer Evangeline Whedon stood by his side, with her hand on his shoulder, urging him to keep walking.
“I didn’t do it!” Kurt yelled. “The jury even agreed that-”
“No comment!” Evangeline said. She leaned close to Kurt’s ear and still had to yell over the din. “There’s no talking to them, Kurt. These people are ignorant, and they will never believe that you didn’t kill that woman, no matter how many juries we convince. Just ignore-”
Her chest exploded as her body jerked backwards, blood splattering all over Kurt’s face.
“Mein Gott!” Kurt screamed, holding her and lowering her to the pavement amidst the screams coming from the crowd. Some of the protestors had turned and fled after the gunshot, but many of them were still screaming angrily. The police attempted to shield Kurt, but more shots rang out, and an officer was struck in the shoulder, sending him spinning backwards.
“They won’t save you, Kurt,” she gasped. “Get out of here. Run…” her eyes lost their focus, and her head lolled backwards.
Kurt watched as her body gently slumped out of his arms. He closed her eyes, and the looked around at the officers that were supposed to be protecting him. They were leaning against the planters that lined the courtyard, and Kurt realized just how exposed he still was. One of the officers was looking right at him, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“We’re getting shot at because of you, murderer,” his eyes said.
Kurt stood and ran for the corner of the courthouse, ducking behind the columns. The remains of the angry crowd grew louder and more frenzied as he fled.
“Get him!”
He looked back as he rounded the corner and saw the crowd break into a run after him. Tried and acquitted of murder, Kurt was still going to be executed for the crime. He sprinted for the far end of the alley, and was dismayed to see a ten foot chain link fence standing between him and the street beyond. He leapt as he reached the fence, his hands finding the top railing, and he slammed his feet into it. He used the flex of the fence to swing his feet out, up, and over his head, his hands swiveling like a gymnast on the uneven bars. The crowd he was used to performing in front of wasn’t out for his blood. This was not the circus.
He landed on the ground with an almost supernatural grace and sprinted for the other end of the alley, but stopped when he saw a car screech to a halt at the opening to the street. Three people jumped out of the car, one of them pointing a very large handgun at him. He turned back, and stopped again when he saw the mob reach the fence and begin climbing.
Looking around in desperation, he saw a fire escape ladder hanging down. He sprinted to the wall, jumping up and springing off of it, catching the bottom rung of the ladder with his hand. As he tried to pull himself up, another shot rang out, and a burning fire lanced through his left arm. He fell back to the ground, screaming sharply. He grabbed his left arm tightly, pistoning his legs to push himself up against the wall. The crowd gathered around him, weapons protruding from the line of people like a cannonade.
“Die, Murderer!” someone in the crowd screamed, and a loud crack split the air. Kurt closed his eyes waiting for the bullet to slice through him, but nothing happened. Shot after shot rang out, and he never felt a thing. After a few seconds, the gunfire stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. He opened his eyes, and saw nine bullets suspended in the air in from of him, floating perfectly motionless. The people around him stared as well, terrified of the impossible feat they were witnessing.
Suddenly, every weapon in the crowd was ripped from the hand that held it, streaking into the sky, collecting into a large cluster twenty feet overhead. The crowd watched mesmerized as the weapons disassembled as one, their components lining up like soldiers on review, hovering in formation.
Kurt looked through the crowd and saw a man wearing a dark crimson suit holding his hand up. As the man brought his hand down, the pieces of the guns came down with it, pelting the crowd with sharp metal shrapnel. The attackers fell like wheat before a scythe, creating a semi-circle of bodies around the astonished Kurt Wagner. Some of the attackers fell back, seeking refuge among the garbage cans and doorways of the alley.
The man in the crimson suit approached him and held out his hand. “Mister Wagner,” he said, “my name is Erik Lensherr. I am a spiritual leader with the Brotherhood of Men. I can provide sanctuary.”
Kurt looked down at his arm, bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound, and then looked at the remaining attackers. One of them was approaching again, with a brick in his hand.
“I can’t do anything about bricks, Kurt,” Erik said. “Time is short.”
Kurt nodded, and took Erik’s hand.
[NOW: The Brotherhood’s Prep Chamber…]
“Kurt,” Piotr said, sitting next to his teammate, “I am not quite certain I understand something. This is a stealth task, is it not? I can understand why you and Ororo would be beneficial to the mission, but my talents are not exactly quiet. Why am I going with you?”
“Because James says you are uniquely suited to the mission at hand. And he’s one of our best agents, so Erik and Ororo are inclined to trust him.”
“Do you?”
“I have faith. I might not agree with his methods, but he works for the greater good. I am willing to trust his judgment. James is a complex man. He spends so long out in the field that many of us don’t see him for months at a time. Being isolated like that takes its toll. But I believe we work towards the same goal.”
Piotr looked down at his hands and closed his eyes. “Kurt… I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Kurt smiled. “You can tell me anything, Piotr. Confession is good for the soul.”
“I am worried about our goals. I am not a violent man, but it seems that our mission is leading us to violence. My powers… they seem geared specifically towards destruction. I am a peaceful man. How can I stay that way when our mission is constantly requiring that I hit things?”
“I understand what you’re gong through, Piotr. But your gift is more than the ability to hit things. The closed fist can be used to strike the largest of adversaries, but it can also be used to protect the tiniest of God’s creatures. Violence in defense of others is sometimes justified, but that never makes it easy for a conscionable soul to live with.”
“Thank you, Kurt,” Piotr said.
Ororo came through the doorway, her skin looking especially dark in the red light of the room’s interior. “He’s ready.”
They walked into the next room, and saw a small man sitting next to a fire. There were several small bones and shiny trinkets splayed out around him in a large radial shape. He picked up a bullroarer from the small leather bag next to him, and as he began to twirl it, the fire grew steadily brighter.
“Spaceeba, Comrade Gateway,” Piotr said, stepping through the gate after his teammates. The aborigine merely sat in silence, twirling his bullroarer.
[TWO YEARS AGO: Weapon X Headquarters…]
Jean Grey sat on her bed, unpacking the small bag of personal effects and laying them out on the bed. Her movements were slow and methodical, like those of someone in shock. She gently placed her belongings on the comforter, arranging them into a large radial shape. Her eyes seemed to look beyond the shape she was making.
The door opened quickly and Scott walked through the door. “Jean,” he said, walking over to her. She smiled brightly, rose to her feet, and embraced him.
“Hello, Scott.”
“Welcome home,” he said, kissing her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Glad to be back.”
“I’ve seen the report, but I need to know from you directly. What was it like?”
Jean looked at him, unsure at first of how to respond. “It was… strange. “
“That’s it? You spent eight months with the enemy, and all you can say is it was strange?”
“What do you want me to say? That they’re all standing around in robes worshipping Satan and bathing in the blood of newborns?” She turned and sat back down on her bed. “They’re just people, Scott. They have different beliefs, different values, but they’re still people. And they don’t refer to us as the enemy, not all of them, anyway.”
“All the right ones do.”
“It’s just Erik and his son. But some of the others don’t see why we’re fighting.”
“Do you?” Scott asked, looking sternly at her.
She was quiet for a few moments.
“I don’t know anymore, Scott.”
“So do you believe we’re wrong?”
“No, but I don’t believe there’s a black and white line between our sides. I think that we could probably work together and be more effective than working against each other.”
“Really,” Scott said, looking away. When he turned back, she could see anger in his eyes. “Jean, they’re terrorists.”
Jean shook her head. “People say the same about us, Scott. I’m not saying that they’re right and we’re wrong… but we can learn a great deal from each other.”
“We have nothing to learn from those monsters.” He turned and walked out of the room.
[NOW: Somewhere Over Illinois…]
Jean stared out the window of the Weapon X transport, watching the open fields passing beneath. The cabin of the transport was chilly, but that was to be expected, with Bobby in tow. Scott was piloting the sleek jet, his crimson eyes focused on the sky in front of them. Jean looked at him with a genuine feeling of sadness. Sometimes it felt as if he were living with his head in the sand.
She looked back into the rear of the cabin and saw Bobby and Kitty sitting next to each other.
“Scott and Jean are a couple,” Bobby said, smiling as he leaned back in his seat.
“Yeah,” Kitty nodded, “I know.”
“So is this our first double date?”
“Eww,” Kitty grimaced, “not even.”
“Why not, beautiful? You’re young, I’m young, you’re good looking, I’m extremely good looking, you’re smart, I’m smart,” he said.
“You are a jackass,” Kitty said. “I don’t know why the four of us were specifically chosen for this operation, but it wasn’t so you could put the moves on me.”
“No, baby,” Bobby said, “that’s just a fringe benefit.”
“I’d like to jump out of the plane,” Kitty said to Jean, prompting her to smile.
“No can do, Kitty. Intel says you’re needed for this mission,” Jean smiled.
“Can I throw him out?” Kitty replied.
“Cut the chatter, kids,” Scott said, “we’re on the ground in sixty seconds.”
“The captain has illuminated the ‘no fun’ sign,” Jean whispered, and Kitty couldn’t help but chuckle.
The jet touched down in an abandoned train yard, the stealth systems muting the sounds of the engines down to a near whisper. Kitty dropped down through the belly of the craft, solidifying and landing softly on the ground in a crouch. She looked around, and then gave a sharp rap on the hull. The door opened, and Scott paced down the gang plank. He handed Kitty a communications device, which she tucked behind her ear. “Be ready,” Scott said, lowering his tactical visor down over his eyes, activating their power supply. “Call signs only from this point on. Testing comms.”
“Copy, Cyclops,” Bobby said, condensation swirling from his mouth as he lowered his body temperature even further. “Iceman reads five by five.”
“Marvel Girl reads,” Jean said.
“Shadowcat reads,” Kitty said.
“Let’s move.”
“Not so fast, Slim,” a gruff voice came from behind them from the shadows. Kitty and Bobby spun quickly, startled by the sudden sound. Scott turned with a look of visible disdain, while Jean stared straight ahead. “There’s something you need to know. The Brotherhood is here.”
“What?!?” Scott said, his face growing stormy. “How many?”
“Three person team. Mobile, strong, ranged. Good tactical balance.”
“Damn,” Scott said. “We need to move quick-”
“Hold on, Slim,” Logan said, emerging from the shadows. “The Brotherhood is here because I brought them here!”
[NEXT: Battleground!]