[SIXTEEN YEARS AGO: Lubbock, Texas…]
“Blob!” Nicky Felscher yelled, slugging Freddie Dukes in the abdomen. “Can you even feel that, fatso, or does the blubber absorb it?” he laughed as he shoved the younger boy to the ground.
Freddie lay on his side, clutching his stomach. Felscher’s last blow had missed his gut and connected with his balls, and pain crept through his entire lower body like a slow wave. He felt his lunch threaten to exit his body the way it came in, which would be only slightly less humiliating than shitting it out in front of all the laughing kids crowding around to watch him get his ass kicked.
“You’re disgusting, Dukes!” Felscher laughed. “You’re a giant sickening blob!” He looked out to the rest of the kids and shrugged. “Have y’all ever seen such a huge blob of crap?”
Freddie looked out at the other kids, and in the crowd, he saw Holly Pepitone. Holly was a year younger than him, but he had been madly in love with her since they first met in third grade. He couldn’t imagine anyone in the world could possibly be prettier than Holly, her jet black hair and crystal blue eyes burning their way into his memory forever. She was the only one in school who ever treated him like he wasn’t a reject, the only one who wasn’t currently laughing, and he knew that he would love her forever for that. He watched in shame as she looked down on him, her own face a mask of sadness and pity.
“Leave him alone,” Holly said, looking pleadingly at Felscher.
“What’s wrong, Pepper-bone?” Felscher said, “You and the Blob going steady?” He laughed and pressed his hands to the side of his face, squishing his cheeks together and making a crude fat face. “Hows about you gimme a twinkie and then take the cream out of my twinkie, Pepper-bone?”
Suddenly, Freddie Dukes’ mind imagined the rest of his life in an instant. Guys like Nicky Felscher would always be there, tormenting him about his weight. Girls like Holly Pepitone would always look at him with that mix of pity and poorly concealed revulsion. His only friends, Chip and Horace, would go to college and find girlfriends of their own. And Freddie would sit and wallow in misery, battling weight problems, working at the Sonic Drive Thru, or Action Land, probably running one of the rides, and he’d stay in Lubbock until he died a fat, lonely old man.
“Fuck that,” Freddie said, rising quickly to his feet. He lunged at Felscher, slamming all of his weight into the small of the older kid’s back, driving him into the wooden jungle gym. Felscher’s face crashed into the hard wood climbing wall, snapping off his two front teeth at the gum line, smashing his nose down flat. Freddie grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, driving his fist into the ruined pulp of Felscher’s nose, sending the stunned boy’s head back into the wooden wall again. He slugged him across the face again, sending blood spraying across the grass. With a bestial lurch, he brought his knee up into Felscher’s balls.
“You don’t fuck with the Blob!” Freddie screamed, bringing his knee up again. Felscher spit up blood and vomit simultaneously, dropping to the ground in a heap, covering his head protectively with his arms. Freddie turned and seethed at the crowd, now shrunk back in horror, their laughter hushed. The only sound now was the mangled choking sobs of Nicky Felscher and Freddie’s own savage breathing. “Y’all don’t fuck with the Blob!” he repeated, pointing at them all, years of childhood frustration boiling over at critical mass.
His eyes found Holly Pepitone again. Her pity was replaced by stark terror, her eyes looking at him like he was some sort of feral rabid predator.
Something inside of him felt shame. That part of him wanted to go to her, to apologize, to tell her that what he did was not him. But that tiny ember was a mere flicker before the full blown raging inferno of righteous fury that burned within him. He let his shame die a quick and lonely death, snuffed out in a wink, and from the rubble of little Freddie Dukes’ smashed childhood, Fred Dukes emerged like a warrior.
“Blob!” Nicky Felscher yelled, slugging Freddie Dukes in the abdomen. “Can you even feel that, fatso, or does the blubber absorb it?” he laughed as he shoved the younger boy to the ground.
Freddie lay on his side, clutching his stomach. Felscher’s last blow had missed his gut and connected with his balls, and pain crept through his entire lower body like a slow wave. He felt his lunch threaten to exit his body the way it came in, which would be only slightly less humiliating than shitting it out in front of all the laughing kids crowding around to watch him get his ass kicked.
“You’re disgusting, Dukes!” Felscher laughed. “You’re a giant sickening blob!” He looked out to the rest of the kids and shrugged. “Have y’all ever seen such a huge blob of crap?”
Freddie looked out at the other kids, and in the crowd, he saw Holly Pepitone. Holly was a year younger than him, but he had been madly in love with her since they first met in third grade. He couldn’t imagine anyone in the world could possibly be prettier than Holly, her jet black hair and crystal blue eyes burning their way into his memory forever. She was the only one in school who ever treated him like he wasn’t a reject, the only one who wasn’t currently laughing, and he knew that he would love her forever for that. He watched in shame as she looked down on him, her own face a mask of sadness and pity.
“Leave him alone,” Holly said, looking pleadingly at Felscher.
“What’s wrong, Pepper-bone?” Felscher said, “You and the Blob going steady?” He laughed and pressed his hands to the side of his face, squishing his cheeks together and making a crude fat face. “Hows about you gimme a twinkie and then take the cream out of my twinkie, Pepper-bone?”
Suddenly, Freddie Dukes’ mind imagined the rest of his life in an instant. Guys like Nicky Felscher would always be there, tormenting him about his weight. Girls like Holly Pepitone would always look at him with that mix of pity and poorly concealed revulsion. His only friends, Chip and Horace, would go to college and find girlfriends of their own. And Freddie would sit and wallow in misery, battling weight problems, working at the Sonic Drive Thru, or Action Land, probably running one of the rides, and he’d stay in Lubbock until he died a fat, lonely old man.
“Fuck that,” Freddie said, rising quickly to his feet. He lunged at Felscher, slamming all of his weight into the small of the older kid’s back, driving him into the wooden jungle gym. Felscher’s face crashed into the hard wood climbing wall, snapping off his two front teeth at the gum line, smashing his nose down flat. Freddie grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, driving his fist into the ruined pulp of Felscher’s nose, sending the stunned boy’s head back into the wooden wall again. He slugged him across the face again, sending blood spraying across the grass. With a bestial lurch, he brought his knee up into Felscher’s balls.
“You don’t fuck with the Blob!” Freddie screamed, bringing his knee up again. Felscher spit up blood and vomit simultaneously, dropping to the ground in a heap, covering his head protectively with his arms. Freddie turned and seethed at the crowd, now shrunk back in horror, their laughter hushed. The only sound now was the mangled choking sobs of Nicky Felscher and Freddie’s own savage breathing. “Y’all don’t fuck with the Blob!” he repeated, pointing at them all, years of childhood frustration boiling over at critical mass.
His eyes found Holly Pepitone again. Her pity was replaced by stark terror, her eyes looking at him like he was some sort of feral rabid predator.
Something inside of him felt shame. That part of him wanted to go to her, to apologize, to tell her that what he did was not him. But that tiny ember was a mere flicker before the full blown raging inferno of righteous fury that burned within him. He let his shame die a quick and lonely death, snuffed out in a wink, and from the rubble of little Freddie Dukes’ smashed childhood, Fred Dukes emerged like a warrior.
“BROTHERHOOD – PART TWO”
[NOW: Weapon X’s Training Facility…]
Fred Dukes stood before the mirror, hefting the barbell up past his chest. His heavily ripped chest bulged, muscles tight and bulky like coiled steel. His abdomen was the perfect definition of a six pack, all of his childhood fat burned away in the crucible of his teenage years. He was now the paragon of physical perfection, having spent a great deal of his time at Weapon X undergoing intense physical training.
“One more, Blob, push it,” he said, taunting himself. He wore Nicky Felscher’s insult like a badge of honor, although his body fat was now nearly non-existent. His considerable physical might was significantly augmented by the Weapon X treatment, which gave him the ability to increase his weight and density. When he set his feet, no force on Earth could move him. And very few could remain stationary against his considerable natural might.
He let out a primal scream as he drove the bar over his head, holding it aloft for a moment, and then dropping it to the padded gym floor. The crash of the weights and his scream echoed off the empty room’s mirrored walls, followed by a silence broken only by his ragged breathing.
He stared intensely at the mirror, his eyes locked on their reflection, relishing the burning sensation in his body. His heart thundered steadily in his chest, sweat coursing down his face and arms. “Good job, Blob,” he gasped.
“Are you okay?” Kitty asked him, peeking around the corner, “I heard a scream.”
“I’m fine, Kid,” Fred said, picking up a towel and wiping his chest down. “Working out. Releasing energy.”
“Oh,” Kitty said, nodding. “O.K. Just checking.” She walked into the room, sitting next to the bench press machine, digging into her gym bag for her iPod.
“Don’t mess around with all that nautilus guff, kiddo,” Fred said. “You want a complete workout, free weights are the only way to go.”
Kitty paused, looking at the station and back at the free weights. “Really?”
“Sure,” he said, motioning her over. She stood next to him, and he pulled the weights off of the barbell. He held out the empty bar for Kitty to take.
“I’m not exactly frail, cowboy,” Kitty said, looking at the bar skeptically.
“I don’t doubt that,” Fred said. “Building muscle ain’t about powering through limits. Hold the bar to your waist, palms in.”
Kitty took the bar, holding it at her waist.
“Clean and jerk,” Fred said, and Kitty looked quizzically at him. “Pull your arms up and bring the bar to your chest in one motion, and then push it straight up over your head,” he explained, motioning his arms upward.
Kitty brought the bar up to her chest and then shoved the bar up. She held the bar up for a few seconds, and the glanced over to Fred.
“Hold it,” he said. “Keep it up. The bar itself weighs next to nothing, but add in the weight of your arms. Lifting them requires force. Holding them up requires strength.”
Kitty continued to hold the bar up. A full two minutes passed, with Kitty feeling more humiliated by the second. Every time she looked at Fred, he simply shook his head and said “not yet.”
Suddenly, Kitty’s left arm began to tremble. It was a minute sensation, but there was a warm feeling in her left shoulder. Her right arm followed almost instantly. She laughed. She could still hold the bar with no problem. But it was starting to sway.
“Okay,” Fred said, “you can let it down now,” he said, and Kitty lowered the bar. Her muscles tingled with an odd warmth.
“Feel that tingle where you didn’t even know you had muscles?” Fred said. “There are 640 muscles in the human body. Leaving just one under developed can cause a weakness that can be exploited. You have to work every muscle.”
“Why do you bother?” Kitty asked, rubbing her shoulders. “You can increase your density to the point where nothing can really hurt you anyway.”
“Our powers are man-made,” Fred replied. “Anything they can do can be undone.” He picked up his towel and started towards the door. “Besides,” he said, looking back, “a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I’ve spent my entire adult life treating my body like a temple, what good would it be to leave the foundation weak?”
Kitty nodded. Physical fitness had never been a problem for her, as a kid she had always had her dance classes to keep her in shape. But then again, she had never been engaged in activities like breaking into Bio-tech companies. She watched Fred walk out, and then turned back towards the free weights.
[NOW: Somewhere In Westchester County, New York…]
Warren keyed in a seven digit code and the large front door audibly unlocked. “This mansion was built just prior to the Civil War. It served as a hub for the Underground Railroad, and a hospital for wounded slaves and Union soldiers. Sometime after the war, it was used as an exclusive boarding school, frequented by the children of many wealthy patrons, including members of the infamous Hellfire Club and heads of state. There are twenty faculty staterooms and four master suites with adjoining offices, not including the headmaster’s suite. It has dormitory facilities in the outbuildings that housed upwards of two hundred students. It has two sub-basement levels, which have all been refurbished with cutting edge modern technology. It has a state of the art trauma center, and underground tunnels with a high speed rail system connected to a local airstrip. The main tunnel is secured, but there are access tunnels that reach all the way to New York City.” Warren turned and smiled at them. “And it has satellite TV.”
“Impressive,” Jean said. “The tech upgrades, I assume your company did them, but why? Were you looking to get the place up and running as a school again?”
“Actually,” Warren shook his head, “we subbed some of the work out to Yoshida Electronics, but a lot of the medical upgrades were Worthington. But no, we were looking to sell the place to the government as a new Camp David. Pastoral quaintness above, high tech hardened bunker beneath. They weren’t interested. Turned down a few too many government weapons contracts, I guess. Or maybe it’s because I insisted on keeping it’s location a secret until they had signed a contract. Either way, I’m glad they didn’t accept; I’ve grown quite attached to the place.”
“How soon can it be up and running?” Scott asked.
“It’s already waiting for the team to move in,” Warren said, handing Scott a key ring. “Welcome home.”
[FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Weapon X Training Center…]
“Welcome home, Scott,” Charles Xavier said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Scott looked around at the sterile white walls of the compound and his mouth drew into a taut line. This was going to be another challenge. His room at home wasn’t overflowing with any kind of kid stuff, mostly posters of military aircraft and model planes, but this place made his room look like a carnival.
“Wait here for a moment, Scott,” Xavier said, “I’m going to find your room assignment.”
Scott nodded, not bothering to watch the man depart.
“Looka this one,” a lanky young man knocked Scott from behind. “He’s a scrawny little bloke, ain’t he Kevo?”
Scott turned and saw two young kids standing behind him. The one that had spoken was thin, and looked only a few years older than Scott himself. His sandy blond hair was tousled and unkempt, his skin tanned and rough. Large tattoos adorned his narrow, bony shoulders and thin arms. The other kid was quiet, with dark circles around his eyes, his shoulders slumped in perpetual defeat.
Without waiting for a response, the blond kid took out a lighter and snapped the cover open. “Name’s St. John. This is Kevin.” With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the lighter closed again. “We’re the X-Force.”
“Are you, now?” Scott nodded.
“Damn right we are!” St. John sneered, thumbing the lighter open. “We’re the next generation of front-line operatives. We’re due to get the treatments by week’s end. We’re recruiting for our squad, but we need people we know won’t fold in the clutch.”
“Your own squad?” Scott asked.
“There are squads,” St. John said, snapping the lighter shut, “each one has six members. I’m going to lead X-Force, and we’re going to be the best of the best. If you want in, you’ll need to show me that you’re worthy.”
“And how do you become the leader of a squad?” Scott asked.
“Heh, check him, Kevin! He thinks he can become a squad leader! I like you, mate, you’re a pisser.” He flipped the lighter open and thumbed the wheel, a bright orange flame swaying atop the regulator like a miniature dancer.
“To be anything in this outfit,” he said, his eyes narrowing along with his smile, “you’ve got to have the fire.”
[NOW: Weapon X Headquarters…]
St. John Allerdyce sat on the bed in his darkened quarters, absently thumbing the wheel of his lighter. The flame bowed and twirled above the wick, but his mind wasn’t focused on the beaten old Zippo. There was an idea for a novel dancing behind his eyes, and it was consuming his every waking moment lately. It was an annoyance, but more because he couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head and onto paper. His focus was everywhere. Maybe it was his volatile relationship with Raven, maybe it was the recent lull of mission activity. Mostly, it was an overwhelming sense of restlessness with the organization.
Weapon X had failed to live up to the grand expectations that he had set for it. His grand dream of leading X-Force had crumbled. His given role in missions was usually that of door opener. Open the door, lean in, let loose a fireball, and then watch as the others marched in and took out whatever resistance they faced. Which, as of late, was not much. Weapon X seemed to be entering a slow down period. He guessed there just wasn’t much call for extra-normal military operatives now-a-days.
The silence was broken by a knock on his door. Snapping his lighter shut with a flick of his wrist, he hopped up and went to the door. The harsh light of the hallway was broken by the sultry silhouette of Raven Darkhölme, scantily clad in her sleek blue body suit.
“Hello, Johnny,” she purred, running a finger along the exposed flesh of his chest.
“Hullo, Rave,” St. John said, smirking as he leaned against the door frame. “What’s going on, luv?”
“There’s something we need to discuss,” she smiled, walking past him into the room, her hand sliding across his pectoral muscle and grabbing the collar of his tank top.
He followed her in. As the door clicked shut she toggled a small device on her belt. She then turned and kissed him passionately, devouring his lips like a hungry dog. His arms instantly wrapped around her, stroking her back.
“The plan,” Raven cooed breathlessly, her hand reaching down and grabbing St. John below the belt. “We might have to move things up. I want to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m always ready, luv,” he grinned, his own hands fondling the curve of her backside. “And I know Freddie is too. You say the word, the three of us are gone.”
“Actually, Johnny, it’s four.”
St. John stopped, backing away, he hands dropping, and scowled at her. “Four? I thought we agreed that that idiot wasn’t coming along?”
“He’s got valuable information,” Raven replied, “and our boss has requested him personally. Like him or not, for as much as you and I have some fun times together,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close, giving him a wet kiss, “if the boss says he needs him, he’s in.”
“I dunno, Rave. I don’t trust him.”
Raven laughed. “We’re super powered espionage agents, why do you trust anyone?”
[TEN YEARS AGO: Lubbock, Texas…]
Fred leaned over his duffel bag on the bed, slipping in several neatly folded t-shirts on top of his khaki pants and balled up socks. The last item he held was his Monterey High Football jacket, his favorite piece of clothing. He set it gently back on the bed. That part of his life was behind him now. He had gone from a pudgy victim to a brutal tank of a linebacker, his baby fat turning into muscle. He played varsity football in ninth grade, and his frame eventually filled out to a sizeable six foot four, two hundred twenty five pounds. Now, when he should have been thinking about what college he was going to play for, he already knew he was destined for something greater than football. He walked to the door, looked back at his childhood room, and closed the door.
Walking out his front door, he stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. Holly Pepitone was waiting for him at the foot of the driveway, leaning against his jeep.
“Hey, Holly,” Fred said, stepping past her and hefting the duffel into the rear of the vehicle. He resisted the urge to make eye contact, knowing that even after all these years, every time he looked at Holly he saw the fear and revulsion she could not mask that day at school.
“Howdy, Fred,” she replied, watching him carefully. “Headin’ out?”
“Yep,” Fred replied quickly, busying himself with the interior of his vehicle.
Holly sighed heavily, looking out into the hot Lubbock afternoon. “Fred,” she said, hesitating a few seconds, “Freddie, don’t go.”
“Don’t call me Freddie, Holly. It’s Fred.”
She nodded. “I don’t want you to go.”
“And why’s that?” Fred said, turning towards her. “You still can’t even look at me without flinching.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, putting a hand on his arm.
Fred lowered his arm, allowing her hand to drop off. “I know exactly what it’s like.”
“I’m worried about you. The boy I know, the one who was always so kind and caring, I still see flashes of him in you. But this anger that keeps boiling you over like a hot kettle, it… it scares me, not for me, but for you. You can’t keep being mad at the world. You have to let it go sometime. You’re not invulnerable, Fred. You’re allowed to be weak once in a while.”
“After Nicky Felscher, I swore I’d never be weak again,” Fred said. “I broke that promise. Once. We know how that worked out.” Holly could not hide the hurt in her eyes, and Fred did not allow himself to regret saying it. “I never want to feel that kind of pain again. Never again.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” Holly said, tears thick on her lashes. “I wish I could change what happened.”
“Well, you can’t. And you have nothing to apologize for. You just knew when to get out of a bad situation.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep. “We can’t change the past, Holly, and I can’t change what I am.” He fired up the ignition and threw the transmission into reverse, the jeep lurching down the driveway. He turned into the street, shifting the jeep into drive, and cruised away.
He spared one look in the rearview mirror, and saw Holly standing, arms folded, tears streaming down her face. He crushed down the last ember of weakness he felt inside and left Holly behind forever.
[NOW: In An Undisclosed Laboratory…]
Todd White cowered in the corner of the lab, burying his face in the crook of his right arm, holding out the keys to the secured vault in his trembling left. His skin was blistered, red, and swollen in a couple dozen places, with trails of a thick, slimy mucus streaked across his skin.
Famine crouched down next to him smiling sadistically. “Ey,” he said, “that was easy, wasn’t it?” He snatched the keys away, tossing them to the dark massive figure in the doorway. “Here you go, War.”
War turned silently and walked to the front of a glass enclosure. He turned the key, and the keypad slid out from behind its shielding. He turned back and looked at Todd, who watched them fearfully.
“Nine, nine, nine, four, three, zero,” he choked out, sobbing.
War keyed in the sequence and the small enclosure began to open up.
Famine glanced over and saw War remove the large stone tablet from the casing.
“There,” Todd said, “I gave you what you wanted. Now please, I just want to go home! Please let me go home!”
Famine rose, turning away. Pestilence smiled and took his place, crouching next to the frightened man, pulling back the cowl covering her face. The edges of her lips were blistered with sores, her eyes sunken and dark. Red blotches sat like roses on a snowfield against the pale ghostly expanse of her skin. Her lips were cracked and caked with dried blood and spit.
“Soon enough, my love,” she sighed, “ye’ll be going home soon enough.” She leaned in and kissed him.
[To Be Continued…]
Fred Dukes stood before the mirror, hefting the barbell up past his chest. His heavily ripped chest bulged, muscles tight and bulky like coiled steel. His abdomen was the perfect definition of a six pack, all of his childhood fat burned away in the crucible of his teenage years. He was now the paragon of physical perfection, having spent a great deal of his time at Weapon X undergoing intense physical training.
“One more, Blob, push it,” he said, taunting himself. He wore Nicky Felscher’s insult like a badge of honor, although his body fat was now nearly non-existent. His considerable physical might was significantly augmented by the Weapon X treatment, which gave him the ability to increase his weight and density. When he set his feet, no force on Earth could move him. And very few could remain stationary against his considerable natural might.
He let out a primal scream as he drove the bar over his head, holding it aloft for a moment, and then dropping it to the padded gym floor. The crash of the weights and his scream echoed off the empty room’s mirrored walls, followed by a silence broken only by his ragged breathing.
He stared intensely at the mirror, his eyes locked on their reflection, relishing the burning sensation in his body. His heart thundered steadily in his chest, sweat coursing down his face and arms. “Good job, Blob,” he gasped.
“Are you okay?” Kitty asked him, peeking around the corner, “I heard a scream.”
“I’m fine, Kid,” Fred said, picking up a towel and wiping his chest down. “Working out. Releasing energy.”
“Oh,” Kitty said, nodding. “O.K. Just checking.” She walked into the room, sitting next to the bench press machine, digging into her gym bag for her iPod.
“Don’t mess around with all that nautilus guff, kiddo,” Fred said. “You want a complete workout, free weights are the only way to go.”
Kitty paused, looking at the station and back at the free weights. “Really?”
“Sure,” he said, motioning her over. She stood next to him, and he pulled the weights off of the barbell. He held out the empty bar for Kitty to take.
“I’m not exactly frail, cowboy,” Kitty said, looking at the bar skeptically.
“I don’t doubt that,” Fred said. “Building muscle ain’t about powering through limits. Hold the bar to your waist, palms in.”
Kitty took the bar, holding it at her waist.
“Clean and jerk,” Fred said, and Kitty looked quizzically at him. “Pull your arms up and bring the bar to your chest in one motion, and then push it straight up over your head,” he explained, motioning his arms upward.
Kitty brought the bar up to her chest and then shoved the bar up. She held the bar up for a few seconds, and the glanced over to Fred.
“Hold it,” he said. “Keep it up. The bar itself weighs next to nothing, but add in the weight of your arms. Lifting them requires force. Holding them up requires strength.”
Kitty continued to hold the bar up. A full two minutes passed, with Kitty feeling more humiliated by the second. Every time she looked at Fred, he simply shook his head and said “not yet.”
Suddenly, Kitty’s left arm began to tremble. It was a minute sensation, but there was a warm feeling in her left shoulder. Her right arm followed almost instantly. She laughed. She could still hold the bar with no problem. But it was starting to sway.
“Okay,” Fred said, “you can let it down now,” he said, and Kitty lowered the bar. Her muscles tingled with an odd warmth.
“Feel that tingle where you didn’t even know you had muscles?” Fred said. “There are 640 muscles in the human body. Leaving just one under developed can cause a weakness that can be exploited. You have to work every muscle.”
“Why do you bother?” Kitty asked, rubbing her shoulders. “You can increase your density to the point where nothing can really hurt you anyway.”
“Our powers are man-made,” Fred replied. “Anything they can do can be undone.” He picked up his towel and started towards the door. “Besides,” he said, looking back, “a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I’ve spent my entire adult life treating my body like a temple, what good would it be to leave the foundation weak?”
Kitty nodded. Physical fitness had never been a problem for her, as a kid she had always had her dance classes to keep her in shape. But then again, she had never been engaged in activities like breaking into Bio-tech companies. She watched Fred walk out, and then turned back towards the free weights.
[NOW: Somewhere In Westchester County, New York…]
Warren keyed in a seven digit code and the large front door audibly unlocked. “This mansion was built just prior to the Civil War. It served as a hub for the Underground Railroad, and a hospital for wounded slaves and Union soldiers. Sometime after the war, it was used as an exclusive boarding school, frequented by the children of many wealthy patrons, including members of the infamous Hellfire Club and heads of state. There are twenty faculty staterooms and four master suites with adjoining offices, not including the headmaster’s suite. It has dormitory facilities in the outbuildings that housed upwards of two hundred students. It has two sub-basement levels, which have all been refurbished with cutting edge modern technology. It has a state of the art trauma center, and underground tunnels with a high speed rail system connected to a local airstrip. The main tunnel is secured, but there are access tunnels that reach all the way to New York City.” Warren turned and smiled at them. “And it has satellite TV.”
“Impressive,” Jean said. “The tech upgrades, I assume your company did them, but why? Were you looking to get the place up and running as a school again?”
“Actually,” Warren shook his head, “we subbed some of the work out to Yoshida Electronics, but a lot of the medical upgrades were Worthington. But no, we were looking to sell the place to the government as a new Camp David. Pastoral quaintness above, high tech hardened bunker beneath. They weren’t interested. Turned down a few too many government weapons contracts, I guess. Or maybe it’s because I insisted on keeping it’s location a secret until they had signed a contract. Either way, I’m glad they didn’t accept; I’ve grown quite attached to the place.”
“How soon can it be up and running?” Scott asked.
“It’s already waiting for the team to move in,” Warren said, handing Scott a key ring. “Welcome home.”
[FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Weapon X Training Center…]
“Welcome home, Scott,” Charles Xavier said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Scott looked around at the sterile white walls of the compound and his mouth drew into a taut line. This was going to be another challenge. His room at home wasn’t overflowing with any kind of kid stuff, mostly posters of military aircraft and model planes, but this place made his room look like a carnival.
“Wait here for a moment, Scott,” Xavier said, “I’m going to find your room assignment.”
Scott nodded, not bothering to watch the man depart.
“Looka this one,” a lanky young man knocked Scott from behind. “He’s a scrawny little bloke, ain’t he Kevo?”
Scott turned and saw two young kids standing behind him. The one that had spoken was thin, and looked only a few years older than Scott himself. His sandy blond hair was tousled and unkempt, his skin tanned and rough. Large tattoos adorned his narrow, bony shoulders and thin arms. The other kid was quiet, with dark circles around his eyes, his shoulders slumped in perpetual defeat.
Without waiting for a response, the blond kid took out a lighter and snapped the cover open. “Name’s St. John. This is Kevin.” With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the lighter closed again. “We’re the X-Force.”
“Are you, now?” Scott nodded.
“Damn right we are!” St. John sneered, thumbing the lighter open. “We’re the next generation of front-line operatives. We’re due to get the treatments by week’s end. We’re recruiting for our squad, but we need people we know won’t fold in the clutch.”
“Your own squad?” Scott asked.
“There are squads,” St. John said, snapping the lighter shut, “each one has six members. I’m going to lead X-Force, and we’re going to be the best of the best. If you want in, you’ll need to show me that you’re worthy.”
“And how do you become the leader of a squad?” Scott asked.
“Heh, check him, Kevin! He thinks he can become a squad leader! I like you, mate, you’re a pisser.” He flipped the lighter open and thumbed the wheel, a bright orange flame swaying atop the regulator like a miniature dancer.
“To be anything in this outfit,” he said, his eyes narrowing along with his smile, “you’ve got to have the fire.”
[NOW: Weapon X Headquarters…]
St. John Allerdyce sat on the bed in his darkened quarters, absently thumbing the wheel of his lighter. The flame bowed and twirled above the wick, but his mind wasn’t focused on the beaten old Zippo. There was an idea for a novel dancing behind his eyes, and it was consuming his every waking moment lately. It was an annoyance, but more because he couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head and onto paper. His focus was everywhere. Maybe it was his volatile relationship with Raven, maybe it was the recent lull of mission activity. Mostly, it was an overwhelming sense of restlessness with the organization.
Weapon X had failed to live up to the grand expectations that he had set for it. His grand dream of leading X-Force had crumbled. His given role in missions was usually that of door opener. Open the door, lean in, let loose a fireball, and then watch as the others marched in and took out whatever resistance they faced. Which, as of late, was not much. Weapon X seemed to be entering a slow down period. He guessed there just wasn’t much call for extra-normal military operatives now-a-days.
The silence was broken by a knock on his door. Snapping his lighter shut with a flick of his wrist, he hopped up and went to the door. The harsh light of the hallway was broken by the sultry silhouette of Raven Darkhölme, scantily clad in her sleek blue body suit.
“Hello, Johnny,” she purred, running a finger along the exposed flesh of his chest.
“Hullo, Rave,” St. John said, smirking as he leaned against the door frame. “What’s going on, luv?”
“There’s something we need to discuss,” she smiled, walking past him into the room, her hand sliding across his pectoral muscle and grabbing the collar of his tank top.
He followed her in. As the door clicked shut she toggled a small device on her belt. She then turned and kissed him passionately, devouring his lips like a hungry dog. His arms instantly wrapped around her, stroking her back.
“The plan,” Raven cooed breathlessly, her hand reaching down and grabbing St. John below the belt. “We might have to move things up. I want to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m always ready, luv,” he grinned, his own hands fondling the curve of her backside. “And I know Freddie is too. You say the word, the three of us are gone.”
“Actually, Johnny, it’s four.”
St. John stopped, backing away, he hands dropping, and scowled at her. “Four? I thought we agreed that that idiot wasn’t coming along?”
“He’s got valuable information,” Raven replied, “and our boss has requested him personally. Like him or not, for as much as you and I have some fun times together,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close, giving him a wet kiss, “if the boss says he needs him, he’s in.”
“I dunno, Rave. I don’t trust him.”
Raven laughed. “We’re super powered espionage agents, why do you trust anyone?”
[TEN YEARS AGO: Lubbock, Texas…]
Fred leaned over his duffel bag on the bed, slipping in several neatly folded t-shirts on top of his khaki pants and balled up socks. The last item he held was his Monterey High Football jacket, his favorite piece of clothing. He set it gently back on the bed. That part of his life was behind him now. He had gone from a pudgy victim to a brutal tank of a linebacker, his baby fat turning into muscle. He played varsity football in ninth grade, and his frame eventually filled out to a sizeable six foot four, two hundred twenty five pounds. Now, when he should have been thinking about what college he was going to play for, he already knew he was destined for something greater than football. He walked to the door, looked back at his childhood room, and closed the door.
Walking out his front door, he stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. Holly Pepitone was waiting for him at the foot of the driveway, leaning against his jeep.
“Hey, Holly,” Fred said, stepping past her and hefting the duffel into the rear of the vehicle. He resisted the urge to make eye contact, knowing that even after all these years, every time he looked at Holly he saw the fear and revulsion she could not mask that day at school.
“Howdy, Fred,” she replied, watching him carefully. “Headin’ out?”
“Yep,” Fred replied quickly, busying himself with the interior of his vehicle.
Holly sighed heavily, looking out into the hot Lubbock afternoon. “Fred,” she said, hesitating a few seconds, “Freddie, don’t go.”
“Don’t call me Freddie, Holly. It’s Fred.”
She nodded. “I don’t want you to go.”
“And why’s that?” Fred said, turning towards her. “You still can’t even look at me without flinching.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, putting a hand on his arm.
Fred lowered his arm, allowing her hand to drop off. “I know exactly what it’s like.”
“I’m worried about you. The boy I know, the one who was always so kind and caring, I still see flashes of him in you. But this anger that keeps boiling you over like a hot kettle, it… it scares me, not for me, but for you. You can’t keep being mad at the world. You have to let it go sometime. You’re not invulnerable, Fred. You’re allowed to be weak once in a while.”
“After Nicky Felscher, I swore I’d never be weak again,” Fred said. “I broke that promise. Once. We know how that worked out.” Holly could not hide the hurt in her eyes, and Fred did not allow himself to regret saying it. “I never want to feel that kind of pain again. Never again.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” Holly said, tears thick on her lashes. “I wish I could change what happened.”
“Well, you can’t. And you have nothing to apologize for. You just knew when to get out of a bad situation.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep. “We can’t change the past, Holly, and I can’t change what I am.” He fired up the ignition and threw the transmission into reverse, the jeep lurching down the driveway. He turned into the street, shifting the jeep into drive, and cruised away.
He spared one look in the rearview mirror, and saw Holly standing, arms folded, tears streaming down her face. He crushed down the last ember of weakness he felt inside and left Holly behind forever.
[NOW: In An Undisclosed Laboratory…]
Todd White cowered in the corner of the lab, burying his face in the crook of his right arm, holding out the keys to the secured vault in his trembling left. His skin was blistered, red, and swollen in a couple dozen places, with trails of a thick, slimy mucus streaked across his skin.
Famine crouched down next to him smiling sadistically. “Ey,” he said, “that was easy, wasn’t it?” He snatched the keys away, tossing them to the dark massive figure in the doorway. “Here you go, War.”
War turned silently and walked to the front of a glass enclosure. He turned the key, and the keypad slid out from behind its shielding. He turned back and looked at Todd, who watched them fearfully.
“Nine, nine, nine, four, three, zero,” he choked out, sobbing.
War keyed in the sequence and the small enclosure began to open up.
Famine glanced over and saw War remove the large stone tablet from the casing.
“There,” Todd said, “I gave you what you wanted. Now please, I just want to go home! Please let me go home!”
Famine rose, turning away. Pestilence smiled and took his place, crouching next to the frightened man, pulling back the cowl covering her face. The edges of her lips were blistered with sores, her eyes sunken and dark. Red blotches sat like roses on a snowfield against the pale ghostly expanse of her skin. Her lips were cracked and caked with dried blood and spit.
“Soon enough, my love,” she sighed, “ye’ll be going home soon enough.” She leaned in and kissed him.
[To Be Continued…]