#85
September, Year 4
What Has Gone Before: In a moment of weakness, Jenny Livenhill, Mimic, saved her teammates at the warehouse, though it meant the death of their opponent. As this was going on, the other X-Men attended a press conference on behalf of their founder and candidate for New York governor, Professor Charles Xavier. The results, to say the least, were not as expected. Meanwhile, an old friend considers making herself known, while an old foe sets his own plans into motion.
“Taking a Breather”
By Stephen Crosby
Breathing deeply of the cool Autumn air, Jean Grey smiles, imagining the feeling of her child moving inside of her. More than once she finds herself admiring the beautiful countryside, unable to imagine a more beautiful place where she and Scott can raise their child.
At the thought of her husband, Jean sneaks a glance at him. The sight of Scott Summers brooding, his head resting against the passenger side window, pains Jean almost as much as what she feels through their rapport. Such has he been the entire drive; second-guessing himself on the incident during Professor Xavier’s press conference.
At least he’s willing to admit he made a mistake, Jean thinks to herself, signaling a turn into the exit. The stress of these past few months have affected him deeply. Maybe now he’ll start to slow down and at more like his old self.
Rounding the curve, Jean visible brightens at the sight of what has been her home away from home, the Xavier Mansion. Slowing the car down, Jean prepares to turn into the estate, even as the gates open to her telekinetic push. “Wake up sleepy heads. You’ll have to settle for nice, fluffy beds from here on out.”
With a yawn, Dazzler’s eyes flutter open. “No rest for the weary in my case Jean. I’m getting straight to work on my designs. What we wore at the press conference might be fine for public appearances, but we’ll need something totally different for real missions.”
Scott stretches, nodding automatically. “Good thinking Dazzler. Just because we’re getting more high-profile doesn’t mean we’re turning into the Avengers. However, you’ll have to put off designing until after our team session in the Danger Room.”
Cyclops turns back to face Dazzler, Shadowcat, and the hunched over Blockade. “We barely averted a potential disaster today people. But just barely, and not without it’s repercussions. We have to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.”
Pulling the car beside the mansion, in front of the door, Jean parks the car and opens the door, though she doesn’t shut off the engine. “No problem Scott. Go ahead and prepare the program. I’ll be in as soon as I park the car.”
Stepping up to the porch, Jean turns around and lightly concentrates. The minivan is pulled out of park and slowly rolls towards the garage.
About to go inside, Scott stops and looks on in concern. “Are you sure you’re up to the strain, Jean? With the baby, maybe I should-”
“It’s no strain at all honey,” Jean smiles, pecking Scott on the cheek. By now, the other three X-Men have gone inside, and the car is over halfway to the garage. “A little pressure to put the car in gear, a little pressure on the gas and brake pedals, and a little pressure on the steering wheel.” The front of the car has now vanished from sight into the garage. “Altogether, it’s not even a tenth of my power. It’s almost as easy as combing my hai-”
Jean starts, surprised. She and Scott hear a thump in the garage, and the unmoving bumper of the minivan is still visible.
Cyclops starts off the porch, rushing for the garage. “What happened Jean?”
“I-I don’t know. There should be enough room in the garage, unless Logan decided to return while we were away. Dear god, I hope no one was in there!”
Worried herself, Jean is not far behind Scott into the garage. Entering alongside the minivan, they both stop in confusion when they see the front of the car.
Because sitting in front of the car, with one hand placed against it, is a young boy no older than six years old.
Jean furrows her brow a moment, then relaxes. “Scott, I just tried to move this child. The way I judge it, he must way at least two hundred pounds.”
Cyclops nods. “This must be one of the children from Nanny’s orphanage that we sent the others to. This fella must have wandered off. You’d better put the car in park and alert them.”
Jean had already geared the car, and sends out an urgent summons at the speed of thought. Bobby! We just found one of Nanny’s children in the garage.
Kneeling next to the child, Cyclops smiles at the boy. “Hi. My name’s Scott. What’s yours?”
No answer.
“Look, I know how you feel. Alone. Afraid. Different. That’s how I felt too, and so did a lot of people I know. You should know that you’re not alone; that there are people willing to accept you and help you.”
Again. No answer. The five-year old’s attention is focused only on the fender of the car.
Scott sighs. “Well, I don’t blame you for hiding. But you should know that whenever you feel like talking, I’m always around.”
“Give it up, Scott. This isn’t a teenager, it’s a five-year old. You really need to brush up on dealing with children.
Scott looks up to see a smiling Bobby Drake, de-iced. Bobby kneels down next to the boy and taps him on the shoulder. The boy shivers slightly, removing his hand from the parked minivan. Iceman looks to Jean.
“Sorry if Rocko startled you Jean, but with all the kids around, he just wandered off. Since we’d already run the standard tests on him, and he wasn’t exactly in any danger, we didn’t think to much of it. Just give him some mental Z’s and take him to his room. I’d do it myself, but I’m tired as it is.”
Jean smiles and nods. “Of course Bobby.” As gently has a mother would be, she lifts the now drowsy Rocko slowly and leaves through the connecting door into the mansion, the sleeping child held in from of her.
Cyclops stands, feeling more than a little foolish. “Talk to me Bobby. How many kids are here? How many have powers, and what are these powers? Has Nanny been helpful?”
Iceman laughs, holding up his hand. “Whoa. Slow down, oh fearless leader. There’s about fifty young children here. We thought there were more at first, but one had sonic powers, and another could duplicate. From those we’ve tested so far, about 30 or 35, they all have powers. Nanny hasn’t been much help, though one of the toddlers have been very helpful.”
Bobby runs his hand over his hair, sighing in weariness. “And believe me, Scott, little things like numbers and powers have been the least of my worries. I sent Warren and Rahne out on a supply run, and I’m not sure if even his fortune will be enough to get everything we need. Diapers, food, medicine, clothes.” Bobby chuckles. “Believe me pal, you’ll start praying for Magneto to attack us before long.”
Scott just smiles and shakes his head. “Well then, maybe you can fill me in on all the facts on the way to the med-lab.”
Iceman puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder and leads the way.
“The one suspended in the anti-gravity is the duper. Her power activates on kinetics, hence the anti-gravity.”
“Just like Jamie,” Jean mumbles. Jenny doesn’t recognize the name.
“Rocko, the boy you brought in, has an extremely dense cellularstructure. I can only assume he was born with it.”
Jenny shudders, and when Jean reads the cause, she can’t help but shudder. Lord, I can only imagine what his mother went through.
Jenny continues. “Unfortunately, his high density has a drawback. From the tests we ran, his brain is smaller than normal, and the brain activity is lower than most animals. If he survives, he’ll grow up mentally disabled.”
“Oh, the poor child.” Jean looks down at the boy and lightly brushes his hair with her hand.
Jenny, sighs. “I know. Fortunately, he’s alone. Everybody else is pretty much normal mentally, except for Adam.”
“Adam?”
Hello Mrs. Summers.
Jean starts at the mental voice in her mind. Jenny tries to hide her laugh, and points behind Jean. She turns to look at a toddler lying up in his bed, looking up at her with frighteningly intelligent eyes.
I’m sorry if I startled you. I woke up when I heard my name in your thoughts, and I thought it the best time to introduce myself.
Jean smiles. I forgive you. I’d introduce myself, but you already seem to know my name. Jean eyes the rash on Adam’s face in concerned. Is there anything I can-
No need. Jenny already applied the appropriate ointment to it. All this pampering was part of the reason I was sleeping. It was rather difficult to rest in the war- Ah, here comes your husband and Mr. Drake.
Scott and Bobby, along with Longshot, Dazzler, and Kitty, enter the room almost ten seconds after Adam announced them. Iceman leads them in with a grand sweeping gesture. “And here are the little tykes. They’re resting right now, so there’s no need to brace yourselves. Oh, little Adam’s awake, I see.”
Bobby wags his finger at the giggling toddler. “Shame on you, young man. You’re supposed to be napping.”
My sincerest apologies, Bobby, but it’s rather difficult with all these loud thoughts. Perhaps later on Mrs. Summers can give me some proper training? Adam looks up at her with those little puppy eyes that usually melt hearts.
Jean just can’t resist them, of course. “Why, of course I’ll help you with your powers Adam.”
Excellent. But first, I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question? It’s in regards to the mask your wearing.
Jean steps back, shocked. Cyclops’ expression is one of concern and worry. “Wh-what do you mean, Adam? I haven’t worn a mask in years.”
I’m talking about your mental mask, or are you even aware of it? Adam looks intently at her for a moment, and Jean could swear those cute little eyes are boring into her very soul. Incredible. You’ve sub consciously projected the illusionary mask so that even you don’t know about it. Again, Mrs. Summers, I’m genuinely sorry.
Jean was about to ask Adam what for, but the shocked expressions on her teammates stop her. “What’s wrong?”
Kitty tries to explain, albeit badly. “Yo-you’re face, Jean. It’s different. Plainer.”
Horrified, Jean whips her head around to stare into a mirror. Indeed, stare is the correct term, for the face that looks back at her is almost unrecognizable.
Jean is certain that its her face she sees. There’s not a line or a dimple that she wouldn’t call her own. But somehow, she’s not as beautiful as she’s always been. It’s her face, but less radiant, lacking something, but she doesn’t know what it is. Unable to cope with this sudden realization, Jean rushes out of the nursery, nearly in tears.
Cyclops moves to stop her, but she’s too fast for him. He starts to follow her, but instead turns on the toddler, his visor crackling to contain the power of his optic blasts. “What did you do to her?”
Adam genuinely looks sorrowful. I did nothing but bring something to her attention. Unfortunately, it was that attention that removed it. For years, your wife have hidden here true face behind an illusion that only you couldn’t see. You couldn’t see it because you didn’t have to. You already saw here like that.
Mrs. Summers took the image of love that you had of her and made it so that everyone else saw it, including her. Her face, but beautified a thousand times over by your love for her. She wasn’t aware of it, and had I known that I wouldn’t have informed her, I can promise you that. I truly am sorry Mr. Summers.
Scott can tell that Adam is sorry, but what he’s just found out is still so hard to take. That Jean had taken what he saw of her and extended it to everybody else was something he never thought she’d do, even sub-consciously. In a daze, Cyclops wanders out of the nursery and into the hall.
Adam sadly watches his go and looks up at Iceman. I really am sorry for what I did, Bobby. Maybe it would have been better if I’d stayed asleep.
“No Adam, it wasn’t your fault,” Iceman quickly says. But his words fall on deaf ears, as Adam had already brought himself into a deep sleep. Shaking his head, he leaves to talk to Scott.
“Are you all right Scott.”
“Yeah, I’m fine Bobby. It’s just a lot to take in, is all.” Cyclops looks through the doorway at the sleeping toddler and all the other children. “I must say though, that for a toddler, he’s an incredibly powerful mutant.”
Iceman is silent for a moment, obviously a little disturbed.
“What is it Bobby?”
“Well, Scott, here’s the thing. Of the fifty children we found, all of them have powers. However, the tests showed that only 20% of them have the X-Factor gene.”
Scott’s mouth drops open, taken totally by surprise. “You mean most of them aren’t mutants!?”
“Yeah, and Adam’s one of those 80%. The most powerful among the whole lot of them, and it’s because of something else entirely.”
New York City is one of the largest cities in the world. Made up of five boroughs spread over a variety of islands, the total area of this great city is approximately 301 square miles, and is home to over 7.5 million individuals. Of the entire city, only the Bronx area is directly connected to the New York mainland.
But those statistics only reflect the surface area of New York City. Beneath the surface, there are miles of tunnels besides the 443 miles of subway tracks. One would even argue that the underworld of New York city is even larger than the surface world. One thing is certain, however.
The population is a lot uglier.
Take the creature in the Bronx, for instance. Just moments ago it tore through the cold concrete and steel that had been an entrance between the underground tunnels and an abandoned dry-cleaner’s. With a roar of pain and anger, this creature lumbered into the former place of business, searching around for one thing. Escape.
Through the front glass window, the creature, hidden by darkness, sees the lights of the outside world. Like any other animal, this creature isn’t aware that there is glass in front of it. Therefore, imagine it’s surprise when it breaks through a glass window in it’s leap to freedom.
Unfortunately, a lone beat cop just happens to witness this. Shaking in fear, the elderly officer pulls his gun from it’s holster and points it at the monstrosity before him. “Fr-freeze!”
Pausing a moment, the creature turns slightly and faces the insignificant human that appears to be threatening it. In turning, it appears directly beneath the streetlight, coming into full view.
Officer Mills got an eye-full of what he was up against and, for all his years of service, he just wasn’t prepared. His eyes widened in fear, and the gun in his once-strong hands began to shake. The numbing along his left arm only lasts a moment before the arm itself drops, the gun falling from hands that had lost their strength. His knees buckle and weaken, and finally Mills just stops trying to stand.
The massive creature puzzles as the flea-speck that was threatening it falls to the ground and lays there unmoving. The moment passes however, as the green-skinned monster possesses the mind-and curiosity-of a child. The inanimate object at it’s feet holds no more interest, and so the creature wanders past it, driven elsewhere. A few steps the creature lurches forward until, impatient and driven, it braces its powerful legs and leaps.
Thus, in the silent night that is so rare in New York City, an elderly policeman weeks away from retirement falls in the line of duty, and the monstrous culprit leaps away without a second thought. And all is, of course, observed. In this case by two men watching the video feed from a camera hidden in decrepit dry-cleaning sign.
“Well, the specimen is on it’s way,” the shorter of the men mutter, exhaling the cigarette smoke. “A pity somebody had to die. Do you think the authorities will investigate?”
“For what?” The other man, this one tall and heavyset, questions. “As far as they’ll see, some old guy’s heart gave out. I suppose the fact that his gun was unholstered will raise some eyebrows, but there are a lot of stray animals in the neighborhood. The matter will drop, and we will remain safe.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Short man, puffs nervously on his cigarette. “Do you think we’ll be able to retrieve them? Whatever it was that blocked the signal, it might be able to deal with the hound.”
Big and tall snorts. “Probably just some old machine of her’s that gave out like all the others. What matters is that we’ve found them, and Nanny doesn’t have what it takes to stop us from taking back what’s ours.”
“The evidence doesn’t lie Scott. Only ten of these children are actually mutants, and half of them will be lucky if they live another year.” Iceman shakes his head, which is hurting from all the information he’s had to absorb over the last few days. Hank had better stop playing Avenger and get back here soon. He’d eat this up like a hot dog in Yankee Stadium.
Cyclops frowns at the readings on the screen. “That won’t happen Bobby. Not if I can help it. What worries me at the moment though is how the other forty children got their powers. I can’t imagine all of them getting bitten by radioactive animals.”
Fighting back a laugh, Iceman claps Scott on the back. “Geez, what a stupid way to get powers. So far, Nanny’s been tight-lipped about where she got all the kids, but Adam’s been a big help.”
“I’m sure he has been,” Scott replies with mild sarcasm. “What’d he tell you?”
Iceman sighs, looking across the room at the sleeping toddler. Why does he keep blaming the kid? All he did was make an observation. He didn’t know any better.
Bobby turns back to Scott. “He doesn’t remember much, but the impressions he gave me were scary. A sterile lab, filled with equipment and doctors. Could be a government conspiracy. Could be his birth.”
Scott smiles, looking around the room at all the young children. “I honestly can’t imagine anyone experiment on babies, but I’m ashamed to say that I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I know what you mean. We started out so bright-eyed, seeing everything in black and white. Now we could be fighting our worst enemies one day and helping them against a bigger threat the next. The government we used to work with seems split between tolerating us, condemning us, or using us.”
Cyclops turns to face his friend, and while his eyes are hidden beneath those blood red glasses, Iceman knows when he’s being glared at. “What are you saying? Bobby, if you’re not fully prepared to support the Professor-”
“Damn it Scott,” Iceman swears, keeping his voice low. One must think of the children. “I’ll follow him to Hell and back and you know it. But do you honestly think the federal government would give a governor control over us? You know how X-Factor ended up, and when Freedom Force got to hot, they got sent on a suicide mission. I’ll support the Professor, but the government is another matter.”
Scott sighs. “You may be right Bobby, but I’m sure Charles has already knows it. You know he wouldn’t sell us out like that, and odds are he has an idea to avoid losing us to the government. I trust him in this, and so should you.”
“Heh, maybe he’ll make us a task force of teachers,” Iceman jokes, looking around at all the children in the room. “Last I heard, education was a state thing.”
Scott smiles and grasps Iceman on the shoulder. “I swear Bobby, I just don’t know how you can switch from serious to silly like that.” Releasing his best friend, Scott turns for the door and heads out.
Iceman looks around at all the inhuman children around him and smiles wryly to himself. “Same way Hank does. I just act human.”
Walking down the hall, Scott reaches out for Jean via their rapport, trying to find her. She’s been avoiding him for the past few days, and he unfortunately knows why. While she did alter her appearance subconsciously, she still feels guilty, and a little scared that she was able to do it subconsciously. It makes her feel like she can’t control her powers, something Scott knows all too well.
Sensing her, Scott heads for the room, but then he feels someone else with her. Standing outside the door, he can hear the muffled voices on the other side. Through their rapport, Scott can feel sorrow in Jean’s thoughts, and winces at the psionic nudging Jean gives him to keep away. Rubbing his temples, Scott decided it’d be best to join the others down at the pool.
Inside the small bedroom, Jean holds a crying Jenny in her arms, doing her best to console the young X-Man. “There there, Jenny, let it out. What happened to you was a terrible thing, something that nobody should go through. Just let it all out Jenny. My poor dear, you’ve held it in for so long.”
And Jenny does let it go, sobbing uncontrollably into Jean’s arms.
Poolside, the mood is decidedly different. Joy, fun, anger, shock, annoyance, outrage. This and more fleeted through the minds of Kitty Pryde and Rahne Sinclair seconds after Blockade cannon-balled into the water.
“Ach! Ye perverted oaf!” Rahne screeched, wrapping a towel around her soaked, full-body bathing suit. “Don’nae think that Moira will’nae hear o’tis!”
“Calm down, Rahne. It’s not like he’s got you cornered in an alley,” Shadowcat joked. Of course she could see the humor in the situation. She had phased to avoid the blast. “But you’d better lay off, Blockade. It’s easier to swim in a pool if there’s water in it.”
Reaching up to grip the pool deck, the dripping-and grinning-Irishman hoists himself out of the water. Water that now fills less than three-quarters of the pool. With a snarl, Blockade looks up at a shadow passing overhead.
“Can ye blame me fer havin’ a little fun? Anyt’ing to ferget that blasted Angel of Death flying over our heads.”
“Hold your tongue Blockade.” Cyclops steps out of the mansion onto the pool deck, a stern look on his face. “Warren’s proven himself time and time again. Considering the kind of life he’s had-losing his parents, friends, lover, fortune, and his wings-that’s a feat nobody expected of him. Warren beat Death once; he’ll do it again.”
Blockade mutters something unintelligible, though Rahne makes it out clearly. After another hard glare, this time accompanied by a low growl, Rahne looks up at Scott with a question.
“If’n ye don’nae mind me askin’, exactly how did Warren get those dreadful wings again?”
“I’ve been wondering about that too, Scott,” Kitty adds. “Did they just reappear? A taunting joke from Apocalypse?”
“For all I know, that could be it. Warren hasn’t told me or anyone else anything.” Scott fumed, as though not knowing upset him more than his friend’s plight. “One night he just...showed up like this. Exactly like his old self, and he’s offered no explanation whatsoever. He just flies around the mansion and grounds-when he’s not sulking in Storm’s old room-locking out the rest of the world.”
Scott looks up into the sky at the faint figure of Warren, visible only by the sunlight reflecting off his metal wings. For a moment, Kitty saw something akin to understanding in his features. Not surprising, if one knows about the hardships that Scott’s experienced. Hardships so much like those that Warren has gone through.
“Jean did a mindscan immediately, as a precaution,” Cyclops continued. Even Blockade didn’t need an explanation. “The most she could sense were Warren’s base emotions, and those were hardly reassuring. Self pity, anger, vengeance, hatred, a desire to survive. He’s exactly the same as when he was Death. Finally, we decided to watch and wait until he either opens up to us or attacks us.”
“We?” Blockade rumbles, glancing down at first Rahne, then Kitty. “Either of ye two decide? I dinnae think so, ‘cause neither did I.” Blockade looks back down at Cyclops. “Now mind ye, I ain’t just curious, so who all was ‘we’?”
Cyclops stands silent for a moment. He’d been expecting, and dreading, this moment for quite some time. “Currently on the team: myself, Jean, Bobby and the Professor. I’d planned to get the rest of you up-to- date, but with everything that’s been happening-”
“Longshot and Dazzler alone would need a month to catch up.” Scott gives a wry smile. “Speaking of which, where is the happy couple?”
An obvious attempt to change the subject, and everybody knew it. Blockade just glared down at the leader, while Wolfsbane sniffed loudly in disapproval. Shadowcat, however, knows the difficulties that leaders face, and the decisions they sometimes have to make.
Kitty giggled. “Alison had a sudden spark of creativity, and asked Longshot to help her. They’ve been in their room for over an hour.”
Rahne giggled as well, a sparkle of scandalous amusement in her eye. Blockade breaks out in boisterous laughter, with Cyclops joining after a moment. Kitty silently sighs in relief and lies back down on her chair. Now maybe she could work on her tan.
And so they laughed, while, circling from high above, a solitary figure watched. Archangel clearly saw them argue a few minutes earlier, and he knows it was about him. He has seen the uneasiness they feel around him; can see the fear and suspicion in their eyes. He can see all this because such traits once again mar the soul of Warren Worthington the Third. The Archangel.
Expanding his wings of gleaming dark metal to catch the wind, Archangel deftly maneuvers southward, continuing his ever-vigilant watch. Though he has flown for hours this day-and days beforehand-Archangel is not tired in the least. His wings feel as strong and weightless as when he took off, and Archangel reflects with satisfaction that they’ll prove as reliable in any emergency.
Almost without thinking, Archangel gradually drops altitude until his in the dense forest below. His uniform of blood red and midnight black creates a foreboding streak as he soars past and through the thick trees at full wingspan. Soaring back over the forest, Archangels turns about suddenly, his large wings sweeping a terrific gust of winds that topples the severed treetops from their trunks.
Observing the smooth surfaces of the tall stumps, Archangel is reminded of the time when his wings severed a head. Remembering the effortless execution with satisfaction, Archangel seethes inside, hating that he could have ever felt guilty and hate for his power. Power equal to the savagery of Wolverine and Sabretooth; power that rivaled Apocalypse himself. Power that he needs to survive.
Snapping out of his stupor, Archangel catches the wind to continue his silent vigil. A good thing that he does, for what Archangel spies southward is something he would never have wanted to miss.
Miles distant, Archangel makes out a speck of light green plummeting to the ground, only to reappear skyward moments after crashing. Green like the laughing face that tortured him so many months ago.
Rotating his wings so as to hover in mid-air, Archangel fights back the urge to strike immediately; to kill too soon. Watching intently, he waits until he can see the whites of it’s eyes. As he waits, Archangel unconsciously growls softly, his razor-sharp feathers sticking on end, ready to be volleyed in an instant.
Finally, Archangel shudders, a jolt of pain lancing through his back. The memory of pain experienced by one that wasn’t worthy. One that was too weak. Archangel has sworn to never again fail in his survival.
Boiling with rage that can no longer be contained, the Angel of Death streaks forward, his mind a haze of emotion. The blur of red and black heads straight for the speck of green leaping again towards the sky.
Vengeance shall now be wrought on the abomination that tore the wings from an angel.
Next Issue: If you need to be told, how did you read this far? The mystery of Archangel ends, but the mystery of the children begins.
Author’s Note:
I apologize for the delay, but I hope this was worth the wait. Between papers, finals, Christmas and dysfunctional family gatherings, and a Florida vacation, be lucky you’re reading this at all. I promise I’ll be quicker as I get into the habit of writing an ongoing.
On that note, I’d like to thank Will Short for giving the opportunity to write a title I’ve always loved. Expect me to do what every other writer and MV1 has been doing: write better than the shmucks at Marvel. I don’t plan on leaving until I’ve fixed all the problems plaguing the X-Men, so don’t wait up Sam.
One final warning. Will’s pretty much given me free-reign on this. Cower in fear or break out the bubbly, it could go either way.