Before the Jet...
Before the New Team...
Before the World even knew they Existed...
They were Heroes.
One Professor. Five Students. One School.
The Mighty Floyd is Proud to Present Stan Lee's Original X-MEN
"X-Men" and all related characters belong to Marvel Comics and are used without permission or profit. All original characters and situations belong to The Mighty Floyd and may be used with permission.
Note: I'm just going to preface this by stating that almost everything I know about science I learned from comic books, and, frankly, I don't even pay much attention to that. So, if anything is vague, misleading, or completely inaccurate, that would be the reason. Frankly, I don't have the time or willingness to do enough research to get any of my facts straight. If you still don't like it, just pretend that this series takes place in an alternate dimension where the rules of physics are significantly different than those of our own.
Additional Note: Whew! At well over 9500 words, this is by far the single longest chapter I've ever written. Usually, you readers are lucky to get 1000 words. As I'm sure you can guess, that means that updates for this story may be few and far between, as I now have quite a standard set for myself to live up to.
Yet Another Note: In case you didn't know, this story is replacing an older one I started in mid-April 2005. There were two chapters, totaling less than 4000 words, and, frankly, it sucked. This is my attempt at living up to the high expectations such a story should generate. I won't hold updates hostage for reviews, because I despise it when people do that. I will ask that you take a moment or two to let me know how I'm doing, and maybe give me some suggestions on how this story can be made better. Thanks, and enjoy the story!
Stan Lee's Original X-MEN: In the Beginning
Prologue: Gathering
I am the Watcher. For millennia, I have watched the people of Earth. I have seen them grow, struggle to survive, overcome all challengers, and eventually subjugate their world. From savages armed with wood and bone to modern man with the power of the atom at his command, I have seen their societies grow and evolve. But now, something comes to change all that. In the blink of an eye, humanity will change forever. Whether this is good or bad, only time will be able to tell. In the meantime, all I can do is watch. Watch with me, now, as a new breed of human begins to grow. Watch as a crippled man discovers an astonishing mental power. Watch as a plane explodes, leaving one young survivor with destructive, uncontrollable eyes. Watch as a young man takes flight for the first time. Watch as a young man discovers his inhuman agility. Watch as a young lady feels her best friend die. Watch as a young man saves his girlfriend's life by encasing her attacker in ice.
Watch…
Thursday, June 10, 1943
Undisclosed Location, Germany
The two young men made their way into the cave, moving quickly, trying to avoid the German patrol that had nearly caught them. They splashed across a narrow stream, moving deeper into the darkness, listening to the yelling behind them.
"Wo sind sie?"
"Ich denke, daß sie so gingen!"
"Sie erhalten nicht weit in diesem Wetter! Lassen Sie uns gehen!"
Thunder rumbled as rain began to fall in torrents. The mouth of the cave was quickly obscured as the water blurred around the edges. It could have been taken for a waterfall, so thick it was, with a roar unlike any other sound found in nature.
The two men continued to move into the cave, trying to escape the voices. They were faded at the moment, but they had enough experience to know that luck could turn in an instant. If the patrol continued to search the area, they would stumble upon this cave sooner or later.
"Wir finden nicht nichts in diesem Regen!"
"Fahren Sie fort zu suchen oder es ist Ihr Kopf!"
The shouts continued to fade, as the two made their way ever deeper.
"Is that a light?" one whispered suddenly.
"Where?" asked the other, on high alert.
"Up there, ahead, that red glow, that's a light!" whispered the first.
"Shit!" swore the other. "We're going to have to get rid of whoever is up ahead. We can't risk having anyone alert that patrol."
"Can't we wait and see?" asked the younger man. "They may not come here, and I don't want to take any chances."
"I don't want to take any chances either. That's why we need to kill them. Come on, Charlie, or I'll leave you behind for the Nastis to find."
"I don't like it," muttered Charlie.
"You're not paid to like it," snorted the older man. "You're paid to shoot whoever we come across that threatens us, and as far as I'm concerned, whoever's up there is threatening us."
With that, the man started creeping along the wall of the cave toward the faint red glow. Charlie swallowed hard, and followed.
Charles Xavier and Cain Marko could not have been more different if they had consciously tried. Charles was 20 years old, short, and slim in stature. A childhood illness had resulted in the permanent loss of his hair. His bald head had made him stand out for as long as he could remember. He was sensitive, as men go, preferring diplomacy to the schoolyard fighting so common among boys. He worked hard at his studies, and exercised only enough to keep his body in shape to keep his mind sharp. His father had died when he was seven, and his mother had remarried a year later.
Cain was a large, brutish looking man. 23 years of age, his father had married Charles' mother, and forced him to be nice to the runt. Any time something happened to the younger boy, whether he was around or not, his father would drag him out back and tan his hide. He grew to resent the young intruder who was the unwitting cause of his punishments, but managed to keep a lid on his growing rage.
The half-brothers had enlisted in December 1941, after the Japanese attacks against American bases. Rather than sending them to the Pacific, the Army had decided to send the two into European Special Operations, teaming them up to infiltrate enemy lines to gather intelligence. That was why they were currently in a south-German cave, creeping slowly toward a light that would change both of their lives forever.
The half-brothers turned the corners, rifles at the ready, to find that they were in a small chamber, empty but for small, glowing red rocks partly embedded into the walls. Charles lowered his rifle with a sigh of relief. Cain hesitated a moment more, then lowered his.
The older man approached one of the rocks. "Hey, Charlie, whaddaya make of this?"
"They appear to be luminiferous crystals, somehow formed within the walls of the cave," mused Charles. "This is fascinating. I wonder what causes the glow? Is it the crystals themselves, or is there some form of fungus growing on them? I wonder if- CAIN! NO!"
Cain was trying to pry one of the rocks out of the wall. Even as Charles shouted at him to stop, the crystal pulled loose. There was a brilliant flash of light, and then an overwhelming darkness, as the roof of the cave began to collapse, cutting off Charles' view of the crystals, his brother, and everything. He felt sharp pain in his legs, then his head, then nothing at all.
Unknown date,
Undisclosed Location, Germany
"Hey, I think I found something!"
Charles came to himself with a groan. He slowly opened his eyes to almost total darkness. Almost, for there was a small light shining into the tiny cavern where he found himself trapped. He tried to move, and found that his legs were pinned under debris.
Suddenly, he became aware of noises, people talking, shovels clanking into stony earth. He stilled from his efforts to free himself, and quietly searched around himself for his dropped rifle.
"What's that, over there?"
He suddenly realized that these were American voices. He didn't know how or why, but he was grateful for that.
"Hlp…" he tried, but his voice was weak and tiny.
He coughed a bit, and tried again. "Hlp… m…"
"Did you hear something?"
"What?"
"Help… me…"
The sound of shovels ceased.
"Help… me…"
"There's a man down there!"
"Quick, dig him out!"
And there was a sudden burst of light, as the shovels broke through and uncovered the form of Charles Xavier, even as he faded back into unconsciousness.
Saturday, June 11, 1983
Munich General Hospital
Munich, Bavaria, West Germany
Charles came back to himself with a low moan. He left his eyes closed for the moment; the pounding in his head told him it wouldn't be the best idea to try to open them just yet. He tried to remember what had happened. He had been in the cave with his half-brother. The older man had pried a glowing crystal out of the wall. Then darkness, followed by the voices of his rescuers, whoever they may be.
He groaned again.
"Der Patient ist wach."
He heard someone walk over to him, and felt some slight tugs on his arms and chest.
"Water," he tried to rasp. Apparently, whoever it was understood, for a few seconds later an ice cube had been slipped between his lips. He sucked greedily at it, his parched throat absorbing the cool liquid as soon as it reached it.
"Der Doktor kommt herein, ihn zu überprüfen."
"Gut, danke."
That means the doctor will be able to tell him about his legs, and it won't be left to one of us.
Charles was curious as to why she had spoken that so clearly. For that matter, why had she spoken in English, where before she had been using strictly German?
Then, like a wave, it hit him.
Oh, the pain, the pain.
I wonder what will be on television tonight?
I think I need a nurse.
Where am I? Why can't I see?
Ooh, he's cute. I wonder if he's taken?
OH, GOD, IT HURTS!
I'm hungry. I think I'll go see what's down in the canteen…
Faster and faster came the voices, louder, overlapping, so many voices, so many different people, and his headache grew, and voices, and he clenched his eyes and balled his fists, so many people, and he screamed in pain, and the nurse ran in, and her voice, what was wrong, and so much, and he felt her doing something, a tube, a needle, a tug, something, and so many voices, and then blissful silence, as he faded once again into unconsciousness.
He woke again. He still heard the many people, but it seemed a distant murmur, rather than the roar it had been before, allowing him to sort his thoughts. He realized then that his ears had never actually registered the sounds. All those voices had been in his head.
No, that wasn't quite true. All those voices had been in other people's heads. And Charles Xavier realized, with sudden clarity, that he had somehow gained the ability to hear the thoughts of others.
Tuesday, June 14, 1983
Munich General Hospital
Munich, Bavaria, West Germany
He had recovered enough that he was able to be left to himself, for which he was grateful. He was focusing on trying to sort out what thoughts were his and what thoughts belonged to other people. He was also trying to work out how to block other people from his mind, because after several days, it was starting to grate on him.
He heard footsteps and, unwillingly, knew that he had visitors, knew that they were from Army Intelligence, and knew that they had finally come to debrief him on whatever it was that had thrown him, form his perspective, forty years into the future.
That had been almost as big a shock as discovering his new mental abilities. He wasn't sure, but remembering the glow, he suspected that his… little trip… had come about as a result of the mysterious glowing crystals that had been found in that cave. He remembered his older half-brother, Cain, prying out one of the rocks, the brief flash of red light, and then… nothing, until the team of diggers had discovered him, forty years later and still twenty years old.
He was confused, and not ashamed to admit that he was also a little bit scared. He had no idea how these men, or anyone, would react to his story. He was afraid they would dismiss him as insane, locking him away. He knew that if he hadn't lived it, he would have dismissed such an outrageous-sounding story himself.
He sent out a gentle inquiry into their minds, to see what they knew. He discovered that he had already been verified as legitimately coming from 1943, through his equipment and identification tags, though they still looked practically new. He discovered that they had found records of him and general details of his last mission. Any more than that was interrupted as the two men actually entered his room, halting his journey through their minds.
"Lieutenant Xavier," said one of the men, "I'm Major Anderson, this is Captain Charleton. We're here to debrief you about your… unique situation."
"Major," replied Charles. "Forgive me for not saluting, but…" He trailed off, and looked down at his arms, both of which were currently encased in casts to reset the bones broken in the cave's collapse.
"It's quite all right, Lieutenant," returned Major Anderson. "We need to ask you some questions, find out what you remember, and then discuss your options from this point."
"I understand," Charles told him. He shifted a bit, so that he was sitting up just a little, using his thin pillow to prop himself up. "Ask away, sir."
"What do you remember of your last mission?" asked Captain Charleton.
"My brother and I were assigned to infiltrate behind German lines in preparation for attacks in Italy and south Germany, gathering intelligence on their forces, placements, things of that nature. We came across a German patrol, and tried to find a place to hide. They were searching for us, so we found a small cave. What happened next was… well, it may be a little hard to believe, sir."
"Harder to believe than that you were somehow transported decades into the future without aging a day?" asked the major, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir," replied Xavier. "My brother, er, Lieutenant Marko, spotted a light further into the cave. Not wanting to risk detection, we proceeded forward, to silence anyone who may be able to give our position away to the enemy patrol."
"Sound thinking, at the time," nodded the captain."
"We came upon a slightly larger area of the cave, a room, almost, filled with strange, luminiferous crystals, glowing a soft red. I was examining one of them, when I noticed Cain trying to pull another out of the wall. I yelled to him to stop, not knowing how big the crystals were or how they may affect the stability of the cave walls, but I was too late. He managed to work one free. The next thing I knew, there was a sudden, bright flash of red light, and then the cave started to collapse. I was trapped, and knocked unconscious. The next I knew, I heard sounds of digging and American voices, so I called for help. They brought me here and, well, you know the rest, sirs."
"Yes, we do," nodded Major Anderson. "Thank you, Lieutenant. We'll have a specially trained team go back to the area where you were found and see if we can find any trace of these crystals you mentioned, although, from your description, I rather suspect they may have been destroyed in the collapse of the cave. Now, you have a few choices available to you. I assume you've been told already about your legs?"
Charles nodded. The doctor had, hesitantly, told him that his legs had been badly mangled by the debris caused in the cave's collapse, and that there was nothing that medical science could do to repair the extensive damage. He would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The young man had raged, but knew he had no choice other than to accept the situation.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
"Yes, well, I'm sorry for your loss," the major told him, gravely.
"Thank you, sir," returned Charles.
"As I was saying, you have a few options available to you. You could continue to work in Army Intelligence, in a desk job. You could also accept your discharge, several decades behind schedule, and return to life as a private citizen. You could accept your discharge, but continue to stay with the Army, due to your circumstances. Before you decide, I should tell you that the deaths of your parents left you with quite a bit of money and several properties. It seems your mother came into several inheritances after your disappearance, and your stepfather left his properties to his nearest living relative which, with your discovery, would be you. Both of them seemed to be convinced that you would turn up again, and left waiting period stipulations in their wills. A small bit of luck for you. You will also, no matter what you decide, be granted forty years of back pay, adjusted for today's market prices, to compensate you for your loss of time while on an official mission. You don't have to give me an answer now, but I'd like for you to take a few days to think everything over."
The major and captain stood. "We'll be back on Friday. You should be allowed to leave here by Saturday to travel back stateside."
"Thank you, sir," Charles replied, unable to think of anything else to say. The other two men turned, and left the room, leaving the young man to think over his options.
Tuesday, June 21, 1983
Beechwoods Cemetery
Westchester County, New York
Charles sat in his new wheelchair, looking over the graves of his father and mother, with his stepfather buried nearby. Empty graves had been marked for his brother and himself, those his would be removed soon. He glanced over to where the young sergeant who had brought him here stood by the small car, waiting patiently for him to indicate that he was ready to return to the Army base where he had been staying for the last few days.
Charles had decided that, having been given the option, he was going to leave the Army and return to civilian life as best he was able. He had millions of dollars inherited from his parents, and several properties scattered throughout the country besides. His arms were healing quickly, much more so than could be expected by anyone who did not know about his unusual circumstances, and even by many of those who did. He would soon be able to leave the base for the last time, having been brought up to date on what he could expect from the outside world.
He had wanted to come here as soon as he returned to the country, but a variety of small factors had combined to leave him stranded o the base until now. He turned his head back to the graves.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for you," he told them. "I will try to make you proud of me now, when I did not have the chance to do so before. I will master my new abilities, and use them for the good of all mankind. I swear this to you. I will make you proud that I am your son."
He bowed his head, and said a quick prayer, that his parents were safe and happy, and then turned his head once more and called out, "I'm ready to go back, now."
Wednesday, August 12, 1998
Xavier Mansion
Westchester County, New York
Charles Xavier, physically thirty-five years of age, looked at his family's home for the first time in five years. He had just returned from a trip through Europe, where he had trained himself far more in the use of his mental powers than he had been able to here in America. The European countries had sources that would give him clues about controlling his powers that were far better than any he had been able to find in this country. However, America had also made him a geneticist, an occupation he had chosen because it may give him clues as to how he had gained his powers.
He didn't know if it was the crystals, or if he had always been this way, but he discovered enough clues to reveal that he was not entirely human. He had a gene in his body that most of the people on Earth did not; he called it the X-gene, because of the mystery it represented. There was no logical reason for its existence, except perhaps as a natural progression of evolution. However, he had discovered a way to isolate this gene, and track it using his mind, rather than medicine, and it was then that he made an even greater discovery.
He was not alone.
He discovered that a very small proportion of the people he encountered in his journeys possessed the same strange gene as he, and he discovered that most of these displayed some sort of power. What confused him, however, was that this power manifested itself in many different ways. One young man he had encountered, in Poland, was able to manipulate magnetic fields. A young girl here in New York had his telepathy, but also had telekinesis (That had been a mess. The girl had been present when her best friend was run down by a drunk driver while the two were playing. She had felt her friend die, and it had almost broken her. Xavier had helped her shut her powers away, until the day came when she was able to deal with them). It had been the girl who gave him the idea for a school.
It would not be a normal school, however. He knew that there were more and more people being born with the X-gene each year, and that they would be coming into their powers soon, if indeed they had not already. They would have to be trained in how to use their powers, as he wished he could have been trained, so that they would not be a danger to themselves or others.
He planned to house the school here in this building, his family home. He was going through the Army to get permission, as they knew him, though they did not know the purpose of the school. That, he was keeping a closely guarded secret from everybody. He knew, based on the reactions he got when he had accidentally revealed his powers to normal people, that they were not ready for people like him, evolved humans, to exist. He feared that they would try to exterminate those who were different, as humanity had been doing for untold ages.
He sighed, and wheeled himself into the mansion. He had a lot of work to get done before it was capable of accepting students.
Monday, April 3, 2000
Bartlett Regional Hospital
Juneau, Alaska
The boy was frightened.
He couldn't open his eyes. Bad things happened when he did. He was very scared of opening his eyes.
His mom and dad were dead. So was his little brother. The nurse had almost been crying when she told him.
They died when the plane crashed. His dad was a pilot. Why did they crash?
The doctor was surprised that he was not dead too. He had heard him. He was talking to the nurse. They did not know that he could hear them. They thought that he was asleep. He could not sleep. He kept thinking about his dad and mom and his little brother.
"Scott, Alex! Something's gone wrong with the engines! We need to jump out of the plane!" His dad was very upset. "Here, get these parachutes on!" He helped the two boys put on the big backpacks. "When I say jump, jump! Don't worry, your mom and I will be right behind you!" His dad opened the door. He felt the wind pulling at him. He looked at his dad. He was very scared. He looked at his brother. He looked, as scared as he felt. "Get ready boys!" his dad shouted over the wind. He and his mom pulled the two into tight hugs. "We love you, very much. We'll see you on the ground, I promise. Now, JUMP!" He jumped. So did his little brother, just behind him. He looked behind him at the plane, which was moving away very fast. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and a big boom sound. The plane had exploded, with his dad and mom still inside. He felt a big pressure all over his body. He tried to reach out to his little brother, but the younger boy was torn away by the pressure, and he quickly lost sight of him. He felt a tug on his back, and saw the ground moving quickly up to him, and then there was a brief moment of pain, and then nothing at all.
He had heard the doctor say something about brain damage. He was very scared. He hoped his brain would be okay. Then he felt guilty for worrying about his brain, when his mom and dad and brother had all died.
Xavier sighed sadly as he sorted through the jumbled mess of thoughts being projected at him unwittingly by the young boy in the next room. He turned to the doctor.
"What exactly happened to him?" he asked.
"He bailed out of a crashing plane," replied the older man, as they looked through the glass at the quiet young boy sitting on a small chair, a blindfold covering his eyes, preventing them from opening. "His family didn't make it in time. He was it by the concussion when it exploded, and suffered a pretty nasty injury to his head when he landed. If his parachute hadn't deployed automatically, he would be dead, too."
"Did he damage his eyes, as well?" asked Xavier, acting ignorant. He already knew the answer.
The boy, Scott Summers, had opened his eyes once since the accident. The room had been blocked off until the wall and part of the ceiling could be repaired, and the boy had had a blindfold placed over his eyes to protect him and the hospital staff and patients. They had no idea what had happened, but Xavier knew.
Scott possessed the X-gene. In his case, the physical manifestation of the rare gene was concussive blasts emitting from his eyes. Thanks to the accident, the boy had no control over the force beams. They had been permanently locked into the "on" position.
Xavier suspected that he might have a solution. He had obtained a sample of the boy's DNA, and tested it thoroughly before coming up to Alaska. He suspected that the ruby quartz composite glasses he had specially created would be able to contain the explosive power generated by Scott's eyes.
"We're not sure," the doctor replied, after a short pause. "There was an… incident… that prevents us from examining them. Listen, Dr. Xavier, are you sure you want to take this patient? It could be dangerous."
"Nonsense," Xavier told him firmly. "He's only a boy, a boy who has had a sudden tragedy in his life. I can help him."
"Of course," replied the doctor. "Would you like to meet him now?"
"Yes, thank you."
The doctor held the connecting door open, and Xavier wheeled his way into the next room, drawing up next to the small boy.
"Hello," he said kindly. "I'm Dr. Charles Xavier. What's your name?"
The boy turned his head to the side, as though he could look at the man.
"Scott Summers," he said, in a very small voice.
"Scott, I think I can help you, but you're going to have to trust me."
"What do you mean?"
"I can help you see again. It's not perfect, but it will let you open your eyes without anything happening."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. But as I said, you're going to have to trust me. I'm going to take your blindfold off now."
Xavier slowly slipped the blindfold off the boy's head. Scott was squeezing his eyes tightly shut, too afraid to even open them a slit to peek out. Xavier gently lowered the special glasses onto his face, and adjusted them so that they would cover the eyes totally, blocking any beams from escaping.
"Now, I want you to open your eyes."
"I'm afraid."
"I know, but you must overcome your fear. Open your eyes, Scott."
Friday, October 21, 2005
West High School
Waterloo, Iowa
"Touchdown!"
The crowd erupted into screams even more frenzied than before, as his teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Henry "Hank" McCoy had just won their team the biggest game of the year, against their chief rivals. He basked in the crowd's adoration, as he was paraded around the field.
Hank was not like other 16-year-olds. His intellect was genius-level; he was taking courses in chemistry and physiology at the nearby college. His genius was not the only thing that set him apart from his peers. He was built like a bulldozer, but had the grace and agility of a monkey or a cat. His hands were huge, if gentle, and his shoes were all specially made to fit his large feet, the prehensile toes generally hidden from other people. He was also unusually strong, even for his build.
His physical qualities made him the star of his school's football team. Unfortunately, as he discovered later that night, it also made him the target of envy and hatred among those of his peers who resented his abilities.
"Hey, freak!"
He turned from his car, to see several guys his own age advancing out of the cluster of shadows near the building bordering the parking lot that was his current location. He considered ignoring them, but then noticed that they were, in fact, armed. He saw baseball bats, a couple of chains, and the leader was holding a knife. This was not a situation that would resolve itself on its own.
"Whaddaya, take steroids or something?" sneered the leader. Hank vaguely recognized him as Mike? Matt? somebody, anyway, he was kind of in the background, never really interacted with Hank's circle. "We know you gotta be cheatin' somehow, freak."
"Dude, lookit how hairy his hands are," snickered one of the other guys. "He's gotta be takin' somethin'. What a freak!"
"Yeah, big-hands, whataya take, to be a freak?" sneered another of the group.
"Look, just leave me alone," said Hank, eyeing them warily. "Let us part ways, here, and bar this meeting evermore from our minds."
"Listen 'a th' big mouth," laughed one of the guys. "He can't even talk right."
"Let's show 'im how we deal with freaks round here," said the leader, suddenly looking deadly serious. "Gettim!"
With that, the small group charged, and Hank tensed, prepared to either fight or flee, if the occasion were to represent itself. As things turned out, he was required to do neither.
Seemingly from nowhere, a bright beam of red light flashed, impacting the ground in front of the attacking students. Pavement from the parking lot flew up into their faces, causing them to stumble, some tripping over the hole cut into the ground, falling to their knees or on their faces. From a different shadow, Hank and a few of the others saw a new figure step. He was about their age, tall and slim, with wavy brown hair, dressed entirely in black except for the thin red band that covered his eyes.
"It would be in your best interests to leave," he quietly told the gang.
"You a friend of the freak?" snarled the leader, who had regained his feet and his sight. "We'll get you, too!" He raised his knife and prepared to run at the newcomer.
The boy in black held his hand to the side of the red band over his eyes, and seemed to twist something. A thin red beam shot out of it, knocking the knife out of the leader's hand. The other guy yelled out and clutched his hand.
"Shit, he's got a laser or something!" he yelled.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" yelled back one of the others.
The small gang ran out of the lot and into the darkness, muffled cursing trailing after them.
Hank looked warily at the new guy, who smirked back. A sudden motion caught his eye, as yet another figure moved into the light. This newcomer was older, bald, but what Hank noticed first was that he was seated in a wheelchair. The other boy moved to a position to the side and slightly behind the man, looking casual but somehow ready to move at a moment's notice.
"Henry McCoy, sixteen years old, perfect GPA, college-level classes in chemistry and physiology, and hero of the school football team. Do you ever wonder, Henry, why you are so different from your peers? Your hands and feet, your agility, your strength? What it is that makes you so much more than those around you? What it is you try to hide, but cannot escape?"
"Who are you?" asked Hank. "What do you want?"
The bald man smiled. "I am Dr. Charles Xavier, and I want to help you realize your full potential. I am opening a school for… gifted individuals, such as yourself, where you can learn to use your abilities to maximum benefit."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me, Henry, have you ever heard of the X-gene?"
And it clicked in Hank's mind. Xavier. Internationally renowned geneticist. Discoverer of the mysterious X-gene, the purpose of which was unknown.
"What about it?" he asked, suddenly much more interested in the offer than he had been a few moments previously.
"In my work in genetics, I came across the X-gene. Most have no idea what it is or why it is present in such a small proportion of the world's population, but I hold the secret. You see, Henry, the gene represents the next step in human evolution. Every day, more people are born with the gene. Each of these people has something extra added to them, a power, if you will. Some merely look different. Others are more extensive. Scott here fires beams of solar energy from his eyes."
I possess the power of telepathy.
Hank jumped at the voice in his head. He looked in wary awe at Xavier, who was smiling slightly. The other boy, Scott, was openly smirking, as he looked knowingly at Hank.
"And your physical abilities, your basic fundamental genetic makeup, is also a result of the presence of the X-gene in your body," finished Xavier. "At my school, if you wish to attend, you will be taught how to harness your abilities, hone them to a fine point, to use in service to all humanity. For you see, just as there are evil humans, so too are there evil mutants, mutants being in fact what we all three of us are, who wish to use their abilities to conquer humanity, or destroy it. It is my goal to stop them, and to show humanity that we are not to be feared, but are simply the next step in its progression. Will you help me realize this dream, Henry? Will you join us?"
Friday, June 9, 2006
Trenton Central High School
Trenton, New Jersey
Rob Drake looked like every mother's nightmare. The fourteen-year-old freshman had his blond hair cropped close to the skull, with zig-zag patterns shaved into it. His blue eyes were covered by large mirrored sunglasses. Multiple piercings adorned each ear, his nose, both eyebrows, and his lip. His shirt was black and big, hanging loosely on his narrow but muscular shoulders. His huge, baggy black jeans were ripped at the knees, and flowed down to almost cover his clunky black steel-toed boots. Basically speaking, he looked like a punk.
Most of it, of course, was done to look cool. He was fairly polite, most of the time, for a given value of polite. He didn't smoke, or drink, or do drugs, like several of his friends. He did have a temper, but it was as quick to fall as it was to rise. Basically, he was an average teenager.
However, Rob Drake had a secret. This was a secret he kept from his parents. What was unusual is that it was also a secret he kept from his friends. Ever since a family skiing vacation when he was eleven, he had possessed a special power, one that separated him from his peers.
He remembered that trip well. He had somehow gotten separated from his parents, and gone off exploring on his own. He had fallen, and ended up surrounded by a huge bank of snow. He tried to fight his way out, but there was too much. No one was close enough to hear his cries for help. He shivered in his wet clothes, as he felt increasingly colder and colder. Then, suddenly, he didn't feel cold anymore. He looked down, and gasped to see his body apparently encased in snow. His shock seemed to trigger something, because the snow that covered him suddenly collapsed off of his body, flaking away onto the ground, leaving his normal appearance behind. Unfortunately, he now felt cold again. The feeling seemed to trigger something within him, and he watched in amazement as his body apparently covered itself in snow once again.
He had eventually been found and returned to the lodge where his family was staying on their trip. The doctors were amazed to find that he was not so much as suffering from a cold, let alone the exposure of being trapped out in the cold overnight in his wet clothes. His parents did not think about it, just being grateful that he was okay. He managed to dodge the questions from the lodge's doctors, until they stopped asking.
Over the months that followed, he experimented with his newfound abilities, searching for that trigger inside him that would activate his snowy appearance. He learned to form snowballs from the moisture in the air, a feat that was especially fun in the summer, when unsuspecting passersby would suddenly find themselves pelted with snow in 80- or 90-degree weather. As he continued to experiment, he found that he could actually project first snow, then ice, into various forms. He could create thin sheets of ice on the ground, and then in the air, along which he could slide, moving faster than even another person moving at a run. He also learned to encase various objects in shields of ice.
It was this last skill that would change his life today.
It was the last day of school. Nobody had paid attention to their teachers that day, but that was okay, because the teachers had not even tried to do anything other than keep the students from leaving too early for the day. Time had dragged on, until the final bell rang to announce the end of another year.
With a massive cheer, the students poured out of the building, to home, to hangouts, to anywhere that was not the large building they were leaving behind. Rob was no exception. He got out of that place as fast as he could, jostling through the crowd as he made his way to sweet freedom.
He was on his way to a nearby arcade when he noticed a group of older teenagers surrounding somebody. They taunted and jeered at their small target, who Rob recognized from several of his classes. As one of the older guys snatched something out of the unfortunate girl's hands, Rob made his decision.
"Hey, dumbasses, why don't you try picking on somebody your own size?!" he called.
The older teens slowly turned toward him, ignoring the girl who had fallen to the ground in an attempt to escape their grasping hands.
"What did you say, you little punk?" growled one of them.
"I said," Rob enunciated slowly, "'Hey, dumbasses, why don't you try picking on somebody your own size?'"
"That's what I thought you said," the older boy scowled. "Fine. You look like a good target."
That was all the warning Rob had as the boys moved to attack him. He had no illusions about his ability to hold them off, but he didn't especially feel like gaining a group of bruises or worse today, either. Still, he couldn't just leave, or they might go after the girl again.
That left one option. He really didn't want to do this, but there wasn't exactly much of a choice.
As the teens advanced on him, he quickly formed a small sheet of ice under the feet of the first couple, causing them to slip and fall to the ground painfully, grunting as the air ran out of their lungs. The others hesitated for a moment, but then began moving toward him again, stepping carefully, as the two who had fallen regained their feet.
Seeing that the passive approach had failed, Rob knew he had no choice other than to adopt a more proactive strategy. By that of course, he meant that it was time to use his powers to stop them cold, as it were.
He used the moisture in the air to form bonds of ice, and sent them directly at the group of older teens. They shouted in surprise and fear as they were suddenly encased in blocks of ice. The apparent leader of the group looked at Rob with a mixture of horror and hatred evident in his expression.
"What kind of freak are you?!" he shouted.
Rob ignored him, as he made his way over to where the girl was standing up. "Are you alright?" he asked her, concerned.
She looked up at him, and the fear was clear in her eyes. "What did you do?" she asked shakily. "What are you?"
He reached out to help her, but she backed away. "What kind of freak are you?!" she shouted, and she turned and started to run away as fast as she could, leaving her things behind her. Rob, stunned, watched her go. Then, he walked slowly away, ignoring the yells of the thugs behind him.
"…say what you want, but the point remains that your son, unprovoked, attacked those boys and somehow, we still don't know how, managed to 'freeze' them! Now, I don't know what he's into, but he has to at least tell us what it is he did and how!"
"He doesn't have to tell you anything! He told us that those 'boys' were attacking a younger girl, and that he stopped them. I don't know how, and I don't care how! Some fantasy story about 'freeze rays' or whatever is not enough evidence to even come to our house, let alone take him with you!"
"Listen, we have witnesses that saw him attack! We could put him in jail!"
"He's fourteen!"
"That doesn't matter!"
As his father continued to argue with the cop below, Rob Drake sat up in his room, trying not to listen, to tune out the world. All he had done was try to save that girl, and now the police were trying to arrest him or whatever, there had been something about a lawsuit, and the girl hadn't even been grateful! Instead, she had run away from the 'freak.' He looked down at his hands. They frosted over, then returned to normal, the small amount of snow flaking off to lie on the floor for a moment before melting into nothingness. He sighed. He really was a freak. This power wasn't cool. Well, it was cool, but not cool. All it did was get him in trouble. He wished he didn't have it at all.
The arguing downstairs was interrupted by a knock at the door. His father answered. There was a murmur of voices, too low for him to make out. Then, for no apparent reason, the cop left the house. Rob watched from his window as the man walked to his car, got in, started it, and drove away. He watched the departure, confused. Why was the man leaving so suddenly, after having been so determined to arrest him, or at least question him? His answer came with a knock at his own door.
"Rob? There's a man here to see you."
His father sounded a little strained, but he put it down to the fight he had been having. He walked over to the door and pulled it open, revealing his father waiting on the other side.
"Who is it?" he asked, curious about what could have happened.
"It's a professor from a private school in New York," replied his father. "Apparently, he's recruiting students, and your name came up. I don't know anything else."
Now even more curious, Rob followed his father as the man turned and started to walk back down the stairs. They moved down into the front hall, where a bald man sat in a wheelchair. Two young men stood on either side of him. One was tall and slim, with long brown hair reaching almost to his shoulders. He was dressed casually, in a polo shirt and khakis, and wearing sunglasses that were a weird red color. The other was a little shorter and covered in thick muscles. He was dressed similar to the first, but wearing sandals on his huge feet. Rob felt suddenly self-conscious in his considerably less well-appointed attire.
The group moved into the living room. The two guys and Rob took seats. His father remained standing.
"Hello, Robert," the bald man said. "I am Dr. Charles Xavier. As I'm sure your father told you, I run a small private school in Westchester County, New York. We recruit specially gifted students, and your name came up in our searches. Would you mind if I spoke to you privately?"
Rob glanced at his father, who shrugged with an unreadable expression on his face. The four watched as he left the room, then turned to each other again.
"Do you have any questions for me, Robert?" asked Xavier.
"Yeah," smirked Rob, "could you call me Rob?"
"My apologies," smiled Xavier.
"What do you mean by specially gifted students?" asked Rob. "My grades aren't exactly all that hot, you know."
"Perhaps, but there are many different kinds of gifts, and academics is only one of them," replied Xavier, and Rob felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew! This smiling bald man in the wheelchair knew his secret! He started to panic, though he tried to keep his face as impassive as he could.
Xavier seemed to read his mind. "Don't worry, Rob. We're not from the government, the police, or even an armed mob. We're mutants, born with special powers that most people do not have. You can control the moisture in the air to form snow and ice, including casing it around your body. Scott," he nodded to the boy wearing sunglasses, "fires powerful beams from his eyes, and Hank," with a nod to the other boy, "has unusual strength and agility."
I am, myself, a telepath.
Rob saw that the other two were smothering laughter at his jump when Xavier "spoke" to him in his mind.
"What's this school?" he asked cautiously.
"It is a place where you can learn to use your powers to their maximum effect," replied Xavier. "You will be trained to control them completely, to keep yourself and others safe."
"And I can leave if I don't like it?"
"You can, although I would prefer if you were to give it a chance."
"Can I have some time to think about it?"
"Of course. Take all the time you need. Talk it over with your parents. The term begins in September, so you have until then."
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Worthington Industries International
New York City, New York
A figure stood atop the building, one of the tallest in the city. At first glance, his still body could have been taken for a statue. His shirtless chest was muscular, his arms defined. What caught the eye, however, was the pair of giant feathery wings growing out of his back. They resembled the wings of a bird, or an angel, and indeed that was what gave him his name. He pulled on the special shirt, specially lined to protect him, yet open in back to permit his wings unfettered movement, and then his mask, covering most of his head except for his mouth and wavy blond hair. So dressed, he was a colorful figure, resplendent in red with gold trim. He checked that his pistol was securing, and then, with a mighty flap of his wings, took off into the air. He rose higher, until even the cars passing far below looked like nothing so much as ants. Then, his wings folded, and the masked crime-fighter known as "The Angel" dived into the city below.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Worthington Industries International
New York City, New York
He was Warren Worthington the Third, heir to the vast Worthington fortune and currently President of the New York branch of Worthington Industries. The blond man was dressed, as always, in an impeccable business suit, so dark a navy as to appear black until closer examination.
He was currently going over a thick packet of documents to prepare for a meeting with the representatives of one of his firm's Japanese partners, while simultaneously brushing up n his Japanese.
A buzz sounded on his intra-office intercom, interrupting him in the middle of asking if his guests would like some tea.
"Mr. Worthington, some men are here. They want to see you, but don't have an appointment."
"Then why are you even bothering me with them?" he snapped.
"One of them is Dr. Charles Xavier, and-"
Warren interrupted, "Send them in."
He slid his thick sheaf of documents to the side of his desk, and stood as the door opened, admitting a bald man in a wheelchair and three young men. Warren sized them up quickly. Except for the youngest, who couldn't be older than fifteen, and wore several piercings scattered over his face with pride, the group would look at home in any of his business enterprises. Their obviously tailored suits hung well on them, except, again, for the youngest, who seemed ill at ease in the outfit.
"Dr. Xavier," he said, stepping forward and extending a hand down to the older man, who accepted it with a smile.
"Mr. Worthington," replied Xavier, "thank you for seeing us like this."
"I'm always happy to take time out of my schedule for such a distinguished guest," Warren returned with a smile. He moved back behind his desk, and sat, noting that the three young men with Xavier remained standing. "Can I offer any of you anything?"
"No, thank you," replied Xavier.
"Then, please, what can I do for you?" asked Warren. He was puzzled, as he did not recollect being involved in any projects involving Xavier's field of genetics. There was his own little secret, but he sincerely hoped that he had been able to keep that to himself…
"In my work in genetics, I have come across an unusual gene present in a very small portion of the human race, which I call the X-gene."
"I've read of it," replied Warren noncommittally.
"What you have not read is that I have developed a way of detecting this gene, unique to myself. I know that you have also not read exactly what it is this gene does."
Warren felt a growing sense of trepidation as Xavier continued.
"You see, Mr. Worthington, the X-gene is a mutation to the human genetic structure, representing the next step in our evolution. Those who possess this gene develop… unusual abilities-"
"What do you want from me?" interrupted Warren, standing. "Money? I have plenty. Information? What?"
"I don't want anything of the sort," replied Xavier, unperturbed by the younger man's sudden outburst. "If you would allow me to continue…"
Warren slowly sat again, but surreptitiously pulled open a small drawer and rested his hand on the small-caliber pistol resting inside, in case it would be needed.
"Thank you," said Xavier. "As I was saying, those abilities vary from person to person. Some are physical, others are not, but they are all caused by the presence of this gene, and most, though not all, reveal themselves at the onset of puberty. We four possess the gene, as do you, Mr. Worthington."
Warren's hand released its grip on the small pistol, and he slumped back in his chair, shocked at the sudden revelation. Xavier smiled slightly.
"Scott, here," he indicated, "fires beams of solar energy to devastating affect. Rob," nodding toward the youngest, "can form moisture in snow and ice around his body and immediate environment. Hank," indicating the last, "possesses immense physical strength and agility. I possess telepathy."
"Why did you have to say it out loud?" whined Rob.
Warren looked confused at that. Scott noticed, and smirked. "He's just upset because the Professor used his telepathy to tell 'Bobby' here about his power."
"Don't call me Bobby!" glared Rob.
Warren felt a lot more comfortable all of a sudden. Then, something Scott had said registered. "Professor?"
"Yes," replied Xavier. "I realize you're a little old for a normal school, but I operate a small school in Westchester County to train young mutants in the use of their powers. You obviously have other ways to spend your time, but it is my hope that you will consider at least training with us once a week."
"Training for what?"
"There are mutants who are not content to merely be left alone, or to use their powers for good. There are many mutants out in the world who wish to use their powers for selfish or even evil purposes. Some to gain wealth, others to gain power… It is one of my goals to train a group of mutants to combat these menaces to mankind, a special group who will not only use their powers to serve all of humanity, but to defend it against any threats that will arise. We must work in secret, as the world is not yet ready to know of us, but we must be ready. We can lay the groundwork here, now, so that one day humankind can accept us for what we are, and not fear and hate us as monsters."
"If you know who and what I am, then you probably also know about my extracurricular activities," Warren told him.
"Yes, and it is things similar to that which is the goal of this effort," replied Xavier. "You already know how to fight with a mask. Now I'm asking you to learn to do the same thing with a group. You don't have to decide now, but I will ask that you consider it."
"I still have a business to run," said Warren, standing, "but I think I can make time to do this. It sounds like a noble cause to be involved in, and there don't seem to be a lot of those left these days."
"No," mused Xavier, "I suppose there aren't."
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Xavier School for Gifted Students
Westchester County, New York
A cab pulled up to the large, wrought iron gates, set in the tall brick wall surrounding the large property. The cab driver rolled down his window, and leaned over the edge to the intercom set into the side of the gate, ignoring the small camera that was focused on him.
"Four-Star Cab Company, with a passenger," he replied to the automated message asking him for his identity.
There was a pause, and then a small buzz, and the gates swung slowly inward, allowing the cabby to pull through. His passenger watched raptly as they drove along the narrow avenue leading to the main building some small distance along. Trees lined on either side cast shade onto the paved path even now, at midday. There were more, scattered throughout the property, seemingly at random, but placed strategically to give shelter to the best areas to sit and relax outside. Small dirt paths crisscrossed the grounds. A small brook could be heard nearby, though from the lane it was invisible.
The school building itself was large. It had obviously been intended as a residence when built, and stood welcoming within the large grassy lawn that surrounded it. There was almost a feeing of warmth emanating from it, which even the cabby could feel. He glanced back in the rearview mirror at his passenger, who seemed awestruck, drinking in the sight with eager eyes. Putting his eyes back on the path, he had to admit to himself that he could understand the feeling.
Finally, after several minutes, the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the large school. His passenger opened the door, and stepped out. Long legs hung over the seat, and then she stood up. Long red hair caught the sun, as laughing green eyes continued to take in the view before her.
The cabby had also gotten out of his car, and had moved around to the back for her bags. He set them on the ground, before closing the trunk with a soft slam.
"Do you need any help with your things, Miss?" he asked.
Turning her eyes to him, Jean Grey smiled.
"No," she said, "I think I'll be alright."
Inside the school, Charles Xavier had felt his latest student's arrival. He steepled his fingers as he lay back in his chair, thinking.
'Excellent. The last piece of the puzzle has arrived. Now, I can begin to realize my dreams, of peace, and understanding.
They will be a force for good.
They will protect this world.
They will be… my X-Men.'
To be continued…
Next Time: Now that Jean Grey has arrived, Charles Xavier is able to achieve his goals. However, his plans will be interrupted when an old acquaintance makes his first move. His fledgling team will have to work together to stop this plot, but can they overcome the threat? Or will the X-Men be destroyed before their first battle is even over? Find out next time, in Chapter 1: "To Me, My X-Men!"