Disclaimer: This Is a work of Fanfiction. The story is copyrighted to me, Michael Shearon. The Characters of Jean Grey Summers, Professor Xavier, Warren, and other X-men characters and Marvel Comics locations are all copyrighted to the Marvel Comics Group. The characters of Amy McAffey and Geneva LeShann are the property of Ruth Gabbert, used with permission. Diane Fischer also used with permission, property of Kirsten Hofstad. All other original characters mentioned here are mine.
Jean Grey Summers enjoyed a quiet afternoon at the X-mansion. Things had been quiet lately. The professor had left for the Shi'ar home world almost a month ago, since both the Earth, and the Shi'ar empire seemed to be in periods of peace. Hank was at the Avengers' mansion, after finding the cure for the dreaded Legacy Virus. Mutants worldwide were now being treated, generally at an inexpensive fee, due to the dreadful effects it had on their powers. The first batch of the cure had healed a good 75% of those who had been treated with it, and varieties were being made to treat the rest.
Everyone but Geneva had gone out for a day off. Well… Almost. Scott and Warren had been sent to Coney Island, to look into a young Telepath that Cerebro had spotted there. The young girl didn't go out as often during the daylight once her wings had sprouted. The pair walked down the hallway, chatting amiably. Geneva had only recently come to the school, at the request of professor Xavier. Her powers were intriguing. She was a rarity in the mutant world… a Healer. One who could use her power to mend the wounds of others. She also possessed a medium sized pair of wings, which were not quite strong enough to let her fly.
"So how are you enjoying things here, Geneva?" Jean asked with a smile, as the two walked towards the rec room.
"Oh, I Love it here, Ms. Jean... Everyone's so nice. And Mr. Warren offered to teach me how to fly... Once my wings get strong enough, that is," she responded with a shy smile of her own. The girl, even without the wings, fell very well into the Cute category. Although she seemed to be trying to counter her Angelic Visage by favoring dark, if not black clothes. She had suggested they break the boredom by going to see if there was anything good on TV. She had also taken to admiring Mr. Warren as something of a Role model. Perhaps it was because e, too, knew what it was like to have Wings in a world where obvious signs of Mutation were very bad things. The pair arrived at the Rec room, still chatting Amiably.
Geneva's breath caught in her throat, though, once the television came on. There, in all his Horror, was Apocalypse, Getting battered by Scott's Optic blasts, while he held Scott in one massive hand. He was looking like he had been battling for quite some time. But, the newsfeed caused Jean's blod to freeze in her veins... Almost casually... Apocalypse moved his thumb up, and snapped Scott's neck like a twig. Jean hadn't yet had time to sit down before this happened. She sank to her knees, staring in horror, as she also saw the felled bodies of Bishop, and Psylocke. Warren was crawling along the ground, just to get himself out of Harm's way… one of his legs was lying at an Odd angle. How? How had this happened? Without her sensing it, at ALL! Her eyes were focused on Scott, whose eyes continued to fire out their crimson beam of concussive force. These Post-mortem blasts tore into Apocalypse, causing him to lose the strength he needed to stay at that size… he slowly shrank, while he made his escape. But that wasn't on Jean's mind… as the news footage showed The crimson beam fade out, and Scott just lay there. Dead… Her husband was dead. And there wasn't anything she could do about it. Geneva, still stunned to silence, put an arm around Jean's shoulders as the older of the two collapsed into nearly hysterical sobs.
The reporter continued to relate the story of the attack on the pier by the larger than life mutant would-be Dictator. She was unaware that her story had just destroyed the lives of one of her viewers.
*Elsewhere, and a few weeks later.*
Bruce awakened with a start. This wasn't odd, because his history teacher had just yelled at him. He shook himself awake, with a 'Huh?' as he tried to come out of the boredom-induced haze. "How Nice of you to JOIN us, Mr. Jackson. Maybe now you can answer my question about where the Star Spangled banner… Our national anthem, in case you forgot, Mr. Jackson…" Bruce frowned. He knew he wasn't the brightest kid in the world, but he hated having it slapped in his face like that. "Was written." However, Bruce was ready for this one, despite being recently awakened.
"The Bombing of Fort McHenry, by Francis Scott Key, while he wuz a prisoner on a British boat." He smirked. As many times as his friend John had gone off about history, it was actually the only subject Bruce was doing well in.
The teacher scowled a little, and the class chuckled. They loved it when even Bruce stopped that teacher cold. Bruce couldn't help but think about Pink Floyd when he walked into this class.
-When We grew up and went to school, there were certain teachers who would hurt children Any way they could.-
The teacher continued his lesson, generally regarding the class with cold eyes, and generally talking to them as if they were all idiots.
-By pouring their Derision, upon everything we did. Exposing every weakness, no matter how carefully hidden by the Kid.-
Bruce frowned more, as the teacher embarrassed one of the cheerleaders for getting a question wrong. There are few people that Bruce would wish to see on the receiving end of something unfortunate, and Publicly. This was one of them.
-But in our town it was well known when they got home at night, their Fat, Psychopathic wives, would THRASH THEM within inches of their lives!-
The song kept playing in his mind, as he half listened, until the class bell rang. He got up, singing the song softly to himself.
-We don't need no Education... We don't need no thought control.-
The teacher looked up, regarding Bruce coolly.
-No Dark Sarcasm In the Classroom... Teacher, leave them Kids alone...-
The heavy bass line was still thrumming in his head as his eyes met the teachers. He hated Bruce, because Bruce could Not be intimidated. His spirit couldn't be broken.
"HEY! Teacher! Leave them Kids alone!" He walked out the door, hands in his pockets, his books thrown across his back. "All in all, you're just a... 'Nother Brick in the Wall." He made his way to his locker, and got his skateboard out. Another day over, and time to get in some serious boarding. He smirked again, when the can that had just been thrown at his head missed entirely. "Yo, Brad, might wanna aim betta than that, at tha game… they might replace ya as star quarterback."
The Jock in question, surrounded by his Team-mates, all scowled at him. "I don't take advice from Muties."
Bruce shrugged. Yes, He's a Mutant. One of those lucky numbers born with an additional gift from nature. A little Genetic tweak that sets him apart from most other people. It's one of the reasons most people gave him a wide berth. The Mutant-Rights act had recently been passed, making for a lot of Anti-mutant sentiment to be spread around the country. "Let's not ferget I'm also Dirt poor. Somebody as rich as you ain't got nuthin' to learn from me." He smiled and dropped his board to the sidewalk. With a quick push, he was off, but not before he got wind of all the insults being tossed his way. He was stopped when Rachel stepped into his path… "Yo, Rach'. 'Sup?" She was a pretty Brunette. She was dressed stylishly, unlike Bruce, whose clothes were a throwback to the early 90s grunge fashion. Regarding his looks, he was a boyishly handsome 18 year old, Senior in high School. What made him stand out from most was his propensity for designing his clothing with clovers, and his Shockingly platinum blonde hair. It was nearly white, but it was completely natural. He brushed back a few strands that had gotten into his eyes, "Is dat game a home or away, this week?" He was asking, because she was the cheerleader that Mr. Henderson had embarrassed. He was also asking, because he was helping her with her history, in exchange for her helping him with his math.
"Home... So we meet at my house Thursday." With a smile. It quickly faded, when Brad walked up, "Hello... Brad." A bit of Disgust was in her voice. Her face showed it even more when he tried to put his arm around her. "I've gotta go… see you tomorrow night, Bruce." And she quickly made an exit. Bruce thought he saw her wiping her eyes... But what he heard next shook that out of his mind. "Now, Mutie… We're gonna go have a little talk. I can't have people showin' me up in Gym, now Can I?" Bruce started to get a little worried, when Two linebackers grabbed him roughly by the shoulders... He tried to struggle, but their grip was very strong. "And now, yer movin' in on my girl. Shouldn't the captain of the football team be dating the head cheerleader? What would she want with Mutie trash like you." Bruce looked around quickly… no one was around. He was completely alone with these guys.
"She's my Tutor! She ain't my girlfriend! But in case you haven't noticed, the girl thinks yer slime! She hates being around you!" That's it, Bruce, he thought, make noise, so someone looks in this direction… His noises were silenced, however, when Brad's fist impacted with his lean stomach. The wind left his lungs in a rush, and his world exploded into painful blackness as something collided with the back of his head.
***Many miles away, on a large plantation in Alabama***
The 'Family' huddled together, in their mud and straw floored pen. There was Terry… A large, Bestial man, of 8 feet in height, and tremendous strength. He wore little more than a pair of crudely constructed pants, and a collar with a blinking light over his wind-pipe. Beside him shivering, as she curled against his fur, was Amy, a green-skinned girl, of incredible beauty. Her power was an affinity for plants. She wasn't wearing a collar, but there was no threat of her Running. Jason sat curled with his knees against his chest. He had short, brown hair, a lean face, and was dressed in the nondescript Grey rags and blinking Collar of the rest of the workers in the concentration camp. His power, of Corrosive energy blasts, earned him the nickname 'Acid' around the camp. The last person in the pen was Tamra... a fire-haired girl with powers to match. She was also a talented martial artist, having earned a Black-belt before being imprisoned. Her hard eyes stared out the door to their pen. "We can't stay here like this."
Amy's slightly muffled voice came from Terry's fur, "And what do you suggest we DO, Tamra? If any of us leave, they'll Kill the rest of us… You all have those collars on, and those'll blow up as soon as you leave the camp… and If I leave, they'll just find me, and throw me into the forest while they're chopping wood... And this time they might not take me out." Amy's powers gave her Empathy towards plants. They always punished her by sending her into the thickets while they were cutting wood. She never lasted 10 minutes before collapsing. Terry, because of his strength, was always assigned to the woods. He had brought her back to the pen tonight, as he always did. "None of us can make it out of here... And It's mainly because of Daniel!"
Terry's voice came like a growl, "Daniel only does what he does, because if He didn't, we'd all be dead anyway. Though I agree... None of them are smart enough to come up with the containment plans they've got currently." And he was right. This group of Mutants lived with approximately 60 others, with all varieties of powers except only telepathy. Daniel somehow managed to find them mutants every once in a while that fit their mold. 'They' Were the Friends of Humanity. The Nazi-esque organization that believed Mutants had two purposes: Slave Labor, and target practice. There was still the occaisional random shooting, but generally, they kept the mutants alive, to work their plantation. "He's also said that it's close to time for his plan to come to pass."
Jason looked up, "Ya mean it? Ya mean we can get out of here?" The boy almost shouted, but a quick movement of Terry's Paw silenced him.Jason was the youngest of the group, and was still clinging to his optimism. He hadn't been there more than a couple of months. Kidnapped from a High-school, just 2 weeks after his powers publicly raged out of control, nearly destroying half the school building before he got them under control. He was around 16 years old, and had an inner fire that everyone except their captors loved about him.
"Quiet! I hear something…" despite the collar, the physiological changes in Terry had given him sharp hearing. He detected the sound of footsteps dragging someone along. The door to their pen was slammed open, and an 18 year old male was tossed in… His face and arms were covered with tattoos. The ones on his arms were done so that No matter how you looked at his arms, they said 'Mutie scum' and he even sported a large 'M' over one of his eyes. Daniel had been there longer than any other mutant at the plantation. His genius was indescribable. His eyes were mutated so that he had an almost 270 degree view. His genius also gave him complete retention of everything he saw and heard. He ran the computers at the plantation, since his skills weren't suited to manual labor.
The guard that tossed him in spat in their direction, "Stay down, Or yer all dead." He added a Kick to Daniel's stomach, just for good measure. "I wish the Boss said we didn't need you, Mutie slime. Just keep them muties comin' in. Or we'll send you to the fields…" the guard left, locking the gate back. Daniel sat up, wiping the blood from his lip. His entirely black eyes regarded the 'Family' with a smirk. "2 weeks. It shouldn't be more than 2 weeks before it happens... Cyclops' death really put a cramp in my plans... But now, we're almost ready. There's a promising new student about to be recruited." Daniel had been working secretly to get the X-men to notice their little plantation. And now, it seemed, to the excitement of the small group of friends called the 'family', it seemed like his efforts had paid off.
*Back at the X-mansion*
Jean had existed somewhat in a daze since Scott's death… she had continued on, as he would have wanted. Logan had adjusted sooner than any others… Ororo was considering leaving, at least for a while… Rogue and Gambit both had taken a hiatus from the mansion for a while. And Warren had agreed to stay on long enough to teach Geneva how to fly… but the death of Scott, Betsy, and Bishop had rocked everyone. She especially dreaded the professor's reaction, when he returned. He knew, but to see the professor actually at his Grave site would be crushing indeed. She expected him back within the week. Travel from Shi'ar was a long one. She sat in the room with Cerebro, just looking at the device… she Idly put it on, just to give herself something to do… then was shocked back to the real world, as she picked up a distress signal that was almost right under their noses, so to speak. A young mutant, a few miles away, was in serious danger. She quickly broadcast, {Logan, take Geneva, and go to Salem Center. Cerebro is giving you directions... Cerebro has picked up a mutant, and he's in trouble!}
She sat back, typing up driving directions. Salem Center wasn't far. The coordinates suggested the old storefront that had been empty for almost a year. She'd seen it often when she went out shopping. She'd always had a bad feeling about it. Now, it appears that her bad feeling is Justified. What confused her was... This was a fairly strong mutant signature. Information she was getting on him indicated he lived pretty much next door to them for quite a while. Why hadn't they spotted him sooner?
===
Bruce came to, feeling a pain in his wrists. He knew he was upright… He was hanging by his wrists from a couple of chains. ; he still hadn't opened his eyes... But he made the mistake of Groaning. His noise was answered by something cold and metal smashing into his face. "Looks like the mutant finally woke up on us. I think we oughta give him a minute or two, so he can see what we got planned." Bruce's face looked like hamburger. Bruises and cuts covered his bare chest and stomach. Some were from impact. Some were more purposeful. He'd been tortured for 4 hours. His eyes cracked open. Blood stung his eyes, and he tasted it from his nose and lips. His left cheek was tingling still, after the impact. He saw the gun in Brad's hand. "You're tougher than I thought, Mutie. The last one we brought here couldn't take half what you did. You probably could do better than me on the football team."
"You're really sick, you know that? So damn worried about your position on the team, when you'll never have to work a day in you li-UMPH!" Another blow to the stomach robbed Bruce of his breath for a few seconds. He felt he'd vomit, if he hadn't already done so. Brad just chuckled, and rubbed his knuckles. Two of his team-mates were standing nearby, just watching with evil looks on their faces. Bruce coughed for a minute, then managed to speak again, "Your Dad owns 5 corporate office buildings in New York City... What do you need a Football scholarship for?" Another blow, This time to the right side of his face.
"Shut up, trash. Freaks like you don't BELONG with the normal people. Mutants are what's wrong with the world today… So when I Kill you, I'll be doing the world a favor." Brad started tracing one of the tracks of blood on Bruce's face with the pistol. "So what IS it you do, exactly? Super reflexes or something? Super speed?"
"So... you've been... calling me... A Mutant... All this time..." Bruce's breath finally returning, "And you don't even have any Proof?!" His anger was well faked. Bruce knew no one had ever seen him use his power, especially not someone like Brad. It was just a rumor going around school. He was using this ploy to regain some of his strength... All he needed... Was just enough... There... he felt it. "What if you're wrong? What if it turns out I'm NOT a mutant, and you murdered me in cold blood. In case you and your boys ain't looked, you got my blood All over your hands, and clothes!"
Brad actually seemed like he hadn't taken that into consideration. "But... Nobody could run faster and throw farther than me... Only a Mutant could..." that seemed to make up his mind... Though the look in his eyes said otherwise. Bruce had succeeded in faking Brad out, Making him Second guess. It was buying him all the time he needed… He could feel his power slowly growing. He was battered, bruised, and bleeding, but he had them right where he wanted them. Brad's Goon friends were looking at each other worriedly.
"And they say I'm stupid... You really should find out what Mutants do before you try an' do this to 'em." God, he hurt… but he felt like he could move. The gun whipped up, and pointed at his face… Bruce knew he only had one chance to try this.
"Stupid mutie… just tryin' to confuse us, with those Mind tricks. It won't work. I'll shoot you before you can finish the job."
Bruce's eyes closed. He stretched out, feeling his energy moving through the air. He felt the edges of the pistol, and found the barrel. Wow… Brad's nervous. The gun is shaking... Good. He carefully reached down the barrel until he found the bullet. A moment of infusing it with energy, and the job was done. The barrel was now misaligned, and the bullet molecularly bonded with the inside of the chamber. You see, Bruce Actually WAS a mutant. With An energy field that could turn inanimate objects intangible for a short while. When Brad pulled the trigger, the gun backfired, completely removing Brad's thumb, and covering his arm with shrapnel, and burns. He collapsed to his knees, screaming in pain, as Bruce calmly pulled his arms through the restraints as if they were nothing but air.
The two thugs just blinked, then charged the young mutant. However, Bruce, now that he was both Mad, and free, was ready for them. He grabbed a pipe from a wall, while 'phasing' it in two places. E quickly brought his new club around into the stomach of a Linebacker. "Not so tough when I'm lookin' are ya!?" He finished his attacker by bringing his elbow down onto the back of the thug's head. He fell unconscious. The other one, stepped back, and began circling. Bruce dropped into a boxing stance, his feet beginning to dance and weave. In his current state of dress, it was clear that Bruce was not at all to be trifled with. His guard was up, his muscles tensed. Definition was cut all through his body. And, apparently, he had the strength to back it up. But he was also hurt. Bad hurt. All over his body were cuts and bruises. The opponent was easily twice Bruce's size, and a Football player at that. So he was used to getting hit.
They kept up their close watch of each other, each waiting for a decent opening. Then, a blow sounded, and the thug's eyes glazed over. He slumped down, revealing a 5'3'', Very stocky individual behind him. "Sorry fer crashin' yer party, Mohammad Ali..." a gruff voice… probably from the Stogie hanging out of the man's mouth.
"Mr. Logan! We've gotta get out of here!" came a girl's voice from the front room. Bruce was rather confused… but then again, that was a normal thing for him. The girl came in and Bruce blinked...
"I knew they roughed me up… but I didn't expect to see an angel..." this earned him an almost cute glare from the girl.
"I'm Geneva. NOT an angel. Now, you come with us… It looks like there were some friends of his on their way over to join the fun. We've gotta get out of here Now." She grabbed his arm and dragged him along, as Logan followed them, chuckling to himself. He was helped into the back of a large van, where the severity of his beating finally took effect... Bruce quickly lost consciousness.
Bruce awakened to the sounds of machines beeping around him. A groan brought footsteps to his side, "About time you woke up. I was starting to worry. I blasted you a couple of times, but you still wouldn't wake up." The voice was female, and sounded close to his age, but a little younger. "So how're you feeling?" Another groan from Bruce elicited a giggle from the girl. "I could guess that... Most people would be in a Coma, after taking the beating you took."
"I feel like A truck ran over me, then fergot what it was doin', so it backed up..." He sat up, rubbing the eyes he hadn't yet opened. They felt swollen. This isn't the first time Bruce had been beaten up. First time he'd been beaten up like THIS… but… He didn't feel as bad as he thought he should.
"HEY! Lay back down! I did as much as I could for you, but you still need to lie down." He felt a small hand urging him back onto his back… then those hands crossed his eyes. He felt a couple of warm drops of liquid drop into his eyes… a warmth spread through them, as the throbbing stopped. He tentatively opened his eyes, discovering that he could...
"Whoa... What was that stuff?" as he looked around the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light. A giggle brought his eyes over to Geneva… The girl from the abandoned store... "And where am I?" The room looked like something out of a Science fiction movie.
"You're safe..." Geneva told him. She didn't know how much she could trust him with... "Don't worry. And, for your first question, It was something to distract you from me blasting you again." She giggled again, at the look he gave her. It was somewhere between, "Huh?" and "Are you Nuts?" She couldn't think of a better term to use for her talent. In addition to those Angelic wings, she had the ability to heal minor wounds. She couldn't heal the cracked rib he has, but the bruises and such he came down here with were significantly reduced, thanks to her help. He still had a couple of Nasty shiners on both eyes, but he could look around.
"But... All my bruises and stuff are a lot better... What did you blast me WITH?" sitting up and looking at his arms, and exposed chest. Well… mostly exposed. His body was wrapped tightly with bandages. His legs had been spared from violence, since they weren't much of a target. However, his chest and stomach took doses of her talent any time she could manage one. Her observation of the patient was interrupted, however, when a short girl with extremely long hair walked into the room.
"Geneva is a healer. She's been working on your bruises all night. It's almost Morning, girl, you need to get some sleep." Diane commented. The first part was to the boy that was still inclined on the bed. He raised himself to his elbows and looked between them. "Hi... I'm Diane. Welcome to Xavier's School for the Gifted. What's your story?"
Geneva frowned a bit. Diane was such a flirt. There the boy was on the table recovering from the beating of his life, and she was FLIRTING with him. Her feathers ruffled a bit, earning a surprised look from Geneva towards her wings. She didn't think she'd ever get used to having them. When Bruce spoke up, her attention was brought back to him.
"I'm Bruce... I was gettin' Beaten up, then was brought here." The confused look showed he still wasn't sure where HERE was. But then, a look of recognition dawned on his face, "Waitaminute... Did you say Xavier's? I live right down the road from here! Whew... I know were I am now." He laid back on the bed, stretching a little, and winced. His arms came back down, and he hugged his chest lightly, "Ow..."
Geneva frowned again, then moved to his side, "I should've told you. You've got three cracked ribs, so you shouldn't stretch too much." Her hand moved to his ribs, and a quick warmth and tingle spread across his chest... the pain was instantly taken away. Bruce relaxed again, and was soon asleep. Diane and Geneva looked at each other. "This guy's a little odd."
"Odd, yes. But Cute." Diane said with a little grin. Geneva let out a sigh, and rolled her eyes.
***The Plantation***
Work began as early as it did every morning. The workers were called out of their pens, the smaller ones dragged out roughly by their clothing or hair. However the Guards doing so were quickly knocked aside by the overseers, "How do you expect 'em to work with you damned fools Tossin' 'em like that? You idjits are too busy tryin' ta get rid of mutants ta see the work thay kin do." Soon, all 60 mutants were lined up to receive their tasks. Terry, and five other mutants gifted with super strength were assigned to land-clearing duties like always. 20 more mutants were assigned to the gardens, which occupied almost 10 acres in and of themselves. Amy and Jason were assigned here. Daniel, as usual, was dragged towards the plantation house, to begin his computer work. The remainder of the mutants was assigned to weapon maintainance and construction duties around the plantation. None of it was easy work, with the possible exception of Daniel.
In the fields, Amy was doing her usual duties of making all plants grow larger and stronger. She always did her job well. It was easy. She plucked ripe berries and plants of all sorts, while her power brought about the crop. She was just finishing a bush of blueberries, when her hair was grabbed. She let out a yelp of pain, as she was dragged through the rows, and into the corn -fields, she was tossed to the ground, her slim fingers going to her head to cover the pained areas. She fought back the tears and looked up to see one of the newer guards standing over her with a scowl. His words made her breath catch in her throat.
"Fer a Mutie, you're pretty cute, bitch." His hand was on his side-arm, resting at his hip. He unzipped his dirty jeans, "Yer my slave, fer now, Mutie. Take it out."
She sat there paralyzed. This was the third time someone had tried to make her do something like this. They often succeeded with the 0other girls around the plantation. She wasn't strong like Tamra anymore. She couldn't fight him off. But she wasn't going to do it FOR him. Because... frankly... She couldn't. He reached out and yanked an ear of corn off the stalk. Amy yelped again, and clutched her side.
"I asked around, why you didn't wear a collar... Turns out yer power over plants makes you real easy to control... Just hurt one, and you feel it too. Now, you sit up and Suck it, or I start picking Co-AUGH!" His scream was one of pain, as a milky white beam of energy struck him Directly in the foot, and moved up to his crotch. Amy jumped back, recognizing it. There was Jason, rubbing at his eyes as if he had dust in them. The guardsman was rolling around in pain. It was easy to see why. Jason had been assigned to use his corrosive energy beams to dig irrigation trenches. One of the fastest, neatest ways to do it. He looked up, as the guardsman who was watching him came over to see what the commotion was.
"I had dirt in my eyes, so I wiped at it, while blasting straight. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in this row… wasn't he assigned to watch the fruit areas?" his voice sounding innocent, but the wink he shot Amy told that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Jason's guard looked at Amy, then looked at the offending guard, now holding his smoking and burning leg through melting pants, while screaming. "You sick Fuck! You were tryin' ta screw a Mutie?! Have you gone NUTS?" the newcomer to the scene swiftly kicked the offender in the Gut. "And she ain't supposed to be in the corn field Period! She can't harvest anything here!" a light shove to Amy, "Get back to your area, Mutie, before I send you wood-cutting." The guard got a couple more of his fellow Friends of Humanity members to carry the guard up to the house to be tended. He'd probably never come out to the fields again.
After a minute or so, Jason was alone with Amy. The 16 year old looked at her, "Are you okay? I didn't hit ya or anything, did I?" he was silenced by a tight hug, and a whispered, 'Thank you!' from Amy. He hugged her back, tightly, and said, "Any time, Amy. You're one of the Family... We watch out for our own. Just hang in there. Daniel says it's only a matter of time now. A couple more weeks, tops."
The two held each other in Silence until the guards came and separated them back to their appointed tasks.
Elsewhere on the plantation, Tamra was hard at work, with her Collar still on. She was still arguably one of the strongest women here, when it came down to physical strength. She was also the most powerful: a Pyrokinetic of the highest order. Creating and projecting flames was as simple as breathing to her. While they had most mutants sue their powers to plow up rows, No one trusted Tamra without her powers, and five guards with guns trained on her from a safe distance.
The hoe in her hand rang down as it struck the hard soil and rocks. The guard watching her knew not to get closer to her than he was right now. No matter what was in her hands, it was a deadly weapon. A testament of this was when a new guard had tried to force himself on her. It was something all girls at the plantation had to worry about. Except Tamra. The last time someone had tried, Tamra had simply brought both feet together, and kicked him forcefully in the stomach. Then another shove from her legs brought him over her head, and there she held him, pants around his ankles, until his comrades could take him and... deal with him.
Now, the guard that watched her tried to hide the fear in his face. The fear that if she really wanted him dead badly enough, he doubted there was anything he could do about it. The cold glare burning in her eyes with fire unrelated to her powers told him so. She kept tilling the soil, doing her work as quickly as she was allowed. Now, there were tasks she could do faster, and better. But they kept her in places like this to keep her from getting stronger than she already was. She was patient. Daniel's plan was close to fruition. She would be free soon enough.
And then, her captors would know the meaning of Fear and pain, and see how closely they came together. She just imagined that every row she was made to plow was a Grave of still another of the guards that watched her like a Sparrow, watching for a hawk. With enough of them, they might stand a chance, but one frightened little Bird like this one would be swatted down before he even brought his claws to bear. Still the hoe rang. Soon. Very soon.
Inside the plantation house three men stood beside a door, with headphones on. They were mainly to block out the noise blaring through the door. It sounded like there were 50 different radio and television programs going on at once. That was a conservative estimate. Inside was Daniel's room. A room like this didn't stretch his mutant Genius at all. He had a 20 foot squared wall dominated by screens of various sizes and shapes. Each screen was tuned to a different channel from as various and sundry locations across the country. Behind him, and scattered throughout the medium sized room, were radios boosted through Daniel's technical mastery. They were each pulling in a specific radio station from across the country. To his right there was a computer He was using to monitor Chat sites. He was currently running close to 70 windows. The keyboard was so worn from Daniel's quick typing that it was indiscernible which key was which. But he already had the keyboard memorized, so typing at it out of the corner of his eye while he watched the screens and listened to the radios would be enough to drive most people crazy. This was a regular day for Daniel.
However, hidden in his mutant monitoring was a connection to Xavier's Mansion. They had him. Excellent. It would be very soon now. But the boy was in rough shape. He needed some time to recover, and train. But Someone like Bruce was just what the mutants of the plantation were waiting for.
***Back at the mansion***
Jean was in the formal sitting room of the mansion, with an attractive woman in her mid thirties. She was short, and blonde, of a shade that matched Bruce's perfectly. She was Mary Jackson, his mother. "My son was beaten up last night. Abducted after school, by the Football team. They've been giving him trouble for a long time. Since Junior year. There was a rumor going around he was a mutant... But No one could prove it. Now, he's probably going to have to change schools. Putting two members of the first string of the Football team in the hospital isn't going to make him any more popular. The good news is, a girl from one of his classes is going public about the Truth."
What she was referring to was when Brad Wilson, Promising young QB, was taken to the hospital on the nightly news, he shouted out that Bruce Jackson had been the one to do this to him. However, the morning news showed Rachel Lee, captain of the Cheerleaders had been coerced by Brad into detaining the occasional mutants until Brad and two of his friends could surround them, and take them away. They all disappeared soon after. It seemed Mr. Wilson was going to get his now.
"We can offer you something of a solution to that, Ms. Jackson. We brought Bruce here to tend to his injuries, nothing more. But, with your permission we can arrange for his schooling to be transferred here. Not only can we give him an education that ranks in the top 10 percentile, we can also teach him how to better blend in, and use his gifts in ways to better himself, and all those around him." Jean was trying hard not to sound like a pamphlet, but Bruce intrigued her. She had spoken to him once that morning, after relieving Geneva from the Med-Bay. He reminded her of the other 'phaser' she knew. Kitty was due in any day, and those two would probably end up instant friends.
"Mrs. Summers. I won't pretend to be more than I am. I'm not a wealthy woman. I can't possibly afford to send my son to a school like this. And I'm not interested in Charity." Bruce's Mom was a proud woman, who worked hard. She didn't take any hand-outs from Anyone.
Jean was rescued at that moment, by Warren, blanketed by a holographic inducer, to make him look normal. Walking beside him was an un-covered Geneva, Her wings behind her like a feathered cape. Jean smiled at them, "Geneva, there, is a recent addition to our student body. She's taking advantage of some financial aid. We have a few student aid programs that Bruce is applicable for. They should sufficiently cover his tuition, and any expenses he has here. Plus, he can still live at home, or here at the dorms if you feel his safety is in question."
"I do. Some people take football a little too seriously. About safety... how is your security here? If they'll do something like this to my son when they just THINK he's a mutant… they're surely not going to slack off when they Know he's one." The woman commented, a bit worriedly. Jean knew that this woman wanted the best for her son. She hoped that being at a place like this was it.
A soothing voice came from just outside. "Ms. Jackson. The Security at my school is among the best of Any school in the Nation. Due to the... Nature of most of my students, I have taken extra steps to ensure their safety." A man who would normally be 6 feet tall, were he not confined to a wheelchair, made his way into the room. He was bald, and not physically impressive, but still, he had an air of serenity and authority about him that even Mary had to acknowledge. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Charles Xavier. I am the headmaster, and the proprietor of this school." The woman shook hands with him. Her face showed that she felt something in him. She felt she could trust him. Jean was familiar with the feeling.
"Are you SURE... That this isn't charity... I've raised my boy not to depend on anyone. We don't take handouts. We work for what we get." Her face set a bit. Jean knew the mentality.
"No handouts. A number of former students have set up funds for new students. Your son is just the type of person These funds have been set up for. It's not charity to take advantage of what's already there. Will you allow your son to study here with us? We can begin the paper-work portion immediately..." The professor's words were just what Ms. Jackson needed to here… She agreed, and soon Jean was smiling to herself, as Bruce officially became a Student at Xavier's school for the gifted.
***At a Diner, Outside Mobile***
"Hey, scarface, you got the money to pay fer all this food?" the rather obese waitress looked more like she was upset that this much food had been taken from her available stockpiles. The man at the counter slapped down a few bills that would cover the amount. He kept eating his cheeseburger. It had been the first thing he'd eaten in three days. He had a large plate of fries and a slice of apple pie, and two glasses of coke beside him. A large backpack and a guitar case sat beside him on the floor. H wore a denim vest that was covered in pockets and dust, and had obviously seen better days. The man was far from clean, and had the looks of a wanderer. The origin of his nickname came from the deep, ugly scar that ran down his face, from just over his left eyebrow, to his right cheekbone. He was lean, but had a look of strength to him. The cowboy hat he wore was pushed back onto the back of his head to keep it out of his way as he ate.
As he ate, he was listening to a pair of men at a nearby booth. "Did ya hear about Johnson this morning? He tried ta bag that green-skinned Mutie in the corn fields… That new kid almost melted his foot off! I tell you, that girl has the luck of the Irish." The tones were hushed, but not enough for the stranger to miss what they were talking about.
"Yeah... His own dang fault fer tryin' ta get with one'a THEM. But if it weren't fer that green skin, I might've tried a few times myself. That girl we just put makin' the clothes… the one with four arms? She didn't put up much of a fight. After a few smacks, that is." Lewd chuckles from the two sent shivers down the stranger's back. He quickly ate the rest of his food, and made his way outside. He had been listening these two regale each other with their exploits in some sort of plantation where they worked Mutants like slaves. He got his change and picked up his stuff, and headed outside.
His name was Marcus Anderson, III, and he was a Mutant. Wounded at the hands of his uncle, he had left home 7 years ago when his psionic touch first flared to life. Trey, as he was called, had reduced his uncle to a sniveling, screaming ball of fear in a psych ward when the fear he was feeling at being strangled was suddenly pumped into his uncle. He ran away the next day. Since then, he had discovered his other ability. He could form 'Bubbles' of some strange kind of force that he wasn't too sure what it was.
At the moment, he was outside the Diner, securing his luggage in a hiding place. Then he hid himself, near the vehicle that the two had arrived in. He was thankful for the dark night. The half-moon was behind some clouds. He pulled off the leather work-gloves he always wore. There they were, coming out of the diner, chuckling to each other about other atrocities they ad committed, and seen committed. Trey waited until one of them came close enough, and he sprang into action. A touch on the neck was enough to put the man on his face. All it took was a brief mental command, *SLEEP*, and he dropped like a ton of bricks. The other one followed before he knew what hit him. Trey Braced himself mentally, then went in. He obtained directions from their minds to the 'plantation', and then, set about the hard task. He went a short while back into their memories, fighting the urge to retch at the things he saw. He pumped some of his own revulsion into their minds at the memories. Hopefully, this would continue on, and they'd see this treatment as deplorable. He didn't know if it would work or not. He doubted he'd be able to stick around and see.
Trey's command over his telepathy wasn't that great. He didn't have as much time or opportunity to practice with it as he did with his 'Force Bubbles'. Willing targets weren't easy to find. But he knew enough to knock someone out. People were at their weakest when they are asleep. The exertion of altering memories was serious, and he doubted he'd have any defenses if he made contact with anyone for a while. Right now, he was getting his strength back for his trip. Although his aimless wanderings Now had a goal.
Trey consulted the map he'd gotten when he entered Alabama. He compared the road-names with what he saw on the Map. After a few minutes, he was back on the road again, walking slowly through the night with a new mission. Find this plantation... And bring it DOWN.
End Chapter 1: X-Men, A New Beginning.
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