Eric could feel the blood pooling around him. His body was lying prostrate and bullet-riddled on cold Chinatown asphalt. It was the Wah-Ching that had done this to him. His own brothers. He could feel the dark bile rising in his throat, could taste its foul flavor. It tempered his resolve and made him force himself onto his forearms. Slowly, painfully, he tried to pull himself along the length of the alley. He needed to get to the street. There he could get some kind of help, although he was almost positive there was no way he was going to pull through. Seventeen years old; this was the way his short life would end, crawling on the ground.
It was that mental image that strengthened his resolve. He would not die by some rusted Dumpster that stank of the swill the Chinese fed the Americans. He saw a shadow cover him and looked up to see a figure swathed in red directly above him. It lowered itself slowly until it was directly in front of him. Eric looked up into the helmeted face and saw the strong features of an older man with thick white eyebrows. Bak Mei, he thought, and believed he was delirious, a step closer to death.
"Eric Wu, I believe?" The man knew his name. Eric struggled to nod.
"Come to me, Brother, for I would never let my own kin die in the streets." Eric nodded again and the Man in Red picked him up and carried him away. By then, Eric was already passed out.
There had always been something different about Eric, something strange. That much he'd known. From the time he was a child, some sort of strange problem with electrical systems always plagued him. Sometimes he'd flip a switch and the bulb would explode. Sometimes he'd plug in an appliance and watch it short-circuit. But it wasn't until he was thirteen that the abilities began to truly manifest. One morning he had woken up, stretched, and watched beams of electricity lance through his fingers and into every socket and plug in his room, effectively shorting out his entire house.
He'd seen enough of the fantastical Chinese swordsmen movies to diagnose the issue, an overabundance of qi, the essential energy of the universe, flowing through his body. All he needed to do was learn to control it. Eric's father was a throwback to the old generations, a member of a Tong in Chinatown and traditional martial artist. Eric went to him and explained his problem, demonstrating. His father agreed and sent him to a closed-door qigong, or energy working, master.
Though the wizened old man refused to acknowledge what he did to outsiders, the men in Chinatown all knew. After seeing Eric leave the man's shop (he sold fake antiques to tourists) several times, the Tong asked his father, who would not lie to his brothers. The secretive group kept that in consideration.
The Wah-Ching were a youth gang, nothing like the "benevolent" and "honorable" Tong Brotherhood. They also saw the potential and began their courtship for Eric's allegiance, which they soon earned. He began dressing like the thugs, wearing slick leather jackets and keeping his hair long and streaked with the characteristic rusty steel wool color that came with dying such a dark head.
At the tender age of seventeen, though, he realized the error in joining, cursing his stupidity. As the Wah-Ching grew older and smarter, most eventually joined different Tongs, including the one Eric's father was a member of. To his father's delight, Eric elected an early leave, which appeared to be approved of by his Wah-Ching brothers. However, they soon realized what an asset he was to their group; when committing theft and acts of violence towards rival gangs, Eric had always been there to short out electrical systems, including security, and was always handy with a gun, which he was lethal with.
And so, they lured him behind the Peking Star restaurant under the premise of acting as guard during a drug transaction. Almost as soon as he arrived, they peppered him with bullets, but most were lousy shots and hit nothing vital.
It was in this blood-soaked state that Erik Magnus Lensherr, Magneto to all but a few, found the boy. He took him to the Morlocks, knowing there was a mutant healer among them. He received immediate attention, with Magneto pulling out the bullets and the Healer fixing the wounds.
Magneto was waiting beside Eric's metallic bed when he finally awoke. He was struggling to get up, but Magneto held him down.
"You need your rest, young Brother."
"Shui... wo yong... wo yong yi-dien shui..." Eric, in his pained state, had lapsed into Mandarin. It was the language he spoke at home; on the street he spoke Cantonese, a Southern Chinese dialect his father found detestable and wouldn't allow in his house.
"I don't understand."
"Water..." Eric moaned.
Magneto nodded to the bedside table, where a full glass was already waiting. Eric swallowed it all in one gulp.
"Where am I?" Eric asked.
"You are with your Brothers. Your mutant brothers."
Eric had never been one for television, or cared about the news, but he knew the term and had sometimes suspected that his abilities were, in fact, a genetic mutation. When Eric inquired further, Magneto began a long speech about mutant superiority that many would have recognized. However, it was completely new to him, and he was entranced. Soon, he was ready to join Magneto's "cause", on one condition.
"Blood. I want their blood," he'd nearly whispered. Magneto smiled. There was promise in this one. He knew the price of betrayal.
The next few weeks were full of intensive training. As it turned out, Eric didn't need much of it and had decent control of his abilities. But Magneto trained him to truly harness the power and release it in large, painful bursts of pure electric energy from his hands. He trained him to be a killer. Soon, Eric was ready for his revenge.
He walked back to the Wah-Ching Chinatown base, a dirty Chinese restaurant, with a vain swagger, kicking the door open. He pulled a Colt .45 from the waistband of his jeans and opened fire on the low-level gangsters milling about, eating and chatting. Near the back sat Harold Yee and Johnny Fung, the Wah-Ching leaders. Eric kicked a few tables out of his way and leaped over the overturned mess, landing by their booth. His pistol leveled at their heads, Eric led them to the kitchen and exacted bloody vengeance.
Eric stared hard at an image of a tall, lithe mutant with glowing red and black eyes. Magneto had called him Gambit. He explained Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and Gambit's defection. Before he'd left, however, he'd stolen precious files from Magneto's personal data bank. He wanted them back. Magneto preyed on the boy's black-and-white beliefs in loyalty and of course he agreed, disgusted by betrayal. Magneto took him to the school, where he snuck off.
First to go were the automated defense systems. Then was the electric gate to the school. Eric strode confidently across the lawn, sure of himself. He touched the doorknob, using the metal as a conductor to short out security and surveillance equipment, and forced the lock. His soft shoes made no sound as he padded across the tile and by what appeared to be a large domestic kitchen. To his surprise, there was a loud bamf and in a haze of smoke and brimstone, a furry blue creature appeared and yawned, opening the refrigerator.
Eric was startled enough to let the phrase "yo-gwai", demon, escape from his lips and raised an open palm with a core of blue-hot electricity. Before he could fire, however, the demon noticed him and teleported away, letting the electricity arc and crash into the open fridge.
Elsewhere, the "Demon" Nightcrawler tried to no avail to raise the alarms. When he saw that they'd been shorted, he cursed and teleported to Professor Xavier's room, rousing him and telling him of the intruder. Xavier then held his fingers to his temples, sending his own psychic alert to the school.
Wolverine was the first to barrel out of his room, charging down the stairs, followed closely by a bleary-eyed Beast and the rapidly transforming Colossus. The metal giant picked Wolverine up and hurled him into the kitchen with his claws outstretched, to slam into Eric. He quickly used his martial skills he'd learned as a youth, utilizing Southern Mantis entangling skills to wrap up and control Wolverine's arms, to his surprise. He then delivered several short-range blows to Wolverine's body, using a raised middle knuckle to do internal organ damage rather than external bruising.
Eric grabbed hold of Wolverine's razor-sharp adamantium claws and sent a pulse of harsh electricity through his system, using his metal skeleton as a conduit. He fell back, stunned and obviously hurt. Eric then turned on Beast and Colossus, who had cleared the distance in the short time it'd had taken to decommission their friend. They were unprepared for the sudden, explosive and violent attack that laid them down as well. The young man was an engine of pain, unlike anything they'd ever had to handle.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a tall figure pole-vault on a metal staff across the room with a leg outstretched in a flying kick. Eric simply grabbed the kicker's foot and twisted, corkscrewing the man into the already-wrecked fridge. He began beating a hasty retreat through the mansion and across the lawn, where he was followed by bright red beams of energy smashing into the ground close behind. The young X-Men were waiting for the automated defense systems to hinder him, but no such luck.
As he looked behind, he saw a pale girl with a lock of white hair chasing him down with an outstretched hand. The demon had teleported behind her and picked her up, the two of them bamfing directly in front of Eric. She reached out and grabbed his face in her hands; he felt a momentary psychic draining, both of his ability and his mind. He shook it off, though, and concentrated a pulse of electricity into the girl's hands, sending her flying backwards. He ran over her still form and into the night, escaping.
"What the hell happened back there?" Logan growled, sitting upright in his infirmary bed. On the outside, he appeared fine, but his insides were a mess, enough so that it was even slowing the progress of his mutant healing. He was not alone in injury, however, joined by Gambit, Rogue, Peter, and Henry. The entire team was gathered, in fact, holding a council of sorts.
"Rogue, did you find anything out when you touched him?" Xavier asked the girl, steepling his fingers.
"Not too much. I just got a bunch of this... I dunno, Professor, I ain't never felt so much hatred in one person before. I just saw all these horrible, horrible pictures and images and... Magneto."
"That explains it. But what was he after? And how did he get past the security systems?" Scott asked.
Gambit was the next to sit up. He was shirtless, exposing heavy bandaging around his upper body. The fall had not been kind to him.
"I got a feelin' it's got somethin' to do with me. I bet it's those files I stole from him before I left."
"All the security systems were shorted when I checked them out this morning. From what we saw of his power - " Kurt began.
"And felt," Logan interjected.
"We can pretty well guess it was him."
"The boy fought like a machine. He took out four of us in less than five minutes. I can only wonder what sort of training he's had with our... old friend," Henry said, pondering.
"I know. When I was in Japan, I had an altercation with some Hong Kong Triads who fought in the same manner. It's a style of Chinese kung fu called Southern Mantis," Logan said with certainty.
"I have heard of Mantis style when I studied new fighting techniques to teach our students. I did not notice any familiar characteristics," Henry announced with just as much certainty.
"That's Northern Mantis. Southern Mantis is nothing like it, and it's relatively secretive. It employs a uniquely Southern stylin' known as 'sticky hands'. It gotta do with entanglin' the opponents arms, controllin' 'em, and deliverin' strikes with the middle knuckle of the fist. It don't bruise the skin. It hurts your insides. I learned that the hard way," Logan muttered. None dared question his extensive knowledge of the martial arts.
"I got a feelin' this kid's gonna be back. And when he is, we better be on our toes. This kid ain't nothin' to be trifled with," he continued.
"We will be prepared. The security systems should be online soon; we've had problems before with Kitty's unfortunate...accidents," Xavier said, looking at the girl in question who stood with a sheepish smile.
"I hope so," Gambit breathed. "That kid ain't foolin' around." He rubbed his wounded chest absentmindedly.
Eric felt like a fool. He had failed Magneto, his Lao Ban, boss. He knew what came with failure. He'd often doled the punishment out himself. Hopefully Magneto would understand, hopefully he would be lenient. When he returned, he braced himself for the painful onslaught he believed would follow. Instead, he found Magneto surprisingly sympathetic, knowing that there would be unforeseen obstacles.
"To be honest with you, it was a test. To see if you were good enough. I knew there might be a hitch, that you would have to face them. But you took out five of them on your own, something I wouldn't have believed had I not been watching."
Eric looked at his boss, confused.
"A while ago, I had an agent steal plans to the mansion. I want you to go to the mansion in one week. You are to kill the deserter, Gambit. Leave the one called Peter alone. We had a prior engagement, and I allowed him to leave. But I want that Cajun's head on a stick."
Eric nodded silently and retreated to his quarters, where he was sealed in.
The boy's loyalty was unquestioned. He was resolute and determined to serve those who he had pledged his allegiance to. But there was always the off-chance of a sudden "moment of clarity" and defection, such as had been with Gambit. So, Magneto took no chances. Would one question the motives behind Eric's sudden, violent dog-like devotion, there was a simple answer: brainwashing.
Magneto had, over the course of the boy's stay, employed Mastermind's powers to mold Eric into his servant. He kept the boy confined in solitude, allowing his dangerous hell-bent mind to stew, bolstered by Mastermind's skill. He clouded the boy's memory, much as he had done to the Scarlet Witch, adding fuel to the destructive fire of his hatred and instilling unquestioning allegiance to Magneto. Unless there was outside interference, Eric Wu belonged to Magneto 'til death.
Eric rose from his meditation at midnight of the seventh day. From his footlocker, he pulled out one of his favorite weapons from his gang-banging days: a solid black butterfly knife with a wicked six-inch blade. The deserter's blood would be on his hands tonight and he smiled. He pulled on the uniform Magneto had presented him with, a skin-tight black bodysuit with an upturned Mandarin collar as an extra bit of flair.
At the Institute, he intuitively felt the thrum of electricity. The security systems were back on. And intensified. He smiled. Magneto had taught him how to absorb electricity as well, and he began channeling it into his body, draining the system's power rather than overloading it. There was a dull whine as the complex security devices died and Eric shivered. The electricity was coursing through his body, energizing him like the amphetamines he'd sold and sometimes taken as a member of the Wah-Ching.
He bounded through the lawn and jumped up to a second-story balcony, aided by the extra energy. He then climbed spider-like across a criss-crossing bit of latticework covered in ivy to the open window of Gambit's room. The wind played with the curtains and Eric slipped silently in. Slowly, quietly, he approached the bed and slipped his knife into the blanket several times. However, all he was rewarded with was a small poof of feathers. Eric looked up, suddenly on the alert, to notice a pair of glowing eyes in the shadowy corner.
"Couldn't sleep, mon ami. Looking for me?"
Eric advanced, and Gambit thought he was ready. Since the attack, they had been studying the techniques of Southern Mantis, trying to familiarize themselves with the lethal system, simultaneously studying the similar style of Wing Chun as a counter. However, a week of study did no good against a solid four years of determined training and he was soon overpowered. Gambit sent a mental alert to Xavier, imploring his help.
Xavier sat upright, fingers on his temples and entering Eric's mind. He saw the tampering there, and began trying to undo what Mastermind had done.
Eric grabbed his head, dropping the knife and falling to his knees. Gambit noticed the way the blade fell tip-first into the hardwood floor and how deep it had buried itself. That could've been him.
"Ni zhou wo-de tou!" Eric screamed.
This is not who you are, Eric Wu. You are not a killer. Why would a proud young man allow himself to be made into a puppet? Do not let Magneto control you. Grab hold of your mind and release yourself from his grip!
Eric was now thrashing on the floor, blood beginning to leak from his nose. Undoing Mastermind's trickery was taxing his brain. Gambit grabbed him up and took him to the infirmary. When he awoke, he felt a strange feeling all through him and jumped to his feet. What had he been doing? What was he thinking? He was more in control of himself than this. He had to escape and return to Magneto.
"Where you goin' mon ami?"
Eric looked to the door. Him. He rushed forward, but Gambit took firm hold of his wrists. Eric was still weak from the debacle earlier.
"Now just hold on a tick, Sparkey. Come with me."
Eric locked eyes with Gambit distrustfully, but followed. In his room, Gambit passed him some clothes that seemed to fit. Eric was roughly the same size, his height due to his mother's ethnic Hakka background.
"Let's go for a ride."
Still wary, Eric followed Gambit to the garage, where he slid behind the wheel of Scott's slick convertible. The two drove into the night, fast approaching dawn, and into the city. Gambit chose a quiet greasy spoon to talk in. They sat across from each other in a bright red torn leather booth, and a waitress took their order. Eric declined the food.
"So, you're Magneto's new lackey, huh?"
"I am no lackey-"
"I used to say the same thing, mon ami."
Gambit went into detail about his tenure with the Master of Magnetism. Everything he said about his recruitment mimicked what had happened to Eric to the letter. Gambit then went on to express why he had left and the benefits of being with Professor Xavier. Eric was outwardly stone-faced, not letting what was on his mind cross his features. But he was considering everything Gambit had said.
After nearly an hour, Eric relented and said he'd think it over, and they returned to the Institute, where he took his leave.
The steel door slid open to Magneto's control center and Eric walked in, once again wary. This time, he'd done something that went beyond failure. He felt the bile rise in his throat again at the thought of what he'd done. It was betrayal. He had completely ignored Magneto's command and was even considering defection. He would ignore the thought and try again later. He believed it had something to do with the one mutant, Xavier, and his mental games.
"Eric."
He turned around to see the imposing figure of Magneto standing behind him. Eric began to stutter out his excuse, but Magneto would hear none of it.
"How could you be so foolish? So weak minded? I thought better of you, boy."
Not Eric. Boy. He had fallen backwards before he'd known what had happened. When Eric looked down, to his horror, he saw a large metal spike jutting from his stomach. Pain wracked his body and brain, increasing as a fiery burn when he tried to breathe. He reached to touch it out of some perverse curiosity, coughing up blood and gasping for air.
Well, I should have known. There is always a price for betrayal.
It was Eric's last thought before a second piece of steel shot between his eyes and through his brain.