The endless sands of the desert turned to a softer shade of red as the sun sank behind the horizon. Only the dunes sang softly as the wind grazed them. From this spot one could see the desert end.
The bitter cold took hold of the landscape, though it could only claim the inner desert, for at the edges of the arid land, the cold seemed to have made way for a much milder climate. A gentle breeze, almost pleasant, seemed to keep the lush vegetation safe from the icily cold desert-winds.
Rising above the green a woman appeared. With little effort she moved towards the edge of the desert, where she could hear the wind howl at her. She allowed her feet to touch the ground, the soil felt cold, though she paid no attention to the sensation. She faced her enemy, only to turn her back on it. Ororo Munroe felt her feet lift off from the ground, and with the slightest movement of her being she lashed out to alter the patterns around her. The warm air claimed another piece of the desert, driving the cold further back into the sands. Ororo knew that her work here was one of precision, upsetting the balance would lead to catastrophe, she knew this from experience, and she had sworn to not make the same mistakes again.
Eventually the desert would cease to be, and she had accepted her role in its eventual demise.
"Ororo," a voice called from behind her, "always at work."
"I must, if not for me, the winds would ravage the outer rim," she replied.
"You're not the only one involved here," a patronizing twinge locked between the words. "This is a combined effort. You seem almost too eager to claim full responsibility for this endeavour. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're doing it all for the glory."
"But you do?"
"Do what?"
"Know better," she smiled.
"Do I?" the voice teased. "I know that every night you come out here to make sure the border between there and here is kept intact, so that our work isn't going to be buried under a ton of sand. I also know that you want to be in control. You're not in this for the glory. You're here to watch this project fail..."
"I would never…"
"No you wouldn't. I never said you would. I'm saying that for some strange reason you want to be the scapegoat when this turns ugly. If for some strange reason, something out here happens that would undo all of our work, you're going to sacrifice yourself for the rest of us."
"You seem to think very highly of me," Ororo corrected her position.
"Or not. It all depends."
"On what?"
"It depends if I think that you sacrificing yourself in the public eye, atoning for our failure, is a sign of great leadership, or a sign of patronizing the entire work-force here. After all, if you go and claim that this whole thing failed because of your incompetence, it makes the rest of us look redundant and out of place."
"Damned if I do, damned if I don't."
"Something like that."
"You are a very cynical man," she smiled.
"You're a very cynical woman," he returned her smile.
"I have been called many things in my life time, and I have been accused of numerous crimes, but I do not believe I have ever been accused of cynicism."
"There's a first time for everything."
They fell silent for a moment. Both of them staring at the darkness stretching out before them. The sky filled with stars.
"Have you heard from Charles recently?" the man broke the silence.
Ororo seemed to tense up, her face taking on a harsher quality. Her voice formal, she spoke as a representative, not a person: "Xavier is pleased with the progress we have made thus far, as is Richards."
"But the X-men don't need Storm," he stated dryly. Letting the words settle for a moment he continued, "You don't need to be Storm when you're here. Out here you can just be Ororo."
"You are wrong. Even out here, I am still Storm. I am still a mutant. I am still an X-man."
"You're to eager to limit yourself. You give yourself up too willingly. Why must you always categorize yourself? Why can't you simply be? You're not a goddess, and out here where nobody can see us, you don't need to be anyone other than yourself. You're Ororo Munroe here, and I love you."
"T'Challa…" she smiled softly.
He smiled, put a finger on his lips and simply nodded.
***
The door to the office opened without making a single sound. A tall figure stood waiting in front of the window overlooking the ever-busy city of New York. With a simple motion of his right hand, he invited his visitor in. The door closed the moment he went through the door, as silent as it had opened just seconds earlier.
Hesitantly at first the visitor made his way to the desk that stood in the middle of the room. He looked around and noted the absence of personal items. The room felt cold and distant, as if the desk, with its two chairs, was the only indication that this space was occupied by someone living, and was in use. There he stood next to the chair and waited patiently for a sign or a command. He held on to the folder in his left hand as if his life depended on it. He swallowed loudly, only to let out a subdued cough that had an uncomfortable sound to it.
"Take a seat," the figure spoke with his still back turned to the visitor. Still clinging to the folder he obliged without protest.
"Sir, we've found fairly little information…"
"I find that hard to believe. You know as well as I do the X-men are still in operation, despite their efforts to hide it from the public. Xavier simply isn't one to make mistakes. I should applaud his efforts to conceal his clandestine operation from the public and the government, he obviously booked success."
The man squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He cleared his throat and thought for a second. Picking his words with the utmost care, "Mr. Shaw, though we've found no evidence of recent activity, we did find more information on their actions in the past."
"Humour me, how exactly would old news constitute as something even remotely useful?"
"It appears that prior to Xavier's involvement in the various branches of the X-corporations, he's been tied to other projects. Most notably the Mutant Underground. We have further proof that he's been involved in government business throughout the years…"
"I asked you how this information could prove useful, I didn't ask you to simply tell me what I already knew," Sebastian Shaw snapped at his employee.
"My apologies sir, but we've managed to find a trail leading to Xavier."
Sebastian Shaw turned around to face the neurotic clerk. A smile on his lips as he took a seat opposite the snivelling man.
"A trail you say?"
"For a lack of a better term, sir, we've managed to connect Xavier to a research facility in Nevada. The facility has long since been abandoned, but they left behind evidence as to what they were researching."
"So Xavier still has dirty little secrets to uncover."
"I wouldn't call it that, sir," the man said with a tone of confidence in his voice. "For a lack of a better term, Xavier help fund a project dedicated to anti-talents."
"Anti-talents?"
"Remember the days when the government still searched for ways to deal with the mutant-problem? They invested in various projects aimed at subduing the growing mutant population. Keeping them in check, and making sure that they wouldn't rise up to cause trouble."
"They failed, miserably. Xavier's vision of peaceful coexistence won."
"The research facility in Nevada was home to people who had, over the years, developed anti-talents. I wouldn't call them mutants, because none of the files refer to them as mutants. Anti-talents are those who are immune to the abilities of mutants…"
"Immune?" Shaw repeated as he leaned forward.
"It appears that they had the ability to negate the abilities of certain mutants. For instance, there is mention in one of the documents we found that there was a subject who was immune to telepathy. The subject couldn't project its own thoughts outwards, or pick up other people's thoughts, it was simply immune to telepathy."
Shaw leaned back, still with a pleased smile on his lips. He folded his arms, and stared at the man in front of him who leafed through the file. "Tell me more."
"The reports are incomplete, but we also have one who managed to project a field that simply negated flame-based abilities. Interestingly enough the field didn't mind fire. The subject could still light a cigarette, it could still get burned when touching something hot, but mutants who could manipulate or generate fire simply couldn't when they were near the subject."
"Why would Xavier support such a project?"
"We don't know sir."
"These… anti-talents… what practical use could they serve?"
"As far as we can tell, there is no practical use. Their anti-talent is something they have no control over, they cannot project the ability outwards, they cannot use their ability as a form of attack, the only thing they could do is be immune to a mutant's ability."
Sebastian Shaw fell silent, rubbed his chin, moved towards the desk and smiled wickedly. "I believe you just got a promotion. I'll fill out the paperwork today, expect a very generous salary for your efforts."
"Wouldn't you like to know why they abandoned the project?"
"Tell me then."
"Apparently the government deemed the project useless due to the lack of control they had over the anti-talents. Locating them would be a long and arduous task and the costs would outweigh the benefits. Most of the research was destroyed, the subjects were actually released, given new identities, and the researchers were moved to different projects."
"There you go then," Sebastian grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I want you to breathe new life into the project. I'll make sure you have all the funds you need, all the resources you could possibly dream of to your disposal. Begin preparations immediately."
"Yes sir," the man said with a confident nod as he rose to his feet. Handing over the file he shook Sebastian Shaw's hand. He walk with deliberate steps towards the door, and found himself heading towards his department.
Shaw on the other hand picked up a phone and made all the arrangements necessary for his promoted employee to work on the new project. Before the once humble man reached his desk, everything had been put in place for him to move up the corporate ladder. Shaw sank into his chair and allowed his mind to wonder about the possibilities.
He picked up the phone again, only to put it back down. He felt no need to inform his associates of his discovery and his new plans, at least not just yet. It would be more profitable for him to keep them uninformed for the time being.
***