Dawn was nigh over the palatial estate at the edge of Bayville, New York, the glowing pink and orange rays of the slowly rising sun catching on the miniscule beads of dew that littered the manicured lawn in limitless numbers. The mansion was secluded, hidden from immediate view by ancient oak trees and a high brick wall that helped the sprawling estate give off an aura of not New York but of a romantic English mansion, a possible setting for the opening of an urbane Oscar Wilde play. However, this mansion was not the setting of a play but rather a school, a school for young mutants from all across the globe to foster and develop their abilities, far from the prying eyes and judgmental minds of the human population. Once the day has started, the mansion swells with the sounds of teenagers at work and at play. This was not yet a full day, however, but the mere beginnings of it, and most of the residents were still fast asleep, their minds concentrated on garnering every last possible bit of sleep before they are awoken to train anew. The only room of the mansion with any readily visible signs of active life was the kitchen, where two of the mansion's oldest residents were busying themselves with the morning papers and breakfast.
Logan Howlett, a teacher at the institute and a longtime friend of Professor Xavier, had never been accused of being laid back once in his life. He was the type of person who preferred the quiet solitude provided by a motorcycle and a lonesome dirt trail, or a period of reflection enhanced by a cigar and a can of Canadian beer to any type of actual human interaction. However, Logan was also a highly disciplined man who took his work at the school very seriously, no matter how aggravating he found the students at times. However, on that particular April morning, he was annoyed not by a current student but a former one. A former student that was, at the moment, grinning from ear to ear for a reason Logan could not fathom. Logan would attempt to engross himself in the news of the day, however, he would invariably turn back to Scott's smiling face, and the rage would bubble back up. After fifteen minutes of this, Logan finally lost his patience, casting aside the front page to the lacquered maple in front of him.
"Alright, you got me curious. What the hell're you smiling for, slim?" At the question, Scott looked up from the comics section and paused for several seconds before answering Logan, as though Scott assumed Logan was talking to someone else.
"Oh, no particular reason. Just thought Garfield was really good today. Here, take a look." Scott answered quickly; very obviously eager to end any questioning directed his way.
"I ain't readin' that crap comic. That fur ball hasn't been funny in ten years. So I'm gonna ask you again, and this time I'd appreciate a straight answer." Logan growled, thrusting an index finger in Scott's direction. Scott took in a deep breath and glanced around the kitchen, only turning back to face Logan when he was positive they were only two in the room.
"Ok, Logan, I'll tell you, but I need you to keep this a complete secret. I don't want anyone in this mansion to know about this."
"Yer kiddin', right?"
"Logan, I want this to stay between you and me. I don't want anyone in here to know about this, not even Ororo or the Professor." Logan rolled his eyes.
Look kid, I ain't gonna tell anybody. Now spit it out," Logan took a large gulp of coffee. "Even I'm startin' to grow old." Scott let out a defeated sigh before reaching into the pocket of his tan khakis and placing a small, rectangular black box in front of the older teacher. Upon opening the box, Logan's eyes grew wide in disbelief, his mouth open and moving but no words forming. He gently set his mug of coffee down on the table.
"This what I think it is?"
It's-it's an engagement ring. I'm heading down to Penn State to pick Jean up right after she gets out of her Biology class. There's a restaurant right near campus that she loves. I'm going to propose to her there."
"So yer finally proposin' to red? Bout damn time if you ask me. When'd ya pick this up?" Logan questioned, his tone taking on that of a proud father while his enhanced eye contact flipping between Scott's ruby quartz glasses and the ring, standing erect in the white velvet of the jewelry box.
"I had it designed specially. It's a white gold band with a twenty-four caret diamond-"
"And a ruby quartz setting around the diamond. Nice touch, kid." Logan handed the ring back to Scott and grasped his cup of coffee anew. "So what's got you keepin' so tight lipped? It ain't like Jean's gonna turn you down or anything." The proud smile left Scott's lips with no trace to show it had ever been there.
"I don't know that for certain, Logan. Jean's a sophomore in college now, and we've only seen each other on holidays and the occasional weekend." Logan groaned at the thought of what he was going to say.
"Look kid, you and red have been making eyes at each other ever since the two of you got to this place. If the two of you were any more perfect for each other, you'd be attached at the hip. So do all of us a favor and just ask her." Logan took a long sip of his coffee, letting his words sink in. "Quit second guessing yourself. It's a crappy quality for a leader." Scott chuckled.
"So it's just that simple?"
"Kid, I've known ya for a good long time. You wouldn't have bought that ring at all if you really thought she'd say no."
"I'm just a little nervous about this. This is…this is a big step for us."
"I ain't all that good at pep talks, slim, and I can't say that I'm lookin' to improve. Just get down there and ask her."
"The games we regret the most are the ones we don't play at all, huh?"
"Yea, something like that." Scott stood up from the table and pushed his chair back under.
"Alright, I should probably get going before rush hour hits ninety-five. Uh, Logan, you're, uh, not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"
"It's a deal if you leave now." Logan growled as he grabbed at the different sections of newspaper discarded to the glossed wood in front of him, while Scott hurriedly walked in the direction of the mansion's expansive garage. As Scott's form turned around a corner and disappeared from view, Logan arched an eyebrow, and then grabbed at a specific section of the paper, a singular goal contained within conscious mind.
"I knew Garfield still sucked."
The weather was typical of a waning New England summer, the sun shining as the temperature hit a comfortable seventy-two. After sitting in a two hour clog near the New York City exit, Scott found the rest of his trip relatively easy going. Barreling down Interstate 95 with Tom Petty emanating from the speakers at top volume, Scott took advantage of the noisy solitude to contemplate not only what Wolverine had said earlier, but his own churning cauldron of emotions.
I love Jean, I know that for sure. So why am I so nervous about this? I've never been this nervous about anything before in my life. Man, I fought Apocalypse and didn't get this worked up over it. I saw the Professor, the man who's been practically a father to me, attempt to kill the entire team. I remained calm then, why the hell can't I do it now? Goddamnit, Scott, you've got to get a handle on this.
Just then, a large metal sign, painted brown and held perpendicular to the ground by two thick metal poles rose into Scotts view from the side of the highway. The sign proclaimed in white luminescent letters, "Penn State Next Right." Scott sighed, pushing his doubts back into the closet of his mind for later consideration as he took the off-ramp towards Jean's college. As he steered his convertible towards the tall concrete sign that marked the entrance to the sprawling grounds of academia, Scott began to swallow in a vain attempt to dislodge the lump growing within his throat. After three minutes of that repeated activity, Scott gave up and instead worked on merely ignoring his building feeling of anxiety.
"Hey, Jean, you're out of Bio, right?" Scott had his cellphone out almost as soon as his prized convertible beeped shut.
"Scott? Um…yea, I just got out, why? Do we have a mission?" Scott couldn't describe it, but he felt as though there was something…out of place in Jean's voice. He pushed the thought out of mind, noting that this was not the time to get cold feet.
"No, nothing like that, Jean. I just had a little free time and thought I'd come down and take you out to lunch."
"You're here? In University Park? Oh My God! Scott. That's so sweet!" Jean cooed loudly into the phone, so loudly that Scott had to move the earpiece several inches from his ear in order to avoid hearing loss. I guess I was wrong about her voice being off, Scott thought with a grin. She sounds like the same old Jean now.
"Yea, I'm here next to the…" Scott let his voice trail off for a second, "large brick building covered in ivy." Jean chuckled softly.
"Scott, that describes almost every building here. Are you telling me that you still don't know your way around this campus?"
"Like you said, I described every building here."
"Are you still near the guest parking?"
"Yea."
"Well, just wait by your car then. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Ten minutes later, Jean came into Scott's view as he leaned against the hood of his car, one foot propped on the rear bumper. Within one second of seeing her, all doubts left Scott's mind. The way her shoulder-length hair waved behind her face, the natural sunlight bringing out the true ferocity of its red tint. Swept away from her forehead, one could clearly see her emerald green eyes, captivating eyes that carried both deep intelligence and sparkling creativity. The type of green eyes that only further complemented her smooth, flawless skin. She walked with a graceful confidence that not only complimented her statuesque physique but also drew the attention of everyone in a mile's vicinity, regardless of their previous activities. She reminded Scott of Lauren Bacall in Casablanca, a movie that had found a large fan in Scott Summers.
"Hey Scott. This certainly is a surprise. Any particular occasion?" Scott grinned as he pushed himself away from his car and stood tall to greet his girlfriend, the ring box moving in his pocket as though to remind him of his purpose.
"Oh, now I need to have a reason to visit you?" Scott jokingly asked as he accepted a small peck on the cheek from Jean.
"I never said that; I'm just not used to-" Jean's statement was interrupted as a car drove by, causing Jean to grip her left temple as though the passing automotive caused her searing pain. Her eyes clamped shut along with her jaw, her teeth grinding together painfully.
"Jean, are you ok?" Scott kneeled down as Jean fell to the asphalt below her feet.
"Yea, I'm-I'm fine. I've been getting headaches on and off for a few weeks. It's nothing to worry about."
"Are you sure? Maybe we should talk to the Professor about this." Scott suggested as helped Jean to her feet, one hand supporting her elbow as his other supported her back. Although on her feet, it took another minute until Jean let her eyes reopen, making eye contact with Scott despite his ruby-quartz sunglasses.
"I'm fine Scott, really. I've had a lot of pressure in my classes this semester. I'm just pushing myself harder than usual." Jean's response was a logical and rational one, however one Scott barely heard. His attention was taken by a flicker in Jean's eyes, a momentary interruption that seemed to announce the arrival of something malicious. The mirage only lasted a second and yet it burned with a grand intensity that would not allow its presence to be ignored. Before he could grant this phantom any more thought or credence, Jean broke through his daydreaming haze.
"Scott? Are you in there?"
"Huh?" Scott shook his head. "Yea, sorry about that. Come on, let's go to lunch." Scott held open the passenger door for Jean before walking around and climbing into the driver's seat, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street exiting the University grounds.
Scott and Jean arrived at the restaurant a scant ten minutes after departing Penn State's campus. Had they walked, their trip would have been only half; however it took longer on the paved roads due to red lights and one way streets. The convertible pulled up to the curb a block away from the restaurant, where the lunch rush was clearly beginning, with students visibly pouring into Ma's in a constant, fluid fashion.
Ma's was the type of restaurant that people would lightly describe as a "hole in the wall." Outside, the once red paintjob had faded over the years into a murky mixture of red and brown, a featureless color that neither attracted nor repelled, but simply blended into the background of the cityscape. If a hungry passerby did happen upon the simple building, they would enter through a cheap screen door, the screens themselves patched over innumerable times. The door itself operated on a simple spring, the arrival of a new customer announced by the clattering slam of wood on wood. Within, there was a simple Formica counter with six metal barstools attached to the floor, allowing the customers to observe their food being prepared at the grill set up flush with the wall behind. Along with six booths and four free-standing tables, the restaurant had assured itself that it would never win an award for décor. The food, however, was another story. Rich and filling, the dishes hit the very definition of comfort food. Students flocked to the eatery in droves, briskly walking past popular fast food restaurants such as Taco Bell and Friendly's to arrive at the diminutive but popular diner.
"Is it always this crowded? Scott asked as he killed the engine and walked around the back of the two-seater to open Jean's door. Even from their considerable distance, Scott could easily see figures filing in and out of the front door in perpetual movement.
"More or less. This restaurant has somewhat of a cult following," Jean mentioned as Scott unlocked her door. "Scott, you don't have to do that."
"I know, but I like to." Jean rolled her eyes, but still accepted Scott's extended hand as he helped her from the low car.
"I swear; I have the nicest boyfriend of the 1700's." Jean laughed as she stood to her feet. Scott frowned despite his amusement.
"That's funny; you've never complained before about my manners." Jean, stopped, then quickly spun one-hundred and eighty degrees and caught Scott's lips with her own, crossing her wrists behind his neck.
"Who said I was complaining?"
Students, please report to the war room at once. Full uniform is required. Attendance is mandatory, and any student missing will be punished severely. The telepathic message boomed through the minds of every resident of Xavier's mansion, sending students scrambling for any possible route to the lower level, be it by elevator, stairs, or other, more unorthodox means. Two students, however, were not at all concerned with how by some miraculous stroke of luck, managed to be training when the telepathic meeting call had been dispersed. Since the training gymnasiums were located on the same lower level as the War Room, the two were now struggling into their uniforms in front of the lockers, the breathable, skintight leather often difficult to slip into quickly. Their voices echoed throughout the deserted space, sound waves bouncing off of steel locker doors and slip-proof sheet-metal floors and ricocheting down toward the white-tile shower stalls opposite the entrance.
"You goht any ahdea whaht Xavier's got us down hehre fohr?" Sam Guthrie, a Kentucky native, questioned Roberto DaCosta the only other person currently inside the men's locker room. Sam had managed to pull the midnight blue uniform pants on, and was currently struggling to zip the attached top up over his lanky frame.
"Haven't heard anything, but if I had to guess, I'd say I'm being promoted to the field team full-time. The professor has probably noticed how talented I am, and he wants the younger students to see me as a role model." Stated Roberto, the cologne of arrogance swirling about him in an invisible haze. The teenage Brazilian was already adorned in full uniform and was busying himself by combing his dark, curly hair, admiring his reflection in the small magnetic mirror attached to the inside of his open locker door. He had purchased the trinket several months ago for this expressed purpose, as he had grown to hate fighting for room at the sink in the early hours of the morning right before surprise missions. And, at least according to Roberto, any mission before ten A.M. was a surprise mission.
"Hey, Roberto, does mah uniform look ahlraight?" Sam had finished pulling on his yellow boots, the final struggle in dressing in full uniform, especially for the six-foot-three boy who, by his own admission, was not the most graceful person on the planet, or even in the mansion. Roberto brushed several loose strands of hair into place before turning to face his friend. Sam would never admit it, but he had always held a slight bit of envy his friend for how graceful and suave he always seemed to be.
"You look fine, Sam. I mean, not as good as I look, of course, but you look fine. Hey, did you clean your uniform? It looks almost new."
"Yeah, after thaht training session Wolverine had us run in thaht downpour, Ah had no choice. Damned thang was caked in mud." Roberto gained a quizzical look at the mention of this downpour.
"When did that happen? I don't remember any downpour." As Sam began to respond, the door to the locker room flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as the remainder of the male student body began filing through the open entrance, rushing to quickly don their own uniforms. Within the windowless locker room, the sounds of students chattering, of locker doors slamming and feet stomping across the rough steel floor, swallowing Sam's response to Roberto's query in a hurried dissonance. The two boys made a great haste in escaping from the ever-growing crowd, knowing that a locker room is no fun in a quiet atmosphere, and they are easily comparable to torture chambers when crowded. Despite having a relatively small student body, especially when compared to other private teaching institutions, the students were all between the ages of fourteen and nineteen, the ages at which their hormones are raging tempests, and the youthful residents of Xavier's, mutants or not, were no exception to that law of nature.
No sooner had Sam Roberto made their way out of the gymnasium, however, than a second assault occurred upon their senses. A loud, indescribable noise filled the expansive metal hallway and their vision was clouded by a dense puff of blue-gray smoke, smoke that stank of burning sulfur.
"Guten Tag, gentlemen." Both Sam and Roberto stood over six feet, and as such they look downward to see the diminutive five-foot-four figure of Kurt Wagner, clothed in baggy pants and an equally baggy jacket over a red t-shirt, seemingly forgoing the required uniform.
"Dang it Kurt," Yelled Sam, coughing and sputtering for breath for several seconds before continuing, "You gotta learn ta wahrn us before yah do somethin' like thaht!"
"Sim, Kurt." Added Roberto, slipping back into his native Portuguese for a startled second as he waved a foul-smelling cloud away from his nose.
"And how exactly do you suggest I do zhat?" Grinned Kurt.
"Ah don't know and Ah don't care," Declared Sam. "Trah yellin' or somethin' like that." Roberto smacked Sam in the chest with the back of his hand and gave him a look that seemingly questioned Sam's ability to walk down the street in a straight line.
"Ve can haf zhis discussion later. Vraight now, ve haf to get to ze Var Room." Kurt hit a button on the large black watch wrapped around his left wrist, undergoing a massive transformation in less than a second. The image of a fresh-faced teenager gave way to a similar bone structure; however Kurt's face was covered with soft blue fur, as was the rest of his body, however the clothing he was wearing only a minute previous gave way to a specially designed field suit. It was completely red and black, except for a belt attached at the midsection and the three-fingered gloves on each hand, both of which were yellow. The shoulders extended over the arms about two inches, almost forming an inverted triangle. Most surprising to anyone gazing upon Kurt's true form, however, were the glaring anatomical differences. His hands had three fingers and his feet only possessed two toes, instead of the usual five. His ears were slightly pointed, but most startling was the long prehensile tail extending down from the small of his furry back. The triangular point at the tip of the tail contributed to an appearance that some had called "demonic," a point that had led to low self-esteem early in the young German's life. Once joining up with the mutant-friendly team, however, Kurt's esteem had quickly shot through the roof and he had dubbed himself "the fuzzy one." The elders of the mansion had marveled the complete turnaround in his personality, from shy and withdrawn to bubbly and warm, a seemingly born prankster.
"Students, calm yourselves at once!" Charles bellowed from his chair. The raging hormones from the locker room were still at a raging boil, and had spilled over into the War Room. The voices blended together, weaving themselves into one unintelligible drone. It was to be expected given their ages, however Charles already had his own worries and he was unusually anxious to be finished with this briefing. Before he could raise his voice again, however, Logan interrupted the conversations, albeit in his own unique way.
"Hey, quiet down!" Logan screamed as he bared his fists upright in front of him. Those who didn't immediately cease discussion at the sound of the institute's most pugilistic teacher quieted themselves the moment they heard the unique sound of Logan unleashing his claws, the sound of polished metal rubbing rapidly against bone and ligament. Three on each hand, they emerged from between the knuckles of his hand and each one measured nearly a foot in length. Constructed of solid adamantium, they each ended in a frighteningly sharp point. Logan stood there with his knees slightly bent, the razor-sharp points pointed towards the seated students, his fighting stance seemingly daring someone, anyone to make the slightest hint of a noise. No one so much as breathed loudly. After a pause, Logan retracted the dangerous implements beneath his skin once more and walked back towards the wall.
"They're all yours, Chuck." Logan said with the hint of a smirk across his lips as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, content to watch the meeting from the sidelines rather than actively participate. Charles glanced back at his colleague, happy that he clamed the hyperactive students, however disappointed in Logan's constant reliance on brute force to accomplish goals. He cleared his throat before speaking again.
"Yes, well, now that I have your collective attentions, I would like to discuss the reason I have gathered all of you here today. At exactly seven o'clock this evening, we will be receiving several new recruits. Now, normally I would not consider this an event that in any way necessitated a meeting, however, this is not a normal event. Hank, would you please bring up the holographic projector?"
"Certainly, professor." Henry flipped a multitude of switches on the small remote control he held within his massive paw, shutting down the overhead lights and flipping on the small onyx disc that sat in the middle of the table, a neon green light pouring upward out of it. The light took the imager of a young girl, roughly eighteen. The hologram showed a fantastic amount of detail, as a radiant smile could be clearly seen on her face.
"Our first recruit is Tabitha Smith, AKA Boom-Boom. She posses the power to create small plasma bombs with her hands. These plasma bombs can vary greatly in size, however they all carry a tremendous amount of concussive force. She was at one time a resident of this mansion; however, she left due to personal reasons. Many of you will no doubt remember her."
"Oh no, anyvun but her," Muttered Kurt, recalling the young girl's rather impulsive behavior with little fondness in his voice. Charles shot Kurt a quieting look, muffling any further commentary from the young mutant.
"As I was saying, Tabitha Smith was once a resident here, and she has requested to return to this institute. I have decided to honor her request."
"So what, you dragged us down here to tell us about a bunch of people that used to come here, left, and now they're back? Big deal." Robert Drake's voice carried across the room, loud and shrill. A rambunctious teenager, Robert was the one student who could make anyone else seem calm by comparison.
"Robert, please stay quiet until the end. I am not interested in hearing your commentary throughout the entirety of this meeting."
"I'm just saying-", Logan cut him off quickly
"Ice cube, another word comes out of your mouth and you've got five A.M. Danger Room sessions with me for a year. That goes double for the rest of ya." Whatever Bobby, as he often went by, was going to say remained unsaid as the brunette teenager sunk into his seat sheepishly. Charles motioned for Hank to switch to the next image, one of another teenage girl, however, unlike the first image, this girl wore a menacing scowl and a long, flowing cape.
"Our next new recruit is Wanda Maximoff, AKA the Scarlett Witch. Her powers are not clearly known, however she has been observed launching blue projectiles from her hands, and is known to have the ability to warp probability fields in her favor. She was formerly a resident with the Brotherhood of Mutants; however, she has informed me that living conditions have grown exceedingly rough. Apparently, Mystique left on a private mission around four months ago and has failed to return. According to Wanda, the remainder of the Brotherhood, has either moved out or has shown no interest in joining her at this institute." All of the students shared nervous glances, but not one dared to speak. Wanda's temper was the thing of legends, and, coupled with her dangerous powers, she was a force with which to be reckoned. Still, despite their fears, no one dared speak. Charles again motioned for the next image, this one of a tall, muscular man with close-cropped hair and a quiet expression, all illuminated green.
"Piotr Rasputin, AKA Colossus. A native of Russia and formerly employed by Magneto, he has the ability to transform his skin into a unique type of flexible steel. While in this steel form, he posses near-invulnerability and incredible strength. Piotr has informed me that his younger sister, Illyana, will be accompanying him to the institute.
"Oh gawd, Ah hope heh ain't next" Rogue muttered to her friend and roommate, Katherine Pryde.
"Oh, I'll bet you do." Kitty whispered back in a quiet sing-song voice.
"Shut up. Ah don't know wha Ah talk to ya sometimes."
"Our next, and final recruit is Remy Lebeau, AKA Gambit, another former employee of Magneto's. He has the power to charge any object with kinetic energy, essentially turning that object into an explosive device."
"Professah! Yah cahn't beh serious ahbout letting him in hehre!" Rogue, a nineteen–year-old Mississippi native, jumped up in anger, her two-toned brunette and ivory hair whipping about.
Rogue," started the professor, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "I will listen to any complaints you may possess after the briefing is complete. Until that time, however, I would appreciate a quiet atmosphere." A nasty scowl crossed Rogue's purple-painted lips, but she complied with the professor's wishes. "Thank you. As I was explaining, Mr. Lebeau can turn any inanimate object into an explosive device. In addition, he is well-versed in many types of martial-arts and gymnastics."
The professor paused before continuing, gazing out at the faces of his students. He could read their emotions without the slightest use of his telepathic abilities. They were angry, they were nervous, but most of all they were scared. He could hardly blame them, as this was not something he was entering into because he wanted to do so. However, he knew in his heart and mind that this was something that had to be done for the greater good of all mutants. Hank turned off the projector and brought the overhead lights back on to full power. Charles cleared his throat and began to speak again, making sure to make eye contact with every person in the room.
"Now, I understand that some of these people were once our enemies. Many, if not all of you, have fought with these mutants at one time or another. You may or may not have personal grudges against one or more of them. I can understand and respect your unease at opening your arms towards those you so recently fought against as enemies. However, as of seven P.M. tonight, these four mutants are no longer your enemies. They will be your housemates and your teammates, and you are to show them the same respect you would show any new guest of this institute. Any action, and I stress any action, taken against any of our new members will result in severe punishment." Xavier paused, taking a moment to calm his voice. "You are representatives of the entire mutant community. I have complete faith in you all, and I know that I can trust each and every one of you to do the right thing. That is all; you are dismissed." The students erupted in a series of hushed conversations, every one concerning the new recruits. Most filed out in quick order, unsure how to deal with the punch of the news but knowing that the current location was not the place to do so. As Hank and Logan moved closer to Charles, only one student remained.
"I must say, Charles, that meeting could almost be considered a success." Hank quipped.
"They took the news better than I had expected, Hank. However, I still worry that I may be asking too much of them at one time."
"Hey, Professa, can…can Ah talk to ya fohr a second?" Charles peered around Henry's immense bulk, even though the feminine voice could only belong to one resident of the mansion.
"Of course, Rogue. How can we help you?"
"Look, Ah think ya know what this is about…" The southern Goth let her voice trail off.
"I believe I do. This would concern a Mr. Lebeau, would it not?"
"Look, Ah just don't see how ya can let him in hehre. He kidnapped meh! Heh used meh tah break his father outta some Assassin's mansion ohr something lahke that. The onla reason heh's comin hehre is ta get ta meh." Xavier knew Rogue well; she had been living at the mansion for several years, and had consulted her numerous times on the matter of her still-uncontrollable powers.
"Rogue, I understand your concerns well, however, this is not something I have entered into without thinking. I have been meeting with Wanda, Piotr and Remy for the past four months now, discussing the rules and regulations of the mansion and researching their unique abilities. In addition, due to Remy's…shadowed past, I have done a deep telepathic scan of his mind. If there were any ulterior motives behind his decision to join out team, I would know."
"Thaht's ahll well and good, but…Ah still don't lahke the ahdea of this."
"I am sympathetic to your concerns, Rogue; however I am not going to turn away any mutant without first giving them a chance to prove themselves. If Remy should attempt to harm you, or any other student for that matter, he will be castigated in the proper manner. However, I do not wish to speak in such hypothetical situations at this time." Rogue chewed on her lower lip, unsure of how to answer.
"Alraight…but Ah still don't lahke it."
"I am not asking you like it Rogue. All I am asking is that you enter into this with the same open mind you would grant any other mutant," Rogue's face fell even further, dreading living with her former enemy. "Rogue, should anything happen, please come to me. Just give this a chance before you condemn him." Rogue didn't answer, instead she simply nodded her head and trudged out of the War Room, leaving Logan and Charles standing alone, Dr. McCoy moving to the table, shutting down the projector and removing the information disk.
"Ya know, the kid's got a point. The guy did kidnap her." Logan growled.
"I realize this, Logan," Charles stated, his voice growing tense. "However, I set this institute up so that all mutants would have a safe place. I am not going to turn one away because of prior mistakes. As I recall, Logan," Charles said with a slight smile. "You were not always the model citizen you are today." Logan sneered at the last of Charles' comment.
"Yer annoyin' when yer right, Chuck."
Back in Pennsylvania, Scott and Jean were preparing to enter the diner when the door flew open with a brutal force, another young couple storming out in anger. The girl was short and skinny, with long brunette hair and glasses, while her boyfriend was significantly taller, however also exceptionally thin. He possessed dirty blonde hair that was close cropped and large blue eyes.
"Listen ya bastard, you tell me who that little tramp I saw you with was, or I swear to every god I can think of I will tear your balls clean off!" She spoke with a deep Chicago accent, and her thin wrist jingled with a multitude of bracelets as she thrust a finger in his direction. Her boyfriend paused mid-step, as though trying to decide whether to turn and answer the threat or continue walking. Scott was more intent on Jean, however, who had been clutching her temple ever since the two barreled out of the tiny restaurant.
"Listen, Jenny, I told you that wasn't me. You're mistaken. How many times can I tell you? Now leave me alone, I don't need a girlfriend who's gonna do nothing but accuse me of stuff!" Jean clutched her head again, this time with more force. Scott wrapped his arm around her shoulder, quietly asking her if she wished to leave, but Jean only shook her head no.
"Go to hell you scumbag, I know what I saw! You kissed some girl right before you walked in here! Who was she?" Jenny's voice was louder now than before, coming close to a screech.
"Look, quit worrying about it, cause we're broken up!" Another shout from the couple, another yelp of pain from Jean. Scott attempted to move Jean away from the verbal dispute that had, by this point, drawn the attention of almost every pedestrian within shouting range, but before he could, the wraith of the brawling couple before them boiled over.
"Tell me!" yelled Jenny, running into her former date and pushing him violently, sending her ex to the pavement in a clatter of limbs.
"Alright, you crazy bitch, you wanna know so bad, it was your roommate! At least she can go five minutes without going completely psycho!" Jenny yelled something before punching her ex-boyfriend in the nose, but no one heard what it was. As soon as the last syllables left his lips, Jean let out a bloodcurdling scream before clutching her head at the temples with both hands. Scott saw every muscle in his girlfriend's body tense, then go slack as Jean crumpled into Scott's arms, unconscious.
"Jean? Jean! Jean, wake up! Come on, wake up," Scott yelled as he cradled Jean's body. No one paid any attention to Scott and Jean at first, those who were around more engrossed in the violent spat that had erupted not ten feet away from the two young mutants. However, as Scott yelled his girlfriend's name again and again, people began to pay them heed. "Someone, call a hospital! Quick!" Scott yelled to the crowd, never taking his eyes off Jean for a second.
Author's Note: First things first, I don't own X-men: Evolution. They are the property of Marvel, Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, WB, and probably thirty-five other people I don't know. Point is, I don't own them, and I am making no profit off of them. Now, I know a lot of you think that this is a lot like how I began my last Evolution story, Speaking In Tongues, but that's not where I'm going with this. No crossovers this time; this story is pure X-men. Lastly, I would ask that you please review this story. Let me know what you liked, and what you think could improve. Remember, if you don't say anything, I won't know. Unlike a lot of these characters, I can't read minds.