The Wheel of Fortune

An X-Men: Evolution fanfic by Sandoz

Disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution is the property of Marvel Comics and Kids WB.

Prologue: Family Photographs

"The informant was right. This guy's definitely a mutant and it appears he's chasing someone."

Bolivar Trask's lips curled into a thin smile. He wished he could be with Shadow Team at that moment, discontent to merely follow their heels in the Stealth Pod that slowly maneuvered through the tight, putrid sewers. He would have liked to personally see the mutant's face as it realized there was no escape. The radio link with his small, well-trained group of mutant hunters managed to satisfy him, however.

He monitored the mutant's movements on the computer screen laid out before him. His men were represented by tiny green lights; the mutant was red. "Shadow Team, take the lead," he instructed.

"Target knows we're tracking him, but he's intent on pursuing his own quarry," said one solider over the link.

"Readings indicate that the guy he's chasing is another mutant," added a second.

So it's a mutant get-together in a sewer? How appropriate. Folding his arms over his chest, Trask's smile disappeared. He shivered involuntarily; blast the pod's faulty heating system. Not that their number will save them.

There was a crackle of static on the comm., and the next words he heard from the Shadow Team leader were not encouraging. Apparently the other mutant in their sights could control metal, and had actually used grating to hand over the masked mutant Shadow Team had first spotted. Well, far be it for them to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was great luck they had been informed that one of the mutants would be alone and ready for the taking. Just when the prototype was ready for testing…

"Let's take him while we can."

The mutant realized it had been led into a trap far too late. Surrounded on all sides by members of Shadow Team who lurked in the dark sewer tunnels, it was blinded by the bright searchlights of the mini-pods that had been sent to ensure its capture.

Trask's computer screen revealed that the mutant was right where he wanted it. "Fire."

The mini-pods electronically obeyed the command, firing from their guns a sticky, glue-like green substance. The cornered mutant howled like an animal as it was covered head to toe, unable to move a muscle as the substance hardened around it, freezing it in place.

By that time the Stealth Pod had finally made it to the scene. A staircase descended from the hovering pod, and Trask emerged. Ignoring the foul odor and the sewage, Dr. Trask approached his quarry and extended his hand, running it over the smooth surface of the bakelite. If the costumed mutant were free, it would not hesitate to use those fearsome adamantium claws on either Trask or his men; the good doctor was certain. But the Wolverine was now as harmless as a kitten, or, more correctly, a fly in amber.

Shadow Team Leader stepped forward, breaking his reverie. "Dr. Trask, we lost the other mutant. Some kind of…magnetic interference."

"Call off the search," Trask ordered. "Let's just get this one to the facility."

Refusing to let his emotions overcome him at that triumphant moment, Trask turned and briskly strode back into the pod, leaving the soldiers and assorted techs behind to collect the mutant and the data from its capture.

A confident smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Trask's mood was only dampened once the Stealth Pod finally returned to the base buried beneath the bowels of Bayville. One of his aides waited for him in the passageway.

"Dr. Trask," said the underling, "You have two messages. One is from Colonel Wraith--"

"Dammit," Trask cut him off. "What does that tyrant want now?"

"He's demanding more information on the prototype. Specifically, when there's going to be a demonstration."

"Perfect," spat Trask. "Tell him we've captured one of the Bayville mutants and the experiment can be conducted as soon as tomorrow." Trask picked up the pace to retreat to his personal quarters. The aide trailed behind him.

"And how should I reply to the other message, sir?"

Now he was annoyed. "What other message?"

"One of your children called your cellular phone."

Trask snorted. Why was the aide wasting his time? "Don't bother with that now. The prototype is going to be activated tomorrow for Christ's sake, whatever they want can wait."

---

Roughly two hours away from Bayville, in the middle of a row of identical brick townhouses, was Bolivar Trask's residence. On a table in the front hall were two photographs of the man: a rare, happy moment with him and his late wife Elizabeth, and a family portrait where he stood grim-faced and stiff, two small, finely dressed children standing at his left and right. The rest of the photos cluttering the mantelpiece were of the children later in life; little league baseball games, school plays, picnics by a lake.

All that's missing is Jerry Mathis as the Beaver, Larry Trask thought as his eyes fell upon the mantle. Didn't all families have displays like that, as part of an unspoken competition to see which family looked the most normal?

Head cocked to the side and talking into a frog-shaped telephone, Larry thumbed through a history textbook. "Yeah, yeah, questions one through fifteen. Complete sentences and all that. Why are you worrying about this now? It's Friday night. Ow."

Larry kicked the cardboard box his bare foot had slammed into under a table, and made a mental note to yell at his sister about leaving things laying around. Two months the Trasks had lived there, and unpacked boxes were still being stumbled upon. Meanwhile, the friend on the phone explained, in great detail, what he and his girlfriend were planning to do Saturday night through Sunday. Larry, his mind on his stinging foot, heard the words "car," "whipped cream," "all night," and something that sounded like "Daffy Duck."

"Uh-huh…yeah, Cal, whatever," Larry replied, hoping his embarrassment wasn't heard over the phone.

Larry heard the familiar chime of the doorbell ringing. It was followed by the voice of his little sister, who sounded particularly annoyed with him for whatever reason.

"Larry! That's the take-out! Get the door!" Tanya called from the keeping room.

Her brother could barely hear her over the blaring television. He rolled his eyes and dropped the textbook. "Hold on man," he said to Calvin. Larry hurried to the door and opened it; it wasn't a driver from King of the Orient on the other side, but a fourteen-year old girl.

"Hey, is Tanya here?" she asked, smiling a smile at Larry that showed off her very white teeth.

"Er--"

"Jess! You're right on time!" Tanya shoved her brother out of the way and ushered her friend in. "The food isn't here yet, but we called like an hour ago."

Picking up the phone that he had dropped when Tanya elbowed him, Larry said, "Okay, things are getting kinda crazy here, so I'll talk to you later…have fun…bye. Tanya."

His sister turned her head sharply, braid whipping over her shoulder. Her pert face was scowling. "What?"

Taking her arm, Larry whispered in her ear as Jessica settled in the keeping room and dropped her pink duffle bag. "You need to tell me when you're going to invite friends over."

Tanya sighed hugely. There were times when she wished her big brother was less of a Big Brother. She answered him with her usual tone of benign boredom. "Whatever. Oh! That must be the food!"

Responding to the doorbell, Tanya threw it open and, after a quick exchange of money, ran into the kitchen with arms carrying a large brown bag full of Chinese food. Jessica was hot on her heels.

Sighing, Larry went to close the door Tanya had left wide open. The delivery man's station wagon had already disappeared down the street and into the night.

"Tanya, you said you had the house to yourself. Why is your brother here?"

"Oh, Larry doesn't count; he's just a big nerd."

"You think so?" Jessica giggled, eyeing his back from the open doorway.

Larry's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure whether the girls were oblivious to how loud they were or if they simply didn't care if he heard them talking about him. He was ready to slam the door when he noticed something outside. He squinted because of the darkness, but there, silhouetted under a streetlight, was a woman. She stood directly across the street from the Trask house, and seemed to be staring at him. His hackles raised, Larry was on the verge of calling out to her when he saw what she held in her hand—a red-tipped cane. Realization dawning upon him, Larry also noticed that she was wearing dark glasses.

She's blind. Larry immediately swore at himself for thinking a blind woman was staring at him, or worse, spying on his house. His dad's paranoia must have been wearing off on him.

Larry shook his head wearily, and closed the door. He paused to stare at the answering machine, a fleeting hope that maybe his father had called back and they had missed it. The red, blinking "0" under MESSAGES told him that was not the case. Larry was not really surprised or sad. But whether because of his brief moment of fear earlier or a deeper impulse, Larry made sure to lock the door before joining the girls in the kitchen.

As for Irene Adler, she continued to wait.

---

Trask's quarters were Spartan; an army cot with musty blankets, a small dresser for a change in uniform and an alarm clock. Despite the many nights he spent under Bayville, his official home was hours away. This was temporary; only temporary.
Sitting on the cot, Trask reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Without really knowing why, his fingers removed a faded photo; Elizabeth was alive and radiant, the four-month old Tanya in her arms. Larry hid behind her skirt, peeking out at the camera shyly. Trask couldn't recall the last time he had looked at the picture, and after the moment had passed he cursed himself for being sentimental. Returning it to the confines of his leather wallet, Trask stood, suddenly discontent.

He roamed the base, ignoring the curious glances from the technicians and soldiers he passed. Finally reaching his destination, Trask placed his palm on a black box in front of the door for a fingerprint scan. He was allowed to continue.

"There you are," he said, grinning with pride like a new father. Standing tall and erect in the shadows was the fruit of years of hard labor, its eyes glowing faintly. And it couldn't be needed more, with the growing threat that it was created to destroy. Before long Trask would be presented with the captured mutant, who was surely being freed of the bakelite at that very moment. His mouth was almost watering with anticipation.

"Soon," Trask said.

---

The hired car came exactly at the designated time, and the driver asked Irene no questions as she slipped into the back and rested against the leather seats. She knew where she would be needed when her vision came to pass, and that was enough. If her eyes had the gift of sight, she would have seen Larry Trask through the window of his house, turning off the lights as his sister and her friend lay exhausted on the couch. Soon he would be asleep. And though he didn't know it then, it would be his last night as a human being.

"Soon," Irene whispered to no one.

---

Larry Trask tossed and turned in his bed. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, and he had kicked off his blankets. Despite his struggles, the dream did not end. It was a powerful dream, the likes of which he had not had for a very long time. It was almost real…and what he saw was beyond his imagination.

"My guardian of the human race…" Larry murmured in his slumber, though the words belonged to someone else, "The Sentinel…it lives."


To Be Continued.


A/N: To correct some misconceptions apparent in my reviews so far: Larry and Tanya Trask are not my creations (which I thought would be apparent since I did not claim ownership in the disclaimer, but oh well). Larry is an old-school X-Men character, one of his claims to fame being that he was one who gave Alex Summers the codename Havok. Tanya was a friend of Rachel Summers, Scott and Jean's dimension-hopping daughter from the future.

Thanks for reading! Sandoz