Building Neptune

Prologue: "Wasting Time in the Wading Pool"

"Our intel has brought a new player to our attention." Behind his ostentatiously large metal desk, Magneto leaned back in his chair and twirled a bit of metal suspended above his hand. "The X-Men have been tracking a young man in Lower Manhattan, a very powerful elemental with a rough history. It's my suspicion that a mutant of his background would feel more at ease with our operation than working for blood traitors." He spat the last words.

Toad straightened up from a crouch, a grin of stumpy, yellowed teeth on his face. Pyro shoved his hands into his pockets. "Leave it to us, boss. We'll check the guy out."

Magneto smiled. From his breast pocket, he produced a bit of paper and slid it across the desk. "He works here."

Though less than respectable by conventional standards, the club seemed decent and had a good flow of customers—mostly young, gay men in search of meaningless sex and more than a few older men looking for young, gay men. Pyro strode in as if he'd been there a thousand times before—and who knew if he had. Toad kept his head down, the hood of his sweatshirt hiding his ugly and somewhat infamous face.

Pyro spotted their target first: Calin Sean Hogan, disowned teenage son of Sean Achaius Hogan, a leader of the Massachusetts republican party with strong connections to the Boston Irish mob. The boy's quiet manners still betrayed his wealthy upbringing, but if they hadn't known his background ahead of time, neither would have guessed that Calin had ever been anything but a skanky street urchin. The fake, playful half-smile plastered on his face was one John would liken to the expressions of a number of girls in the sizeable prostitute population in the mutant districts. The boy's black t-shirt clung to a muscular but too-lean frame and the pants hidden behind the bar weren't any more modest. Calin's hair was short and gelled up, and between the tight sashay of his hips and the playful laughs supplied to anyone who wanted them, his tip jar was doing pretty well.

John said, "He's cute."

"Thought you were back to fuckin' women." Toad craned his neck, searching for the bartender.

"Just lately. It's hardly a pick one sort of thing." He pointed Calin out. "Besides, for that, I could certainly make an exception."

Toad looked the target over. Blonde hair, broad shoulders, and bright, bright, unnaturally blue eyes. He snorted. "Y'certainly have a type, Johnny boy."

"Shut up."

Pyro started walking toward the bar, stopping short when the stools in front of it came into view. Calin grabbed a clean glass and carried it over to a man sitting at the bar, the man in rose-quartz sunglasses and a self-righteous grin. God damn it. Scott-fucking-Summers.

He scowled and tugged Toad around to the other side of the bar, close enough to hear but out of Summers's line of sight. Trying to attract as little attention as possible, the two stood and listened.

The boy leaned over the bar. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"My name is Scott Summers. I'm a teacher at a school for mutants. I want to offer you a place at our school."

Calin laughed. "Seriously? Am I on Candid Camera or something? Where's Ashton?"

"Your talent has come to our attention and we think you could benefit from our training."

"Look, honey, I'm sorry, but I don't think—"

But they didn't get a chance to find out what the kid didn't think. The kid jerked straight up to attention, eyes fixed on the far end of the bar, fake smile nowhere to be seen. Toad turned to get a look at a man walking toward the kid and Summers: dark hair, a subtle frown, gym-built muscles. He didn't look older than thirty, but was definitely older than the teenager staring at him in terror.

Calin plastered on a far less convincing smile. "Matt!" He turned toward him, ignoring Scott. "I didn't expect you to stop by tonight." He leaned on the bar, trying to make himself look enticing. This only seemed to displease "Matt" further.

"We need to talk. Now."

The fake smile disappeared and he nodded, glancing over at another bartender. "Hey, Danny, cover for me, okay?" He didn't wait for a response before he hopped over the bar and followed the mystery man back toward the quiet of the restrooms.

"I'll follow," Toad said. "You just make sure Cyclops leaves."

They had gone into a storage room across the hall from the bathrooms. Toad leaned against the closed door as someone—his money was on the kid—slammed into one of the shelves. He heard the kid's bright, fey little voice over the sound of mops falling.

"Matt, baby, I wasn't flirting with him, I promise."

Jesus. Toad rolled his eyes. This was not happening.

"Of course you were." The boyfriend's voice had the cold, rough sound of a sociopath. And Toad would know. "You were flirting with him like you flirt with all these assholes. Didn't I say you should quit this shithole? You just like the attention."

"I'm being nice, baby. You have to be nice to get tips."

"Yeah, and we both know what you'll do for money, don't we?"

"Matt, you're hurting me."

"No, Cal. You're hurting me. You think I like seeing you shake your ass at any guy that comes your way? Huh?"

A smack and a small cry of pain.

"I love you. You know I love you."

"Show me. Show me how much you love me, Callie."

"Matt, I have to work—" Calin protested.

"Don't you want to make it up to me? Tell me how much you want to make it up to me."

"I do." His voice shook. "Please, Matt. Let me."

A pause. A zipper. The sound of saliva and slurping.

Toad grimaced as the boyfriend started groaning. He'd heard enough. Toad headed back to the club, grabbing Pyro by the arm on his way to the front door.

"What the fuck?"

"Kid's fuckin' pathetic. Not Brotherhood material, no way."

"Who's the guy?"

"Th'boyfriend. S'back there smackin' th'kid around."

"Jesus."

They went around back to the parking lot and stopped for a smoke. They leaned against the car, Toad glaring out at the street and John facing the club. The back door opened and the kid tripped down over the threshold. He didn't look scared or guilty like John had imagined, just tired and slightly nauseated. He sat down on some boxes behind the building, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

"That boyfriend of yours is trouble," John called to him. Toad turned around and rolled his eyes. He didn't know why John was bothering. There was no way some battered-housewife fairy would make it in their world.

Calin opened his eyes. Even in the dim light of the parking lot, Toad could make out that bright, ultramarine sort of blue. He wondered if they were actually glowing or just highly reflective.

"Overheard from the hallway," John explained. "He's done a number on you."

The boy stood up, glared at him. "Thanks for the concern, but I've got it under control."

John smirked. Rebellion—something he could understand. "Come here."

Calin hesitated, but walked over toward the car, casting a suspicious look toward the hooded, silent figure on the other side of the car. Toad glanced at the ground and saw the puddles in the parking lot following the kid in a silent little stream. The kid wasn't a total idiot, then.

"What do you want?"

John pulled a business card from his back pocket. It was blank except for his number. He passed it to Calin. "Give me a call when you get sick of it."

"When y'grow a pair and ditch the fucker," Toad spat. He dropped his cigarette and stamped it out before opening his door and getting into the car.

The kid looked them over warily.

"I'm not trying to pick you up or anything," John told him with a grin. "We can help you out."

Calin glanced down at the card. He tucked it into his pocket and walked away.