"Fame"
by Alan Strauss
This story occurs sometime following Uncanny X-Men #392
It was time.
Ray Adamski walked across his squalid apartment and stood before a full length mirror. He pulled at his face with his fingers, molding the loose flesh like putty. What he saw was a lie. A falsity. He, of course, knew the truth.
A tiny calendar hung from the wall next to the mirror. Some freebie passed out at the local market. The picture displayed two grinning children sipping cans of cola, with coupons for same below the fold. All the dates for the month had been crossed out up to the twentieth.
That number been circled in red marker. Ray had gone over it so many times that it had bled all the way through to the wall.
Lies, lies, lies, he told himself, growing angry again. He pushed it down. Must remain calm, everything was going to work itself out.
He turned away from the mirror and gazed at the rest of the wall. Every square inch had been covered in pictures. They were all of the same woman--an attractive blond with long legs and a charming smile. Some were cut from glossy magazines, others black and whites from newspapers, and still more internet printouts from the library.
She haunted him. Everywhere he turned, she waited. On the TV, on the radio, in his dreams. He ground his teeth to even look at her.
How was it possible she had gotten away with this for so long?
Ray moved to his bed, where he had laid out the day's wear. A puffy sports coat, a knit cap, sunglasses, and a sharpened combat knife he'd bought at the Army Surplus three years ago. Using duct tape, he fastened it to his arm.
The whore had everything. Fame, fortune, the eyes of millions. None of it was hers though.
It belonged to him. She had stolen his face. When, he could not remember, but he knew it was true. It was written in the margins of every image, every photograph, in the secret meanings of her insipid lyrics.
It was unforgivable and he had taken it for too long. There would blood, he knew; there would be death. That was of no matter though. The blame for everything fell squarely on her.
After all, Ray Adamski was only going to take back what belonged to him.
ooo
Several miles away, a town car pulled out of the Springfield airport and merged with traffic. In the back seat, pop star and former X-Man Alison Blaire sat talking on the phone.
"I know," she was saying, "it's weird Lila. I mean I feel blessed on one hand but on the other…"
Blessed because Alison had just released her sixth album, the first new one in several years. It was a departure from her Disco and New Wave roots, much more jazz oriented and experimental. In other words, a gambit, but one that had paid off surprisingly well.
According to her agent, Alison--she had dropped the Dazzler label--now stood at number five on the charts. Pretty good for a has-been.
"Well, let's just say I forgot how annoying all the attention can get. I guess I must have gotten used to my privacy."
Alison switched the phone to her other ear, smiling at something her friend said. Outside she watched as the town gradually thinned into rural suburbs. The boondocks as her agent had warned.
"Did I tell you about what happened in Memphis? No, no, different one. This time the guy followed me into the restroom, demanding I sign his T-shirt. A real nut, said it was for his girlfriend."
Alison laughed. "Yes, of course I did it. I know. Unlike you, I never seem to be able to tell those people to go f-themselves."
Fans, she reflected with an inward sigh. It came with the territory. Sometimes you loved them, other times you hated them. Not much could be done about it either way. Maybe in a perfect world you could be a successful singer without needing a devoted audience, but here it was different.
"Now? I'm doing that benefit thing I told you about, remember? Right. No, it was my idea Lila."
Alison smiled and shook her head. Her friend didn't really understand but that was alright. They were different people. For Alison, life had always been a struggle between doing what she wanted and what she thought was right.
That was why she had come out publicly as a mutant years ago. As much as she enjoyed singing, it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. There were so few prominent mutant voices and she had hoped to become a spokeswoman for their cause.
Unfortunately, that hadn't worked out. The timing had been all wrong. Rather then listen to her views, the industry had blackballed her and she'd wound up in hiding with the outlaw X-Men. But now that it looked like people were giving her another chance, Alison hoped she could finally fulfill her original plan.
As far as she was concerned, the chance to do good things was about the only worthwhile benefit that came from the recent media attention. She didn't want to waste that opportunity. That was why she was here now--cruising through the middle of nowhere--to preside over the opening of the Mutant Trauma Center in Oakley City. It was the first facility of its kind, a place devoted to helping new mutants, their families, and the larger community cope with the traumatic experience of mutation.
A fine goal, Alison thought, and the sort of outreach program the mutant community badly needed. So if by merely showing up, she could help bring in donations and put a popular face on the campaign, she'd have gladly flown halfway around the world.
The only question was whether their faith was well placed. Could her presence really make that much of a difference? Alison hoped that was the case.
The doubts, however, remained.
ooo
"Ali, sign this please!"
"Over here!"
"Dazzler! Can I get an autograph?"
Alison smiled politely as she shook hands with fans and signed the things they shoved her way. She had arrived at the Center early, but a crowd had already gathered in advance to meet her. A good sign, really, although that didn't make the jostling any more pleasant.
"Your new album isn't as good as your previous stuff," complained an oily faced kid as she handed him back a signed glossy of her. "I didn't like it."
"I'm sorry," she replied, biting back any of the nastier retorts that came to mine. Putting up with rude comments was just part of the job. "Maybe the next one will be more to your liking."
Finally, security men--rent-a-cop types mostly--ushered her past the excited crowd and into the Center. It was a squat brown brick with wide windows and the scrubbed white cleanness of a clinic. A middle-aged black woman in gold-rimmed glasses and a neat mauve suit greeted her.
"Thank you for coming Ms. Blaire. I hope you didn't have any trouble finding us?"
"Not at all," she said. "The driver seemed to know the way.
"Good. And my," the woman added, peeking out the window, "it looks like you've even brought your own audience."
Alison smiled sheepishly. "Not intentionally. I hope it's not a problem. I don't want to distract from what the event's really about."
"No, no, attention's what we're looking for. The more people who hear about the Center the better."
Alison nodded. She had, if nothing else, brought that with her. Paparazzi and news crews were already on scene, unpacking their equipment and getting ready for the ceremony.
"There's a box of CDs in the car's trunk as well. I'm not sure what you might want to do with them. Give them to the crowd, or the patients, or whatever. I haven't done a lot of these types of things…"
"Well, we'll figure it out," she assured her, "and it's very generous of your company to have donated them."
Alison nodded agreement, although the truth was her record company was anything but pleased with her appearance here. Mutant activism made them nervous, and they were not about to get their brand name too heavily involved. The CDs had, in fact, come out of Alison's own pocket.
"Did you prepare anything to say?"
"Just a few words," Alison replied, "nothing too grandiose. I hope it'll be all right."
The woman smiled warmly and reached out to shake her hand. "It will be wonderful Ms. Blaire. Everyone's very happy you're here, believe me. Now why don't I give a quick tour while they finish setting up and introduce you to our first patient. He's a very big fan."
The woman's friendliness helped to ease Alison's nerves. Maybe, she thought to herself, it would all come off without a hitch after all.
"That sounds great."
ooo
Meanwhile, a steady stream of people continued to flow into the area. Among them were the usual activists and political groupies, as well as Alison's devoted fans. Then there were the curious locals, including a busload of high school students from Oakley High.
A fairly large, diverse crowd, taken as a whole. More then the security detail and city police were really prepared to deal with. They had their hands full simply keeping things orderly and seeing that the press were escorted to the right place.
Meaning, they had no time to keep an eye on people like Ray Adamski.
Not that there was anything necessarily wrong with him. He was a bit overdressed--heavy coat, cap, and glasses--but the opening was being held outdoors and the autumn weather was crisp. If someone had examined him closely, they have may have noticed his skin was a little paler then normal but that was hardly a crime.
After all, their sergeant had warned them this little mutie event might bring out a freak or two. The worse thing they could do would be to hassle them and create an incident. The smoother and faster this opening went, the better for everyone.
Ray did little to attract attention. Shouldering his way into the densest part of the crowd, he kept his eyes focused on the stage. Any moment, he knew, she might appear.
He could imagine her entrance. Preening at the applause, sucking in the adulation, acting as though it actually belonged to her. His palms grew slick with sweat as he stuffed them into his parka.
It made him sick. But, he assured himself, all the wrongs were about to be righted.
Alison Blaire was going to die today.
He was going to get his face back.
ooo
"…and they helped me understand that I wasn't alone. That, despite everything, I still had a future."
Alison Blaire listened as the boy, a young mutant by the name of Cory, finished his speech. He had a soft voice, even under the microphone, but the words were powerful. He was the Mutant Trauma Center's first patient, just an everyday kid who been struck with mutation on the eve of his thirteenth birthday.
Unlike her own powers--which were more gift then curse--his had arrived with terrible fury. The X gene had caused his bone structure to change, leaving his body covered in knotty protrusions. He was now restricted to a wheel chair for life and had only recently been taken off a respirator.
Alison could not help but admire his bravery. To place himself before this large crowd, to tell his story through obvious pain, was an act of courage to rival anything she'd seen among the X-Men. It made her own speech on the subject seem tawdry in comparison.
Cory was what the Center was all about. He should be the face of movement, she reflected, but sadly that wasn't likely to happen. To much of the outside world, he would just be another monster, proof positive that mutation was something dreadful.
It both saddened and embarrassed her, particularly when she heard the crowd's raucous applause as the organizer introduced her next. It was far louder then anything the boy had received.
"Thank you," she said into the microphone. "It really is a great honor to be invited here tonight. This is a cause very close to my own heart and I can say honestly the work already being done by the Center's staff leaves me in awe."
As she spoke, Alison looked out over the crowd. They were a mixed bunch. Young, old, male, female, black and white. She had their attention but how much of what she said would sink in? Could the greater mass of humanity ever really be made to feel understanding, let alone compassion, for those so different than themselves? Could they be reached?
There was no way of knowing, but if Alison could play some small role in making that happen, she had to try. These thoughts running through her mind, she began to recite her speech when something below the stage caught her attention.
A man was pushing his way to the front row. He was dressed in a thick green parka and a pullover cap, and seemed to be moving with a manic intentness. A woman was knocked off her feet as he shouldered her aside.
Alison was not the only one who noticed. A security guard moved to intercept the man, and she gasped as she saw a flash of silver. A spray of blood suddenly arced into the air.
The screaming began instantly.
ooo
The security guard and Ray stood locked arm and arm. The guard had an advantage in size and strength, but the fear in his eyes was palpable. Ray's face showed nothing but calm determination.
He continued to struggle, fighting to free his hands from the man's grip. As they fought, the guard's jacket turned crimson as blood flowed from the slash in his chest. At last, he tumbled backwards, swiping the glasses from Ray's face as he fell.
Coolly, Ray stooped down to pick up his knife. The other security guards were now surrounding him but they would not close in. One look at his pale, rubbery features and they knew. The word hung from all of their lips:
Mutant.
No one dared stop Ray as he climbed up onto the stage.
And then there she was. The woman from the photos, the one with the face that should have been his. Was in fact his, he reminded himself with a snarl. Alison Blaire. The Dazzler. The thief…
She had the same frightened, stupid look as the others as she saw him approach. Good, he thought. She should be afraid, should know the fear he'd experienced his whole life. A life led as a monster, with the face of a living ghoul.
It could not be his. It could not belong to him. He was not this thing. He was something beautiful, something loved, something like Alison Blaire. Somehow, she must have taken that and so now…
With a feral snarl, he lunged.
ooo
Alison Blaire was in a difficult position from the start.
Like all mutants, she had a gift, an ability that gave her tremendous power. In most cases, it was enough to win a battle before it even started. This was not most cases though.
She was surrounded by a frightened crowd with civilians everywhere. Her powers worked by turning sound into light. Sometimes she used it as a weapon, other times to disorient and confuse. If she unleashed it now, there was no telling the effect it may have on the crowd.
Fear could easily turn into panic; people might get hurt. The police, already jumpy, might even open fire. The results would be disastrous.
Meaning she had to try to handle things quietly. This, of course, was easier said then done when a man was rushing at her with a bloody knife. She tried to let the old training take over.
He lunged and she dropped into a defensive pose, catching his extended arm with her left hand. The edge of her right then came crashing down hard on his wrist. The effect was instantaneous and painful. The knife clattered harmlessly to the stage.
The man, however, did not seem to notice. Instead, with a howl, he used his momentum to hurl his body into hers like a sandbag.
Too late Alison realized what has happening and they slammed into the ground. He landed on top of her, his knee sinking into her gut and knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could even start to recover, his hands wrapped themselves tight around her windpipe and squeezed.
The cold of his clammy hands hit Alison like a shockwave. As she struggled to pull them free, she noted that the man's face began to change. Almost as if the skin were tightening, filling out with color and life.
Within a moment she was looking at her own reflection.
"Mine," he snarled, flecks of spittle spraying from his clenched teeth. "Give it back to me!"
Alison, of course, had never met the man. She could tell by one look at his lifeless eyes that he was out of his mind. That didn't mean, however, he was harmless. Her vision already was beginning to blur as he continued to strangle off her air. Her throat burned like fire.
The time for caution had passed.
Drawing energy from the screams of the frightened crowd and from the man's own labored breathing, she collected a charge and let it loose. A blinding beam of white light shot from her eyes, hurling the man off her and into the podium.
Crawling up onto her hands and knees, she coughed, gasping for breath. She could still feel the cold sting of the man's hands.
Meanwhile, he was already back on his feet, the remains of his coat smoldering from her attack. Spotting his knife, he snatched it from the floor and glanced around the stage.
Everything had happened so quickly that no one had had a chance to move. The organizer, the other speakers, they all stood watching them in terror. Including a boy in a wheelchair.
"Enough," Alison croaked, holding out a hand towards the attacker as she got back to her feet. "Please, someone's going to get hurt…"
His face still held traces of her own but it was beginning to change back. The skin drooped and ran like melted wax. All she could see in it was pure hatred.
He screamed and charged forward. This time, however, his target wasn't Alison. He was heading towards the boy.
Oh God, she thought, imagining what might happen if he took him hostage. Or worse--if he didn't. Extending her index finger and thumb, she aimed it at the man, like a child playing cops and robbers.
This is how she used to do it. A concentrated blast. A laser beam of light. She was so out of practice though, so out of shape with the recent tour. What if she missed? What if she hit the boy instead? Even at her best, Alison knew she had never been at the same level as most of the X-Men. They had lived for this sort thing but her…?
No more hesitation, she told herself. Do it. Now!
A thin red beam fired from her fingertip. It struck exactly where she intended, hitting the man in the wrist and disarming him for a second time. Unfortunately, the beam did not stop there. It continued on its path--through the man's coat and out the back of his chest.
Without another sound, he crashed to the floor and remained still. A single wisp of smoke rose from the hole.
Alison struggled to steady to herself. No one tried to help her. The crowd, still screaming and shouting, were fleeing past the police and onto the street. Those still on the stage merely stared.
The horrified look in their eyes said everything she needed to know.
ooo
Hours later, Alison was back in her car, watching the same houses and farms stream past outside.
The emergency medics had checked her out on the scene and found nothing more then superficial bruising. She should, they assured her, be alright in short time. The news on the rest of the crowd was nearly as good. No serious injuries, just a few broken bones and contusions.
Even her attacker would live. His name, the authorities told her, was Ray Adamski. He had a long history of mental illness, never seriously treated ironically because of his mutation. The system was notoriously hands-off when it came to dealing with freaks. His fixation on her appeared to be entirely random. It just happened to be her face on all the magazines and TV shows when the madness clicked.
Just a case of bad luck really.
"So I suppose it could have been worse," Alison said, her voice somber as she spoke on the phone. "At least no one died."
Nevertheless, the damage was done. According to her friend, the reports were all over the cable news channels. Mutant Rampage at Trauma Center. The gist of the reporting seemed be that it was only what could be expected--typical mutant-on-mutant violence.
The Mayor of Oakley City had already appeared to say that he would be investigating the matter personally. Until then the opening of the Trauma Center was suspended indefinitely. They were simply not the kind of community that felt comfortable dealing with such things on a regular basis.
"I'll be okay, Lila. Really. Thanks for calling."
Alison folded up her cellphone and tossed it on the seat. Swallowing--it still hurt like hell--she stared gloomily out at the darkening sky.
A disaster. A nightmare. The entire opening had been ruined, and the very future of the Center was now uncertain. Even her re-burgeoning career--not that it mattered at the moment--might be on the line.
Funny, she thought. All she'd wanted to do was help, accomplish something good, and this was the result. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed her efforts to do right were always doomed. Rather then helping the event, she'd brought tragedy to it.
Sure, Alison thought, real funny. The story of her life.
A terrible X-Man, a terrible activist. What, she asked herself, good am I really? All I've ever done well is sing. And in a world like this, of what worth is that to anyone?
"Excuse me, ah, ma'm?"
Alison glanced up from her reverie. The chauffeur had pulled back the dividing window and was looking at her with concern.
"I'm okay," she said hoarsely.
"Um, I was wondering if I could ask you something?"
Alison steeled herself for whatever was to come next. Probably the man had heard what had happened on the radio. Wanted to ask questions, get his news first hand. It was the last thing she felt like doing.
Or maybe he was just going to dump her in the middle of nowhere. Too scared to drive her any further. She couldn't hardly blame him.
"Go ahead."
"Well," the chauffeur said, "I just wanted to know, I mean my daughter's a big fan." He flashed one of her recent concert posters. "Could you maybe…?"
"Oh." Alison reached out to take it through the slot. "Sure. I'd love to. How old is she?"
"She'll be twelve this coming Sunday. Kind of an early birthday present."
He watched as she wrote a little message on the picture and handed it back to him, along with one of the CDs she'd brought to hand out. His grin was one of genuine appreciation.
"Real nice of you. This will mean the whole world to her. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her who was gonna be in my car today."
"I wish I could have…"
The man smiled warmly.
And so did she.