Author's Note: This is a revamping of a previous story. To my faithful readers, thank you for being patient, as it has been rewarded with my timely-written first chapter. There will probably be another one up later on, as I'm feeling inspired. You'll notice changes to the character, but I think you'll like them. I also like where I'm going with this story more so than the other one, as this feels more my own.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, except my personal character.
I first heard of the attack on Alcatraz Island while sitting in a bar somewhere in Massachusetts. All of my attention was quickly devoted to the news station, though the volume was on low and the bar was noisy.
The news reporter was an Asian woman, young, pretty, articulate, the island in the background just over her shoulder. Her voice held no accent, and I imagined she would have had to practice for hours in front of the mirror in order to achieve the perfect neutral tone that comes with every news reporter, as if they're carbon-copies of one another.
"There appeared to be two different groups of mutants fighting the battle," she said, staring directly into the camera, blinking every so often. She had memorized this speech perfectly, and could not afford to ruin it, I thought. "The first was a group of mutants known as The Brotherhood, run by a mutant named Magneto, who was shot with the cure during the battle. These were the ones fighting against the guards of the island in what is thought to have been an attempt to get to the boy who is the cause for the mutation cure."
A cure? I pondered quickly to myself. I had heard briefly of it about a month or so ago, but thought it a myth. I kept my thoughts down as I continued to listen.
"The other band of mutants, known as the X-Men, are actually from the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. They were fighting on the side of the guards that night, in an attempt to save the boy who the cure was derived from, from The Brotherhood. The man known as Charles Xavier, founder of the school named for him, has recently passed, his successor being a mutant by the name of Ororo Munroe."
The camera cut to a previously recorded interview with Ororo Munroe, whose stunningly white hair contrasted with her dark skin that I was taken aback for a moment. I stared at this woman, trying to see the true her through her eyes, but that is impossible to do via television. I listened to what she had to say.
"The Xavier Institute is a place for young mutants to stay," she said, her accent only adding to my interest in her. "They come here to learn not only how to control their powers, but to get an education. This is something that might be lost to them due to various reasons. They live, eat, and learn at the school. Our goal is to help the students who come here to be able to live in the world, and to try and teach them how to deal with those who may not accept them in a way that will not cause anyone harm."
The camera cut back to the Asian reporter. I was considering what Ororo Munroe had said, thinking over her words very carefully, so that I barely heard the wrap-up the reporter was giving.
"The Xavier Institute is located in Salem Center, New York. This has been Amanda Bai, Channel 3 News."
I stared at the TV for a long time afterward, not caring if the others in the bar saw me doing so. This Ororo Munroe had been an intriguing person, and seemed to be someone I should not overlook. Perhaps paying a visit to her would prove useful. I had been alone for far too long, now, and perhaps she, or the other mutants there, would be able to help me put together my life and answer some questions.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I stiffened, my nostrils flaring. Turning slowly, there was a man standing behind me, his face clearly showing how unhappy he was.
"You were staring at that TV awful hard," he commented.
"What of it?" I growled, trying to bury myself deeper into my worn overcoat.
He studied me a moment before continuing to glower at me. "If you're a mutant sympathizer, you better get out of here right now," he told me sternly, poking my shoulder. I stiffened further, not wanting him to touch me. "This is a mutant-free area."
"Just leave me the hell alone," I said, glaring right back at him from underneath my messy hair. "I'm not botherin' anyone."
I tried to turn around, to shut him out, but he grabbed my shoulder and whirled me around to face him. His face was just an inch or two from my own when he managed to whip me around.
"Let me tell something to you!" he yelled at me.
"Don't. Touch. Me." Each word was forced through clenched teeth. I clamped my hand over his own, not using anywhere near my full strength, pulled it off my shoulder, and threw it away from me.
"I'll touch you all I want, mutant-lover," he shot back, pushing my shoulder.
I was shoved back into the bar behind me. I stayed there a moment, letting him get a chuckle in with his buddies, who had begun to crowd around me. At this point, I stood, looking down at the floor, using my peripherals to see how many there were, how bad things could get, how many of them I might have to kill, even if I didn't want to. Most were spectators, who were moving to the edges of the room. There were about five or six men before me, looking for a fight.
The original man laughed at me, my slight frame: five-foot seven-inch stature with a hundred and twenty-five pounds on it. "What's the matter, buddy, think you can win?"
They clearly thought I was a man, which is the only reason why they started a fight with me. My deeper voice had also concealed my true self from them. I kept looking to the floor.
I shrugged off my overcoat, letting it fall to the floor as I looked up into their shocked faces.
"I know I can win," I said, grinning.
At this point, a few of the men looked confused, while some were just amused. My main attacker was the latter. He continued to laugh.
"All right, girly, I'll try to go easy on you," he said, giving his buddies and exaggerated wink over his shoulder.
"I don't think you wanna start this fight," I told him, my voice neutral.
He chuckled again. "Why not? I'm not afraid of a little girl." He laughed uproariously, his buddies joining in.
Snickt!
They stopped laughing and stared at the three claws extending from the knuckles between each of my hands.
"Maybe you should learn to be afraid," I said, smirking.
It had gone completely silent in the bar, and everyone was staring. I looked around me, then back to my attacker. I stared him down, the took a step forward. The group of men standing in front of me all jumped, almost simultaneously. I smiled a bit, my teeth not showing.
Shaking my head, I bent over to pick up my overcoat, a light brown man's duster jacket I had gotten from a Goodwill. I allowed my claws to retract, then placed my arms into the sleeves, making sure it was correctly on before turning to the bartender.
"Where's the nearest bus station, barkeep?" I asked him, my tone as casual as if I had just strolled into town.
He looked at me for a minute, as if trying to assess me. I stared right back at him, looking briefly into his eyes. I saw a certain amount of kindness, of pity, in them.
"Head north for about a half-mile, then go three blocks west," he answered.
"Thanks," I said, digging into my pocket and slapping down the few dollars I owed him.
He nodded to me, scooping up the cash. Everyone stared as I turned to leave the bar.