A/N: Before anyone starts their "BAAAAAW"ing, I would like to note that this is not a canon-wise story. This nominally takes place in the X-Men universe, nothing more. I'm telling a story here. Characters from the comics may appear in the future, but don't expect to see any in major roles. If you spot a disgusting grammatical error that I didn't, or have a suggestion, post them in comments. Otherwise, enjoy!

X-Men: Second-String

Six uniformed men trudged through the muck and slime of a Georgian swamp. Their outfits had the familiar look of an agency no one had heard of that probably didn't exist. Were it not for the colors and insignias, they could've been fairly typical tactical suits, but they were emblazoned with a large drop of liquid, half red and half blue. Compact sub-machine guns ornamented each man's back, well out of danger from the water beneath them.

Even wearing boots to his knees, one of the men was grimacing and glaring apprehensively at the mire.

"Colonel, are we almost there? This is disgusting, it'll take weeks to get these clothes smelling normal."

"Quit yer bellyachin' Kilgore. If this'un is wut the reports say, he'll be werth it." The grimacing man grumbled something under his breath about 'all the trouble they went through for these freaks,' but fell back in line. Unlike his CO, Colonel Votigan, this wasn't something natural for him. He'd lived his whole life in a small town in Arizona, far from the swamps of the south-east. They worried about scorpions and spiders, not alligators and mosquitoes.

"Up ahead. Th'GPS says this is where we'll find 'im." They felt, under their feet, the first solid ground of the day. They had come to a small clearing, where moss-covered dirt and rocks had defeated the slime of the swamps. A small wooden shack had been constructed in the middle of the clearing, and its owner, a burly man with tattered clothes and greasy black hair, sat outside on an old rocking chair amidst a strange patch of blackened earth. As the men approached, he cursed and stood up.

"I told the last bunch, I ain't comin' with you! Get the hell away from my house!" None of the soldiers stopped. The colonel motioned to the rest to take up positions around him in case the confrontation degraded. While his men took formation, he took a few steps closer to the shack.

"I hear they call you 'Nord.' I'm Colonel Andrew Votigan, I'm here with the-"

"I know who sent you. And I've told you asswipes before, you can go to hell. I'm not coming back with you. Last warning, go home before I send your boss a thimble of your remains." Nord took a step forward and glanced at a soldier taking a station on his left flank. The water stirred behind him.

"Now list'n here. You've got two choices. You can sit here an' rot for the nex' three months til the Brotherhood comes'n get you by force, or you can come now and save ev'ry-one a heap of trouble." Nord smirked.

"And what makes you think I want to avoid trouble?" He looked back at the man on his left, who had just produced his firearm. The bubbling water behind him splashed into the air, followed by a flash of green and brown scales as an alligator's jaw smashed the soldier's leg. He screamed in agony and dropped to the ground as the alligator finished him off. The other men stared in horror at the mutilated remains.

"I believe I told you to go home. You've had your chance. Now you get to meet some of my other friends." The ground around Nord's shack began to shift and shimmer. At a flick of his wrist, innumerable mosquitoes rose, forming an enormous black cloud. The fog of insects swarmed around two of the men to Nord's right, obscuring them from vision. The terrified remaining soldiers faintly heard the screams of their comrades over a deafening buzz, until finally the mosquitoes let two blood-drained, lumped corpses drop backward into the swamp. They rushed the two remaining grunts, until a sudden crack ripped over their buzzing and a dart flew into Nord's side. Colonel Votigan dropped the gun sights from his eyes and smiled with satisfaction as the mosquitoes dissipated, their controller disabled. Nord stood, confused. He looked from the spreading mosquitoes, to the colonel, and back.

"Like it? Temporary Power Neutralizers. Yer helpless fer the next hour. We, however, are not. Ready to come along?" With the three remaining men advancing, Nord put his hands on his head and sighed in surrender.


Two bright computer screens in a corner illuminated an otherwise dark room. One was streaming code on a command prompt, the other was playing a game online. Neither had a visible operator. In a chair in the opposite corner, a woman sat reading an old copy of Gone with the Wind. She chuckled as she heard "HEADSHOT" screamed over the speakers from her computer. A quick glance at her coding to confirm what she knew it was telling her, and she was back to her book.

A faint knocking at the door jerked her away from her sanctuary. She looked over her shoulder, sighing. The computer with the game blinked off, the one with the coding stopped producing text and hibernated.

"Door's unlocked." She shouted. The knob turned and the door slowly slid open, revealing a very official man in a very official suit.

"You would be Mrs. Slate?" The man looked around the room and then, satisfied, took a step toward the woman.

"I suppose. But it's Digit. Or CW_Digit if you prefer, since some bastard took my na-" The man cut her off.

"Ma'am, my name is Charles Douglas. I'm here with the MIA, the Mutant Identification Administration."

"So you're not FBI? Uh... Not that I would have a problem with you if you were." Digit glanced at the door nervously.

"I'm not concerned with why you hacked into Stark Industry's computer systems. Only with how. According to our files, you have a very powerful mutation." The man sat in a chair opposite Digit's. "I was told you were a... techno-path?"

"I control technology, yes. I don't like that word, Techno-path. Makes me sound like a cheesy comic-book serial killer." She laughed a bit, throwing her book on the bed next to her. "So what, exactly, do you want?"

"Ma'am, everything will be explained in due course. If you'd follow me..."


"Sis, quit dragging your feet. There's a pothole up ahead with a spider in it that might jump on you if you don't pick up your feet." A young boy was strolling down the sidewalk with his sister leading the way. His pale blue eyes had a strange glaze over them, and his pupils were greyed and barely visible.

"Now you're just showing off." His sister, a couple of years his senior, rolled her eyes and brushed the black hair out of her eyes. For someone with no sight, her brother could certainly flaunt his perception. In his defense, it was rarely useless in Brooklyn.

She was about to lead her brother around a corner when he tapped her shoulder. It was a familiar sign, and she hastily turned to cross the street instead, glancing over her shoulder. Two men with guns poorly concealed under their shirts were strutting toward the corner. But as soon as they had crossed the street, her brother tapped her again.

"What? I saw the men, why do you think we're going this way?"

"No... There are more. They're coming from that way too." He pointed the direction they had come from. The boy's sister noted another pair of men where they were about to detour. They were surrounded, and if her brother thought they were dangerous, they definitely were.

"Hey YOU!" One of the men behind them shouted. "Heard rumors on the streets that your old lady's a FREAK." Not good. Their mother had recently revealed her mutant abilities to stop a mugger, and nothing good ever came from a reveal like that.

"Yeah, and we figgered the bitch musta' produced a couple of little mutie-babies, and we don' appreciate yo' kind in our streets!" The men closed in around the two adolescents.

"Sis... Tell them to go away! I mean, tell them!" His sister looked around nervously.

"I can't, there are too many. I could only get one or two at most!" One of the men stepped forward, hand raised and aiming at the girl. Her brother screamed and launched himself at the man's legs, knocking him to the ground and leaving a small bloody spot where the man's head had bounced off the concrete. Three of the other men rushed to pull the boy away, but he rolled out of the way and ran back to his sister. As the remaining men closed in, they resorted to a more mundane solution.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" The sister screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Ain't NOBODY around 'gonna come up against th-" The man never had a chance to finish his sentence. A short burst of gunfire punctured his chest and dropped him to the ground. The others looked up with shock, but didn't have time to aim their guns or run away before a hail of precise lead ventilated each one.

The two siblings stood together in shock, but the young boy made no move to get his sister away from the four men approaching with automatic weapons. They weren't a danger.

"Hi there. You two alright?" One of the soldiers, a man with an oak leaf pin on his collar, slung his gun across his back and stood next to them.

"Ye... Yeah, we're fine. Who are you?" The sister asked in a shaking voice.

"I'm Major Reynolds, senior field agent with the Mutant Identification Administration. You're Kelsey and Zeke O'Malley, right?" The girl nodded. "We can keep you safe, if you'd follow me..."


"You've all been chosen because you're the strongest mutants around who are still unaffiliated with the various supremacy groups that have infested this country." Major Reynolds walked up and down the line of chairs where Nord, Digit and the O'Malleys sat.

"And apparently because the third amendment doesn't mean shit to you guys." Nord grumbled.

"The third amendment is quartering soldiers, moron. You're looking for the fourth." Digit rolled her eyes. "Now can you please let the man finish?"

"Thank you. As I was saying, you're the most powerful mutants available. We have a critically important task for you." Nord snorted, but Reynolds ignored him and continued. "You see, throughout the country and the world there are factions who would attempt to recruit or capture mutants such as you, who are isolated, confused, or endangered. Our job is to find loners first."

"Why, so you can get the first pick of the recruits? Just another damn government hypocrite." Nord lounged in his chair, glaring at the Major.

"On the contrary. These missions are completely voluntary-" Nord stood abruptly and started for the door.

"Except for you, Mr. Nord. That is, unless you'd like to be arrested for a few dozen counts of homicide." Nord muttered something profane under his breath and sat back down.

"Your jobs, should you accept them, will relate to the targeting and apprehension of various parties who would prey on lone mutants. You will operate in a squad consisting of those present today, and one MIA agent." This time, Digit interrupted.

"You're telling me we'll have to drag around a gunman with no powers?" Reynolds motioned to the guard by the door, who opened it.

"Not quite." A tall blonde woman in blue body armor stepped through the door.

"This is Flashpoint. She'll be the agent assigned to your squad." The woman smiled warmly. Digit was unimpressed.

"What's so special about her?"

"Are you kidding me? I'll vote for her." Nord received a quick glare from the woman.

"Eye contact, please." She stepped back as Reynolds came between them.

"Flashpoint has the ability to create intense heat at any point she can see." He stood aside as she approached a metal bowl that had been left on the desk behind them. Flashpoint held out her hand, turning the bowl instantly red. After a few seconds, it began to drip molten steel onto the desk.

"Can you set things on fire?" Zeke asked eagerly.

"Fraid not, kid. Just heat. I mean, I suppose I could ignite something if I got it hot enough, but I can't really control the fire." Zeke sat back, disappointed.

"Nevertheless, she is considered a class one mutant, and is thus available for field ops. On that subject, before any of the rest of you are cleared for ops, you'll need to go through our typical training regiment. This should also give you ample opportunity to get to know each other better."

"The first thing we need to go over is what powers we have assembled here today." Agent Douglas clicked a button on his remote, bringing up a slide show on a projector screen behind him. The first screen had a picture of Nord.

"Nord," He began, before Nord himself interrupted.

"If you say my given name, I swear to God I will end you." Douglas eyed him, but skipped the name.

"Nord. Age, forty-six. Class One mutant, with the ability to control the mind of any non-sentient living thing in a certain radius. Anything else you'd like to add, Nord?" Nord was silent, but Zeke spoke instead.

"What's all this 'class one' stuff you keep talking about?"

"Ah, yes. This will be covered more in your basic orientation, but in short we rank mutants based on their potential power. Class ones are mutants with a power deemed 'useful' in either every-day life or combat, and yet one that doesn't obstruct every-day life in any way. The power is usually concealable. Class twos have a power with the same usefulness, but it may slightly interfere with their lives, or have a visual effect on their body. Class threes have a power that's not generally useful, but doesn't interfere, and class fours are the dregs, who have a useless power that tends to cause them harm. Class fives are mutants who are completely debilitated by their powers. Any questions?" The group in front of Douglas stayed silent, so he moved to the next slide. This one had the smiling face of Digit.

"Digit. Real name, Amy Slate. Age, twenty-two. Class One mutant, with the ability to control technology. We don't exactly know the specifics, and based on her briefing neither does she, but she hasn't shown the ability to control anything simpler than a computer chip. Anything to add?" Digit smirked.

"I'm really, really good at video games." Zeke and Kelsey giggled as Douglas moved to the next screen, showing the siblings.

"Kelsey and Zeke O'Malley. No code-names as of yet. Kelsey is nineteen years old, Zeke is fifteen. Both class one mutants, though Zeke may be bumped to class two if it turns out his mutation caused his blindness. Kelsey has the ability to influence the personality and will of a person, to the point of moderate brainwashing. Zeke has the ability to sense danger that might approach. Under study, this has been shown to extend up to an hour in the future, though we believe he might be able to sense further with training." He turned back to face them. "You've already gotten a basic profile for Janet Miner, or Flashpoint. And that'll be it for now, you'll each need to report to your individual examinations and training. Dismissed." At a wave of his hand, the group stood and filed out of the room.