Summary: A brief interlude between the two main stories of Deitra and Warren. A year has passed since the end of 'Photosynthesis 101' and there will be overlap between this story and the second installment of Deitra's story. Here the perspective shifts, the story given by unrelated mutants who are all affected by their actions. It is relevant to the sequel of '101', so please give it a chance!
Warning: Violence.
Disclamer: Own all original characters and plotline. Do not own Marvel characters.
This will be a short story to serve as a transition between '101' and its upcoming sequel. As stated, there will be overlap between the two, so they are connected. I hope all the fans of '101' will be willing to give this a shot as they wait for the continuation of Deitra and Warren's story. Also, I realized I named Pietro in several chapters of '101' and that has been corrected before this story was uploaded. This chapter is the short prologue to give you all an idea of what's up. Enjoy!
The MRD presence was suffocating. Talya brushed her auburn hair over her shoulder, sea-green eyes fixed firmly on her feet as she strode by them. Satisfied they didn't suspect her of being a mutant on guesswork alone, the twenty-four year-old patted the compact mirror in her gray cargo pants pocket with a smug grin and nod. Her white blouse was uncomfortably bunched under the red plaid corset bustier, but she liked how the loose sleeves gathered at her wrist, leaving her hands free. Her combat boots served a similar function, style and service both, and the outfit did double-duty as street gear and efficient fighting wear. Haverstraw was busy, located west of popular Westchester. Recent reports of vigilante activity had caused the government strike team to the normally peaceful town, sending any mutants actually here scattering in panic. One of the lucky who looked human, Talya Dreher was able to blend in and avoid confrontation.
She hated it. Confrontation, that is. Hit and run was more her style, especially these days. "Those damn vigilantes fucked it up for the rest of us," she thought in irritation, wondering why Magneto hadn't wiped the bunch off the face of the planet yet. Led by the White Queen, Emma Frost, the team's lineup was impressive enough to cause even rogue mutants keep from causing trouble. They lacked any name, but some people had taken to calling them the 'Execs,' slang for the Executioners. The team was ruthless in dispatching MRD agents or anyone else harassing mutants, but were equally vindictive towards mutants who thought they had a free pass to cause trouble. Comprised of defected X-Men and rogue mutants alike, the team was an equalizing force to the powerful government programs created to hunt and lock away mutants for the crime of being different.
The only problem for Talya and those like her was that she enjoyed her lawlessness and hadn't asked anyone to step in and help out. It had been a year since they had made their presence known, the White Queen moving to the Massachusetts Academy and modifying it into a virtual fortress, mutant children safe behind the formidable security. Since that year, mutants who lived their lives on the edges of society were being forced to assimilate, either by pretending to be humans or go underground as most did. Which made their chosen professions of thieves, hackers, swindlers, and general lowlifeness even harder than before.
Yes, life was hard and was only going to get worse, in her opinion. She had been on the streets since she was fourteen, when her powers surfaced and her family panicked. A trip that consisted of hitchhiking and hiding away in cargo lots took her to the United States when she was seventeen, where she quickly learned how to survive. Her powers made that only easier, luckily for her, and she had tried to join the Brotherhood a few times in the past years. But it always seemed some problem or another prevented her - the closest she had gotten was the Alcatraz fiasco, when Magneto was looking for cannon fodder, and she wasn't that stupid. So she settled for wandering the country, stealing what she wanted and avoiding suspicion while doing so.
Pietro surveyed the progress of Genosha with a critical eye. His father had begun building the metal refuge on a remote island to serve as a refuge for mutants, but it looked more like a prison to him. His sister was still in England, leaving her twin to deal with their father and his current scheme.
"Isn't it grand?" It wasn't so much a question as a proud statement by his father, who floated down to stand next to his son on the cliff overlooking the construction. "Genosha will be a paradise for mutants," he continued grandly, gesturing over the metal and dirt that was strewn across the barren land. Magnus ignored his son's skeptical look and instead concentrated on his dream. He had been reunited with his son a year ago, rescuing him from the MRD and helping Wanda flee to overseas to England.
"Maybe once it doesn't look like a prison yard," his son remarked dryly, unable to resist making cracks at his father's expense. The rest of the Brotherhood was there, what was left of it, and the twenty-five year-old mutant was having a hard time reconciling himself to the fact that the best men his father could manage to lead were the likes of Sabretooth and Pyro. Disgruntled and wishing he had remained in the States, the idea of joining the vigilante team a vague suggestion in his head, Pietro shook his head.
"You have such a narrow vision, Pietro." Magnus sighed in disappointment, aiding the workers by guiding some of the support beams himself. The entire island was going to be covered by a giant metal structure of the sort only the master of metal could build, both a fortress and supposed mutant resort in one. Pietro was having a hard time reconciling the two images in his head and was about to give up, certain his father's newest plan was doomed to fail as well.
Maya stretched uncomfortably, cramped in between the two MRD agents as she bounced along with the truck. It was impossible to tell what time it was, the back of the truck completely sealed, but she had to guess it was before dark with the way they gripped their guns. The MRD preferred daytime attacks lately, preferring to see who they were fighting lately.
"What time is it?" she asked anyway, gray eyes hidden by her brown hair as it hung in her face, a shield from the blank stares of masked men. They ignored her and she sighed, shifting again and wincing as her shoulders popped. The clothes they provided her weren't horrible looking, she had decided upon receiving them, but she had brightened them up with a crimson scarf she kept draped around to cover the lower half of her face. The rest of her uniform was black, combat boots over a jumpsuit and a long coat with a high collar. The twenty-two year-old was called Scout by the MRD, thanks to her blasted powers that had gotten her caught in the first place. Hers was more passive, the ability to switch her vision to a kind of heat vision, mutants showing in various colors depending on their proximity and power. When the MRD had come to town a year ago, her uncle had sold her out to protect himself, as the agents were arresting anyone possible after a vicious attack by the Execs. Once her power had been beaten out of her, they had decided to use her to find other mutants. She had tried to lie, but the first time they discovered she had was the last time she had dared to try. They had caught the mutant anyway and slit his throat in front of her as punishment.
Since then, the previously bubbly and happy-go-lucky woman was a shell of her former self, withdrawn in guilt and fear. She lived with thoughts of revenge daily, but her dreams of a rescue had long been dashed. No one was coming to save her from the hellhole she was in.
No one even knew she existed.