Above and Beyond ch.1
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
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All the clothes smelled the same. Any of the "new stuff' always had that distinct musk that came from being in a garbage bag before the ever present stench of the sewers slowly sunk into the fabrics. It was the normal life cycle of clothes; a bad smell on the way in; that just got worse over time. This fact of life was the perfect metaphor for the sad irony that coated life in the sewers, much like the rot and mildew that grew unchecked through its labyrinth underground.
They say that the clothes make the man, and what they mean is that our perceptions mould our interactions with each other. These first meetings can be vastly different depending on how we appear at first. Is the hair right? Do the clothes fit? Are they clean?
The clothes that the Morlocks wore were a perfect metaphor for their lives. They came to the sewers as castaways, already smelling like the waste of humanity. Then the longer they spent down in the dark, the more they reeked of it.
If it was simply a matter of smell, then a quick shower and a change of clothes would have done the trick for most of them. But it was never as simple as that, not for the Morlocks. Not then, not now, and never in any situation resembling it. The problem was that life in the sewers was like life on the street. It got into you. It clung to you, wrapped you in a heady bubble of self reliance, brokenness and anger until you had no way of re-entering society.
For the most part, the Morlocks hated. It was a dull hatred, like the buzzing background noise of flies or the ever present drips and gurgles of the sewer itself. They hated the world above them for making them outcasts, they hated themselves for being outcasts and they hated each other for reminding themselves of their own situation.
But even monsters need companionship.
This world is hard enough to live in without the need to hide ones face from the light of day. And for the Morlocks, the needs of survival outweighed the self-loathing. So they banded together, little underground fiefdoms ruled like tribes by the strongest and most ruthless.
And so they fought their secret underground battles, using the powers that were their birthright, fully aware of the bitter irony. Descending like dogs on one another, fighting over the scraps of those fated to be their inferiors, above them.
Still, others banded together towards nobler goals, some gathered the youngest members of the mutated sewer dwellers and tried their best to shield them and give them as normal a life as possible. Others gathered those even more cursed by their mutations. Those whose minds had been blasted away until all that remained were the primal urges, and secreted them away to the lower places where they would not be a danger. And still others gathered together to make an attempt at staving off the madness and depression that crawls like a black tide into humans hearts when they believe themselves to be truly and utterly alone.
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Alva's mutation had hit him hard and late in life. The summer after his second year in university had been spent on a road trip to the states. Just him and his brother, a couple sacks of clothes and a plan to get to Texas and find out if it was as big as everyone said it was. But the road from Ontario to Texas was full of potholes, bumps and challenges. And while his brother had always been a nice guy to hangout with, his gambling problems had gotten him into more problems then he wanted to deal with. That's why he had suggested the road trip.
But when you owe an organized crime ring a half hundred thousand dollars, plus interest, they tend to want to collect. In any way they can.
So the brothers went on their way, stopping at cool landmarks and generally making a good time of it. They got as far as New York before a collection man caught up with them.
In the end Alva's brother was dead and Alva was trying to desperately lose himself in the urban wilderness of New York City.
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Present:
Something had riled up the under beasts.
He could hear them over the wild beating of his heart and the soft whimpering of the children.
They moved as quietly and as swiftly as possible, following the curve of the tunnel. No lights, only the soft glow that filtered in from the storm drains. It hadn't rained in a couple days, so the storm drains were a real possibility for escape. The plan was for Alva to take the kids and some of the less easily replaceable supplies down the tunnel, up onto the street and across to another section of the sewers. It was risky, even in the dead of night, but the Unders would never go above ground, so it remained there best bet to get to the rondevu safely.
Alva could hear the screams coming from behind them as a group of his friend's fought and died to let him and children make their getaway. The noise stopped, leaving only the soft drops of falling condensation to pierce the silence that hung like a blanket around them.
"Almost there, just keep moving" he would whisper, to reassure himself as much as the kids.
The fifteen minutes it took there little group to reach the access manhole at the end of the tunnel felt like a small eternity, fuelled by adrenalin and nerves.
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Alva pressed his hand against the manhole and tried to push it out of the way. It should have been simple, just lift up and slid it over using the latter as leverage. But a year spent underground had weakened his body. Was it the bad nutrition or the after-effects of his mutation? He didn't want to think about it. His breath became more ragged as he franticly pushed all his weight against the heavy metal plate. He kept at it for a few minutes before admitting defeat. Alva climbed back down the ladder to where the children huddle together trying to stave off the cool and damp night air. They looked up at him. Their tired eyes meeting his own, silently pleading with him to give them hope. Alva did the best he could. He gathered as many of the smaller ones as he could in a group hug, then he told them it would be OK. Then, as they huddled together, big and small, sharing heat as they had done on many far colder nights, Alva planned.
In the span of five minutes Alva knew what he had to do. The plan was simple: backtrack. Get to a manhole that they could lift, then, get to the meeting point. Barring that, they could link up with any of the other smaller communities that lived below the city. The kids were something of a commodity; none of the Morlock groups would turn a group of child mutants away. But the kids needed rest. In fact, that was what all of the younger ones were doing. Alva smiled at the small mound of small mutants, like a pile of puppies clothed in the hand-me-downs of the city above. Alva's continued attempts to flesh out his plan were interrupted by two of the older boys.
Marcus and Isaiah had always been friends. Although Alva had never gotten the full story he knew that they had runaway together after mutating. Marcus had mutated into a cheap knockoff of the monster from the black lagoon, while Isaiah had gained a significant electro-kinetic talent, at the cost of half his face deforming into a pusstualnat mass that the pair kept constantly swathed in bandages.
Marcus taped Alva on the shoulder and nodded back the way the group had come from.
"Footsteps" his beak-like mouth ground out. "Running"
Isaiah squared his shoulders and moved out of the protective warmth of the huddle. He looked back at Alva, a determined and forced smile shining through his one good eye.
"We'll be back. Keep the kids safe."
No, thought Alva revising his earlier assessment, not boys. These were young men.
"Be careful"
They nodded to him before melting into the shadows of the tunnel, slowly creeping towards the sound of the fast approaching feet. It occurred to Alva that this might have been the last time he would ever see the two. Then again, it might be the last time he saw anything. They were all trapped in this little tunnel and Alva knew it.
The steady pounding of footsteps was broken by a few mumbled words. Then almost as suddenly the running had started up again.
Alva was expecting a monster and instead got David Stone. He rounded the corner in a half jog, with Marcus and Isaiah close behind him. David slowed down and walked the rest of the way towards the huddle. He slid past the sleeping children and sat down beside Alva, carefully repositioning a few of the little ones so he could sit shoulder to shoulder with the de-facto den mother.
He wasn't even out of breath, mussed Alva.
"Hey."
It was an acknowledgment.
"Hey" a pause as the two adults listened to the soft snores of the children. "How many made it?"
"I think it's just us, I managed to kill the one that was trialing you. Big spinney fellow. Lots of legs."
Alva went numb.
"Just us?"
"Yep" David looked thoughtfully back down the tunnel. "And whoever else crawled up from down there."
They lapsed into silence for a time, both think the same thoughts until Alva broke the still silence.
"But... but why would they? They've never done this before, right?"
"Something upset them. It could have been someone or something. You know what's happening up there, it could be anything."
Alva said nothing and let the presence of the other adult leech away some of the mind numbing fears just as he gave the other man heat. He yawned as the adrenalin left his body and slowly slumped against David. David shifted again and wrapped an arm around Alva, letting him doze against his shoulder while he considered their options. Going back was not an option; there was no way of knowing how many of those creatures where still lurking in the tunnels that used to be their home. Finding other Morlocks was also out. If they come up here, why not in another area? Why not all of them for that matter?
David let his mind drift towards the past, all the friends he had lost in the past six hours. He could feel the rage that he had been keeping back trickle back into his mind, blooming like a rose in a garden of pain. There had to be a reason why the monsters had come up. He would find out. Then, he would make whoever was responsible pay. He tightened his one armed embrace on Alva and promised bloody vengeance until one of the children shifting in her sleep brought David back to the problems at hand.
He couldn't just go traipsing through the underground until the kids and Alva were safe. He made up his mind. He nudged Alva out of his have doze with his chin, keeping as quite as possible.
"We're going to Xavier. We need to get the kids to Bayville."
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The boy's panting breath rang steadily in my ears creating a counter melody to the sharp raps of our Bo. I pushed him hard, trying to ingrain the defensive pattern we were working on into his muscle memory. I could smell the ketchup that he insisted on slathering on to every meal tainting his sweat. I could also smell the frustration turning to anger as his brow furrowed in concentration.
Good, I thought, let him get angry.
It was the way that my teachers had trained me. And there was no denying its effectiveness.
I broke the pattern and rammed my staff into his gut, snapping it up into his chin before kicking him. He staggered and fell in a heap at my feet. He was still weak.
I sniffed in disgust.
He twitched as he heard it and slowly got back to his feet.
"When an opponent attacks, you should block and counter. Are you ready to continue, or would you like to sleep some more?"
He glared at me as his body visibly repaired the damage I had caused.
He slowly bowed to me, fists clenched and body shaking with barely controlled rage. Staring daggers at the ground.
"Yes, Sensei" He ground out, before assuming the proper stance and waiting for my instructions.
Good, I thought, feed that anger; it'll keep you alive just as much as the skills I'm going to beat into you.
I moved back into my own ready stance and slowly moved towards him.
- Laura? I need you to come to my office. There is someone I'd like you to meet.-
The short burst of thought broke my concentration as Prof. Xavier's mental presences filled my mind. It was all the boy needed. He was in my defences and hitting me with a sharp blow to the shoulder. I flicked my staff out again, using the same one-two-kick combo to send him sprawling on the ground.
I cracked a smile while all he could look at was the dirt. The kid was getting it.
Good.
I crouched down in front of him, listening as his heart laboured to pump blood to his aching limbs. I could smell the nose bleed starting to heal.
"You're getting better kid. Professor is calling, so you get off light today."
I made my way back to the Mansion, leaving him where he lay.
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The long drone of mid-July cicadas wafted through the open windows, lending a lazy, dog-days-of-summer feel to the Xavier mansion. The soft rolling clouds brought texture to the sky and the wind blew steadily through the grand oak and sliver maples, sounding like a thousand small chimes.
For twelve years I had lived here. First, gathering the shattered pieces of my soul and latter doing the same for others that came under Prof. Xavier's guardianship. I taught now. I showed youngster ways to stay alive in a world that feared and hated our kind. My official title was Survival Skills Instructor, but in so many ways I thought of myself as an assassin still.
They gave me the tough kids, the hard cases. The little boys and girls that had come from bad situations and knew the world hated them both before and after they had turned into mutant freaks. The idea was that I could relate to them and teach them something valuable, before sending the little punks back to the normal classes to have the same drivel shoved into their heads. I let them keep thinking that. I had another curriculum that bordered on heresy in the land of the x-men. I told the kids exactly what they already knew: the world was a hatful, mean place that chewed up the truly good individuals and destroyed the innocent any chance it got.
Then I told them that they could be different. I told them that they could be strong and not turn into what they hated. I taught them to be the wolf-dogs guarding the flock. I taught them to be strong and independent. I taught them how to be truly dangers and not just win the fight but be victories in war. My lessons ranged from disguised philosophy on the shooting range to orienteering by starlight on the mansions roof. They came to me with anger and left with a sense of purpose.
The irony was never lost on me. Xavier kept on giving me kids and I kept on giving him Commandos. They would never be considered normal after what I had subjugated them to and that was the main reason most of the students were sent to the Xavier Academy for The Gifted.
This was my own way to fight back against being the 23rd weapon X project.