The Demon in the Gears
(Author's Notes: contains some background info, but feel free to skip if you want to just dive in!
Three years after the Apocalypse Incident, Kurt Wagner is forced out of hiding by a fortunately timed capture, and returns to America to find that everything has changed. A new government group called the Genetic Control Division now forces registration and regulation on mutantkind, hunting them down with an army of Sentinels. To make matters worse, the X-men have scattered and disappeared. Can Kurt get out from under the thumb of SHIELD, find his old friends, and free mutantkind, or is he really the last of the X-men?
This is basically one long fangirl wank. It develops Kurt as a character, changing him from the light-hearted, occasionally-annoying goofball into… well, you'll see. There is some romantic stuff, but it is minor, and not really integral to the story. There are also some OCs, but those are also minor, and not really integral to the story. Fortunately, those two elements never overlap. If they did, that would be Mary-Sueing and I would have to cut off my fingers and give up fanfiction forever.
I'm an all-around X-men freak, so you will see lots of allusions to the comic canon, a couple from Wolverine and the X-men (GCD=MRD, anyone?), and even a smattering from Ultimate X-men. Also, there will be several familiar faces from comic canon… but they will be slightly altered in XMEvolution style.
Note that there is a minor issue of continuity between the final sequence of the series (you know, Xavier's visions) and this story. Basically, you should ignore the "grown-up" versions of the X-Men and the Brotherhood, because I split up the teams before they have a chance to get there. If it helps, consider this an alternate universe. The rest of the sequence fits perfectly, though.
Oh, and I do not really believe in censorship, so certain characters will use profanity, but only excessively profane characters will use it excessively. Also, there are religious themes throughout. I'm not religious, but Kurt is, whether the TV show is willing to admit it or not.
Don't kill me for bad language translations. This is for fun, so I'm not going to take two dozen separate language courses for it. I'm living with web translations; native speakers can feel free to review correcting my other languages. Don't worry, I'll translate anything important anyway.)
"Normal speech."
["Language other than English, translated."]
-'Psychic communication.'—
Part I: Construction
Chapter 1: Deus ex machina
It was that time of night just after sunset, when twilight silence descends over the world. In Norway, the low light seeped out of the sky more quickly than it did the ground snow, bathing the world in a frosty blue glow. In Italy, the quiet was broken by the chirps of frogs and cicadas. In Germany, the low light bounced off the thatched roofs and dirt roads of a remote village. There, the twilight magic was broken by shouts.
The echoes of those shouts landed upon an abandoned street near the edge of that village. Some distance away, around a corner and over a hill, the flickering orange light of dozens of torches bounced off the walls. Shouts of anger and fear punctuated the night over the soothing sounds of nocturnal wildlife, but this street had yet to discover what the fuss was about.
Bamf.
With a puff of smoke, a figure appeared in the middle of the street. He fought to catch his breath, one tridactyl hand held to his side. His head swiveled towards the sounds of shouting, and he remained perfectly still except for the spaded tail that twitched in agitation behind him.
Then, in a burst of movement, he dropped onto all fours and sprinted for the nearest alley. The shadows rendered his blue-furred form invisible except for the tatters that had once been colorful clothing and the soft yellow glow of his eyes.
The flickering light was growing brighter, and the shouts were getting closer.
"Dämon!"
"Tier!"
His yellow eyes flickered away from the street as the sounds of footsteps drew closer. He tapped frantically at a device on his wrist. "Nun! NUN!" The device made a sick-sounding pop. "Verdammt!"
Someone shouted nearby, and his head snapped up. No one was visible at the end of his alley, but he leapt up and grabbed the wall behind him anyway. Clinging to it like a spider, he crawled up the stone and onto the thatched roof, pulling his tail out of sight just as a group of nine people ran by on the street. They were all dressed in the grubby clothes of a society stuck in the previous century, bearing torches and farming implements like weapons.
He clung low to the roof, peeking out as that group passed. Another group of similar size followed ten seconds behind, and he ducked back down, listening as the shouts filled the street below him.
["Why now?"] he whispered in German, glaring at the malfunctioning device on his wrist. Then, he sighed, and the anger fled into weary acceptance. He flopped onto his back, letting his five limbs spread out as he looked up at the twilight sky. He could just begin to see the stars twinkling through the darkening blue, and briefly mused about how those, at least, never changed.
With a wry smile, he turned his head to once again look at the device. ["Well, you've served well up until now. I guess it had to happen sometime."]
"Wo ist der dämon?" A voice shouted just under his hiding place, making him jump. He forced his tail to stop twitching and stayed perfectly still.
"Wir verloren ihn!"
"Los! Schauen sie mehr!"
Footsteps pounded away, and the voices faded.
He let out his breath, and raised himself up enough to look around the village rooftops. Then, bamf. He disappeared in a puff of smoke.
A moment later, he reappeared on a rooftop a quarter mile away, crouching low. This part of the village was quieter, with only a handful of hunters spread out on the nearby roads.
His side was really beginning to sting where that pitchfork had gotten him, and his leg twinged where it had been butted by the blunt end of a scythe. He briefly took stock of his other wounds, then discounted them all. He'd been through much worse in his nineteen years.
He smirked wryly as he considered that all this would have been much the same back in America. The only difference was that they would have been screaming "Mutie!" instead of "Dämon!"
That, and they would have had guns.
Thank God he wasn't in America.
Something bounced off his shoulder, and he turned in place to regard the threat. He had enough time to register the projectile as a shoe before a torch came spinning out of nowhere.
He instinctively jumped, leaping to the next roof over just as the thatching caught fire. ["Idiots! Are you trying to burn your village down?"]
The group throwing things at him didn't respond except to give chase.
He flitted along the rooftops like a leopard, weaving and leaping like the natural acrobat he was. Townsfolk ran along the streets below him, throwing insults and objects alike. He tried to lose them, but it was no good. Just when it seemed he had lost one or two, another group appeared from a side road and raised shouts.
He needed a way out of this once and for all. He'd been in a similar situation once before, a lifetime ago, but he knew there was no Charles Xavier to rescue him this time. He'd have to extricate himself.
Against the darkened sky, his sharp eyes picked up the silhouette of a church steeple, rising high above the rest of the roofs.
An instant later, he appeared on that steeple and climbed his way to the top. There, he perched and looked out over the landscape, his vision unhindered by the darkness. If he could teleport out of the village and make a couple jumps across the landscape, the mob would never be able to find him.
The only reason he hesitated was the sight of the circle of painted wagons near the edge of the village.
Never mind. He couldn't go back. His cover was blown, and after what he'd just done to one of their members, he doubted they'd take him back anyway.
Light flickered in his vision, and he glanced down to see that the mob had coalesced around the church he perched on. It was an old-fashioned gothic cathedral, and he a demonic gargoyle curled around the highest steeple, with the village bearing torches and shouting for vengeance below. Despite the tension of the situation, he had to stifle a little laugh, thinking about how like a movie it all was.
Then, the scene was broken by a displaced rhythmic whirring from above him, and his hair and fur was suddenly caught by a whirling wind.
It only took him a moment to place the sound. He looked up and caught a glimpse of a black helicopter against the sky above him just as it snapped on a high-beam spotlight. Blinded by the white light bathing him, he raised a hand over his eyes and squinted. The light destroyed his night vision, and he could barely make out anything more than a foot in front of him.
Then, the crackle of a loudspeaker echoed over the village and a voice boomed out, "This mutant is a fugitive of the United States government. Return to your homes and do not attempt to interfere. We'll take it from here."
"Scheisse," the mutant hissed. He wasn't usually so prone to swearing, but he figured this night was an understandable exception.
Outside the spotlight, he saw something move in front of him. Suddenly, someone was right next to him, hanging from the helicopter by a rope ladder. Someone familiar, with neatly-cut grey hair, a black uniform with badges on the shoulders, and an eyepatch over his left eye.
"Mr. Wagner, it's been a while," said Nick Fury. "Two years, by my count."
"Scheisse," he said again, just as he felt something prick the back of his neck.
"There's no need for that. It seems you could certainly use the lift."
The night began spinning around him, and he could feel his grip on the steeple loosening. He opened his mouth to say something—another curse or a warning, he wasn't sure—but the words disappeared in his throat as the world slipped away.
He felt strong arms grab him as he tumbled off the steeple, but the sensation of falling continued. The last thing he was aware of before the twilight swallowed him up was Nick Fury's voice whispering in his ear. "Hang on tight. This deus ex machina is getting out of here."
Deus ex machina, his mind echoed. God machine.
Knowing Nick Fury, God had very little to do with it.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The last time Kurt had seen Nick Fury had been under no better circumstances.
The War Room was unusually packed, but no one was willing to leave. It was partly comfort, partly commiseration.
Scott sat in the center of one couch, as still as a statue. It was as if by moving, he just might break apart. Kitty was on his right, glancing nervously at him every couple minutes. Each time, she started tearing up and turned away, sniffling quietly. Bobby was on his left, uncharacteristically detached. Danielle and Amara were on the floor in front of Bobby with their heads down, and Sam, Jubilee, Jamie, and Piotr leaned against the back of the couch. Sam's hair was partially singed off, and Jamie held a bandaged arm against his chest. Alex leaned against one armrest, casual posture belied by the worried looks he kept throwing at his brother.
On the couch opposite that group sat Mystique and Magneto, both wearing tight expressions and respectfully not destroying anything. St. John stood behind them, eyeing the unlit fireplace with obvious obliviousness to the somber mood hanging over the room. Next to him was Tabitha, who elbowed him each time it seemed he was about to do something stupid.
Other people lingered around the room, some X-men, others not. The Brotherhood clung together in a clump, the Maximoff twins showing rare affection as Wanda threw an arm tight around Pietro. Warren leaned against the wall, his singed wings twitching every now and then. Evan and Callisto were in one corner, turned defensively toward one another. Rahne sat on the floor, her head buried in her knees, while Ray and Roberto surrounded her protectively. Forge stood behind them, looking around uncomfortably at all the sad faces.
Kurt was perched on a table along the wall, looking something like a kicked dog. Rogue leaned against the wall next to him. Remy lingered on her other side, shuffling a pack of cards between his hands. None of the three acknowledged the others, but they drew comfort from those next to them nonetheless.
Ororo stood beside the fireplace, tears slowly falling in tracks down her cheeks. Hank was behind her, his hands tentatively on her shoulders, as if he wasn't sure how else to handle her grief. On the other side of the fireplace was the girl who still only responded to the name X-23, her claws out and her teeth clenched as if she wanted nothing more than to start shredding the very expensive upholstery.
The only sounds in the room were Kitty sniffling quietly and Remy occasionally shuffling his cards. And the only movement was Logan, pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace. Everyone still wore their battle outfits, most showing signs of wear, and most splattered with blood.
"They're calling it the 'Pheonix Incident'," said Nick Fury, standing in the center of the room. He was the only non-mutant present, but seemed not to notice or care.
When no one reacted, Fury continued, his eyes following Logan's irritated trek. "My orders are to capture and detain anyone involved in the incident."
"You gonna try to hold us all here, bub?" Logan slanted a contemptuous eye at Fury as he paced.
"When you're all together? No, I know the capabilities of my men well enough to know that we wouldn't stand a chance."
Logan stopped pacing and turned on the SHIELD director with a growl, "Then what are you doing here, patch? I know better'n to think you broke in here so soon after the whole mess to give us an update on yer life."
"I'm giving you a warning… and a head start."
"So you are gonna come after us."
"I think we can all agree that certain ones among you should be arrested, despite recent actions." Fury looked meaningfully at one of the couches. Mystique rolled her eyes, and Magneto met his gaze with a level one of his own.
"They saved your asses today, bub, and the collective ass of humanity. We all did."
"Which is why I'm here, giving you a fair warning."
"To do what? Run?" Logan's voice dripped with contempt. "The X-men don't run, bub."
"Nor does the Brotherhood," said Mystique. Lance automatically clamped a hand over Pietro's mouth, earning him a dirty look from his friend.
"Nor do any of us," said Magneto.
"Then you are throwing your lives away," said the one-eyed man. "The things I've seen in the works in the past couple weeks… If you think things were bad after the Apocalypse Incident, you've seen nothing. What happened today is going to tip anti-mutant sentiment over the edge."
Gazes roamed the room as the mutants remembered the past year since Apocalypse's fall. For them, there had been many small battles, alliances made and broken, and lessons learned by all. But through it all, there had been the underrunning theme of mutant hysteria in the world around them, including several anti-mutant politicians coming into office. There had even been talk of military action against known mutant bases, like Magneto's base, and the Xavier Institute.
"We're looking at forced registration, conscription, maybe even targeted execution. I wouldn't be surprised if the public demands the Sentinel project be restarted. From this moment forward, anyone who is a mutant, is related to a mutant, or even knows a mutant, will be in danger. The only questions in my mind are when and how, and I don't think any of us will like the answers."
Covert glances were traded, alighting on parents, children, siblings, crushes, aunts, nephews, friends, rivals, and clones. Toad started making a panicked noise in the back of his throat, until Freddy laid a meaty hand on his thin shoulder.
"I've said my piece," said Fury after a long, heavy silence. "What you choose to do is up to you. I'll try to get you twenty-four hours, but I'm not making any promises."
With that, the director of SHIELD turned and swept out of the room, shutting the door quietly but firmly behind them.
For a long, suspended moment, there was stillness. Then, the rrrrriiiiip of Remy shuffling his cards filled the room, and the silence shattered.
Bobby, Roberto, and Lance all started talking at once, demanding answers from Logan, as he seemed to have taken temporary leadership. Logan growled curt responses that were lost beneath the other voices. Rahne began whimpering quietly about whether they'd go after her mother, voicing the fears of the other students worrying about their families. Warren pushed off the wall and knelt down next to the distraught werewolf to comfort her, despite the fact that he wasn't officially a part of the team.
Then, Mystique stood up, and silence descended once again.
"Well, it has been fun, but I think we are finished here." There was a pause while she glanced over at Kurt and Rogue, but it passed quickly. "Come on, boys. If the humans want a fight, that's what we'll give them."
She swept out of the room with all the dignity and poise of a queen. After a nod from Magneto, the Brotherhood trickled out behind her.
"We're out, too," Callisto said suddenly. As one, she and Evan pushed off from the wall and started for the door.
"Evan…" Ororo choked out, voice thick with grief.
The Morlocks paused. Spyke stared harshly down at the floor, looking more grown-up than he ever had while attending the Institute. "It's been great fighting by your sides again. You especially, Aunt Ororo. But I got a different family to look after now, and I'm not letting anyone hurt them."
Evan looked up and met his aunt's eyes, and something passed between them. Evan nodded. "Good luck," he said as he left.
Callisto followed, swiping a hand through Warren's hair on her way out. "You fight good, for a pretty boy." A reluctant concession, after the incident down in the tunnels two months ago. Then, she was gone, too.
An uncomfortable silence descended again, punctuated by Rahne's crying and Remy's shuffling. Everyone was acutely aware that the last and worst of their unlikely allies had yet to leave. The man sat forward on the couch, his hands clasped in front of him in a way that was a bit too painfully like Xavier.
No one was quite sure how to deal with him anymore. After a nasty affair involving a reality-changing alien and a human woman, Magneto's idealistic side had broken through his anger and bitterness, and he'd spent a stint at the Institute. During that time, he'd played an active role in the X-men—in fact, the New Mutants were such a sharp team now in large part because of his training. During those few months, everyone had seen the softer, more charismatic side of Eric Lehnsherr that Professor Xavier had always known: an intelligent, engaging visionary with a notorious dry wit.
Then, another incident involving the same human woman and well-intentioned-activists had ruined it all. Angry and grief-stricken, the ex-villain had restarted his old plans, and, when Xavier protested, had left the Institute with a dramatic flare of his purple cape. After that, the X-men's battles against the Master of Magnetism had no longer been rooted in ideals alone. This was a matter of betrayal, and that made it personal.
"Well?" Logan finally grunted at Magneto. "We ain't talkin' about this with you still here, pops."
"Likely a wise decision, Wolverine," their oldest enemy said calmly, staring with deep concentration at the air in front of him. This happened to point his gaze at Scott, who didn't seem to notice. "After all, tomorrow, all truces of necessity will have ended and we will be enemies once again. But not today, I think." He leaned his head forward and rubbed his temples with his hands. "I feel as though I should give some sort of eulogy."
"Like you have the right, asswipe!" Bobby cried. Sam put a hand on his shoulder.
"I am a man, not a monster. Have I not the right to mourn an old friend? More than a friend… a rival. A worthy opponent. Yin to my yang. King Richard to my Prince John. Holmes to my Moriarty. How empty my life would have been without him."
"There's your eulogy, bub. Now get out."
A ghost of a smile crossed Erik Lehnsherr's aristocratic features. He closed his eyes. "Very well. But know that I do not expect the X-men to recover from this. If things do, in fact, take a turn for the worse here at the Institute, my own sheepfold is open to anyone who cares to enter. At least, for now." In a smooth, swift motion, he stood. "Come, Pyro." St. John, the last of the Acolytes, jerked as if woken from a daydream and followed his boss's sweeping cloak out the door.
When the door snapped shut, and only the X-men and their closest allies remained, everyone seemed to sag, as if their on-and-off foe had taken all their strength when he left. Hank guided Ororo onto the vacant couch and sat next to her. Eye contact was once again scarce.
Into the quiet, Jamie's voice asked plaintively, "What are we gonna do?"
"I don't know, squirt," Logan said wearily, crossing his arms and leaning into the fireplace. It was obvious that he already hated the mantle of leader, even though he'd only had it for a couple hours. Scott's silence was like another nail in the collective coffin. "Keep going, I guess. It's what Chuck would've wanted."
"Run this place without the old man and his TP chops?" Tabby laughed. "Yeah right. I think ol' Maggie's right. You all are screwed."
Several people gave her dirty looks.
"Urrrrrghhh!" Kitty growled, jumping up from the couch and stalking toward the blonde. "I am, like, so sick of your attitude! You're in, you're out, you're one of us, you're Brotherhood, you're independent, you're us again, you believe in the cause, you believe in yourself, you believe in destruction? Like, make up your mind or something! We don't need someone who doesn't know where she belongs, especially not now when we have to stick together! So, like, stop with the 'yous' and 'I's, or get out already!"
Kitty's blow-up ended with her right in Tabby's face, the blonde leaning back as if concerned the brunette might bite her. She blinked, and Kitty's glare intensified. Something like hurt passed through Tabby's eyes.
Then, Tabby closed her eyes, turned away, and waved an uncaring hand. "Whatever. Screw you losers. I'm outta here. Again."
"Good riddance!" Kitty yelled as the door snapped shut behind the blond.
Most of the people in the room stared at Kitty. She didn't notice, stomping back to her seat, wiping at her eyes.
"I hate to say it," Hank said carefully, "but Tabitha had a point. Even discounting the day-to-day management of the Institute, we have no means of accessing Cerebro. Our recruiting and tracking capabilities will be severely limited."
"We'll find a way," said Logan.
"What about…" whispered Rahne. After a hesitation and an encouraging look from Hank, she started over. "What about me mother? She works wi' mutants. Could they nee target her?"
"Your mother lives in Scotland, Rahne," Hank assured her. "The United States government shouldn't have any power over there."
"Emphasis on shouldn't, doc," Logan growled.
Hank sent the other man a chastising look. "Even so, anyone living outside North America should be safe, unless the other governments turn on mutants as well."
"My father would never turn on mutants," Amara suddenly said. "Anyone… anyone who needs a safe place will be able to come to Nova Roma. I'm sure of it!"
"Thanks, 'Mara," Jubilee said while Danielle pulled Amara into a one-armed hug.
"Somethin' tells me we might need it," Sam agreed.
"No one's running," Bobby snapped, glaring at the New Mutants, his second team. "We're all staying here and fighting. Right guys?" Several people looked away. "Come on! We can beat this!"
"I don't t'ink dey agree wit' you," Remy said lightly.
Sam gave Bobby an apologetic look. "Sorry, Iceman. I got a big family to worry about."
"My parents already pulled me out once," Jubilee said. "I don't think they'll want me here anymore. Not after this."
"You all thinkin' of leavin', then?" Logan asked.
Again, gazes were averted, and not just among the New Mutants.
"I, too, have family about who I must worry," Piotr said hesitantly. "Parents, and a small sister."
"But they ain't here, Pete."
"No. But I much expect Russia will soon be as bad as here. I must know they are safe, and I cannot know that while in America."
Logan looked at the Russian for a long time. Then, he turned toward the fire. "S'your choice. All you who want to go, go pack yer bags. We'll see you all get home safe tonight."
Slowly, people began filing out. First Sam, then Piotr, Amara, Danielle, Jubilee, and Rahne.
Warren walked closer to the Canadian and cleared his throat. Logan turned to him expectantly.
"You goin' too, I take it?"
"You know how I work. I can't really… get involved in you guys full time. And if the government's going to crack down on mutants, well, tangling with you would just cause trouble for Worthington Industries." He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair.
"You don't need to stay with them, wings."
"I do. Look… I'll… I'll do what I can. I know you don't like taking Worthington money, but it's better than nothing."
Logan sighed through his nose, accepting yet another short stick dealt by fate. "We'll be seein' you around then, wings."
"You will. I promise." Warren glanced around the remaining mutants for another long moment, then awkwardly bowed out.
Logan turned a level gaze at those still gathered. "Anyone else have any objections to keepin' the dream alive?"
"No way."
"Never."
"Nein."
"Good." Logan cast one last look around them, as if counting them and making a mental list. Ororo, Hank, Scott, Kitty, Bobby, Alex, Jamie, Kurt, Rogue, Remy, Ray, Roberto, Forge, X-23. "We can work with this. Everyone, let's get cleaned up and start fortifyin' the mansion. The X-men ain't goin' nowhere."
He was wrong.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Wagner."
Kurt blinked his eyes open, the last effects of the tranquilizer fading. He was on the floor inside a small military jet, his hands, feet, and tail tied together behind him in a position that would have been painful to anyone less flexible. He was near the back of the plane, facing the cockpit. Nine men lurked around the cabin, two of whom stood above him with guns not-so-subtly pointed at his head.
"Five miles up and fifteen hundred miles per hour, over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean," Fury said, standing casually over Kurt as if it would never occur to him to crouch down. "I take it I don't have to tell you that teleporting is not in your best interest."
"Vhat do you vant?" Kurt demanded. His English was a little rusty, but returned to him swiftly.
"It's not a matter of what I want, Mr. Wagner. It's a matter of what the United States government wants, and that is the capture and rehabilitation of all mutants. Particularly those as well-known as your former team."
"Rehabilitation? Like brainwashing?"
"Essentially."
"That's terrible!"
"Yes, it is."
Kurt blinked. "…vas? Then vhy are you…"
"I did not say I was planning to do so to you, only that that is what we need to concern ourselves with."
"I… do not understand."
Fury leaned over him. "A lot has happened since you left the States, Mr. Wagner. For one thing, a new branch of the U.S. armed forces opened up. The GCD… Genetic Control Division. Specializing in the registration of everyone who had the bad luck to be born with an X gene."
"And by 'registration,' you mean 'capture' and 'abuse', ja?"
"They'd told me you were quick. It so happens that not all mutants receive such treatment. Only the ones who resist."
"Like the X-men."
"That's right. You'd better thank your lucky stars SHIELD got to you before the GCD did."
"Vhy? Vhat are you going to do instead?"
Kurt's fur stood on end as Nick Fury, director of SHIELD and arguably one of the most powerful men on the planet, smiled.
"I'm disappointed, Mr. Wagner. Certainly you've known Logan long enough to know what SHIELD does with useful mutants."
Kurt's eyes widened. "Vea… veapon X? Everything about that vas destroyed! Ve made sure of it!"
"Nothing so sinister or invasive as Weapon X, Mr. Wagner. Let's just say that certain interests are starting to get a little nervous that the GCD isn't telling everything they're doing, and your skills are needed to make sure they don't get out of hand. I don't think I need to tell you that you have no choice in the matter." That smile stretched wider, and Kurt suppressed a shiver. "Welcome to Operation Wonderland."