Book of Revelations Chapter 3
By: Jason Kenney
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
Alex Summers woke from the nightmare again. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a month, not since Genosha.
Lorna.
He climbed out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom, leaning on the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. Dark shades of skin surrounded his bloodshot eyes.
He dropped his head and cried.
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
Jean Grey-Summers was up and moving early, smiling a little more brighly than usual. That was the first thing her husband Scott Summers noticed when he woke up. Jean walked around the room, getting ready for the day. Scott lay in the bed for a moment, admiring his beautiful wife.
"Morning," she said as she stepped into the bathroom adjacent to their bedroom.
Scott rolled out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom with a yawn. He stepped behind Jean who was messing with her hair in front of the mirror and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her on the neck.
"Morning," he finally replied as he kissed her neck again. "You're awfully happy this morning."
Jean turned to her husband with a huge smile.
"I called the doctor," she said, "there's a baby in there!" She placed one of Scott's hands on her stomach.
"Really?" said said a somewhat surprized Scott, looking to Jean's stomach, then to her face and back. "He's sure?"
"Of course he's sure!" said Jean, throwing her arms around Scott. Then her hug loosened and she took a step back from Scott, who hung his head. "Scott . . ."
"I'm happy," he said, looking up and trying to smile, giving a half-smirk instead. "Really!" Jean put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Jean, you . . . you know what I'm thinking. Don't make me say it."
"Scott, our baby's going to be fine." She put her arms back onto Scott's shoulders. "He's gonna grow up with two loving parents in a better world because we're going to give him the best we can."
"Yeah," said Scott, not looking his wife in the eyes, "the best we can."
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
The war in Europe sat frozen. Leaders on all sides were scrambling for some explanation to the nuclear explosion, some explanation to the world as to why the Avengers died.
They needed a scapegoat.
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
Fires burned where one of the many armies in Latveria camped. Men sat around the flames, trying to keep warm against the chilling night.
"Why is it so damn cold out here?" said one man in his native German as he rubbed his hands.
"It's Latveria," replied another in the same dialect around the same fire. "The sun don't shine unless Doom says so."
"Not anymore," said another, "not after we finish running up his rear!" The group chuckled a bit.
"Damn it!" yelled another man as he dropped his MRE, Meal Ready to Eat.
"Hey, that's a waste of perfectly good cardboard!" said the first man who spoke, getting another laugh from the group.
"That cardboard's gone bad!" said the man who had dropped his food, pointing to it as the others looked. It was bread, or was supposed to be, yet it was more of a black clump.
"Christ!" said the third man, looking away so it wouldn't make him sick. "We just got those things yesterday! How the hell . . ."
The man shut up as all of them perked up at the sound of an approaching noise. They scrambled to grab their guns.
"Where's the sentry!" asked one in a whisper as they positioned themselves along the road where the noise was coming down.
Slowly a figure appeared in the firelight. They first saw the horse as it made its way down the road. Then they saw the figure of the man.
"Achtung!" yelled on man in German, getting no response. "Halt," he tried in Latverian, the extent to which he knew that language.
"I'll stop him," said another man, firing a shot into the air. The horse kept going, not even bucking from the noise.
"That's it," said another man, aiming at the figure. He fired, getting a direct hit on the man's torso. Yet, he didn't slow, didn't even move.
The group unleashed a barrage of shots, the horseman keeping steady on his path, never moving, never wavering.
Then they saw him in his entirety as he was surrounded by the light. The rider was draped in a dark cloak, riding upon a pale colored horse. Then the horse stopped.
The group of soldiers remained steady, holding their aim on this mysterious man. Then he lifted his head. The men cringed and gasped as they faced a pale, thin face, almost skeletal. The figure's eyes were hauntingly black and deep. He lifted his arm and pointed to the group. One guy opened fire, followed by the rest of the group, all screaming in rage. Then, suddenly, the man and his horse disappeared.
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
"It's the end of the world as we know it," yelled Bobby Drake in unison with Michael Stipe as the R.E.M. song played form the radio in the kitchen, "and I feel fiiiiiiiinnee . . ." Then he proceeded to mumble the rest of the words because he couldn't make them out.
"Excuse me, Robert," said Hank McCoy as he looked over the newspaper he was reading to Bobby, who was washing dishes, "but who sings this song?"
"I do, bigfoot," replied Bobby to his blue-furred friend. "Don't ya' know? I'm Michael Stipe reincarnated!"
"Were it that Mr. Stipe was indeed dead," said Hank as he turned his attention back to the paper, "I seriously doubt that you would be lucky enough to be anyone close to him." Hank smiled as Bobby didn't reply, his silence showing that he didn't have a snappy comeback. "And speaking of the end of the world, have you read today's headlines on Latveria?"
"What," said Bobby as he placed one last dish into the dishwasher and closed it, "the fact that the war's ended?"
"Not ended, Bobby, simply stalled. Alas, no, I was actually referring to the disease plaguing the soldiers and citizens on the battlefield."
"What's that got to do with your end of the world story?" asked Bobby as he turned to Hank and dried his hands on a dish towel. "Disease is common in war."
"Not a disease this bad," said Hank, looking to Bobby, "and certainly not this quickly. And their rations are already spoiled. Signs of the fourth horseman."
"Hank," said Bobby, walking by Hank, "I think you're looking too deeply into this thing. Oh my, that coffee looks like its a little too hot!" Bobby pointed his finger and shot a small streak of ice towards Hank's coffee, turning the steaming black soup to an ice cube. "By teh way, we're out of coffee."
"Thank you, Mr. Drake," said Hank as he looked into his mug.
"Consider that pay back for the eggs the other day, furball."
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
Alex Summers shuffled his feet a bit while he waited for someone to answer the door. He was uncomfortable coming here. It had been his home for a few years, and he even had friends and family here, but that didn't make him feel any better about being here. Too many bad things to outweigh the good.
"Hey, runt," said Alex to the short, built man who answered the door. The guy looked at him and grinned.
"I'll still beat the snot out of ya', 'Lex," said Logan as he chewed on his cigar. "How the hell ya been, boy?"
"I've been, old man," said Alex as he walked into Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters for the first time in a long time. "Damn, this house seems bigger than it was."
"Well," said Logan, "we've rebuilt it a couple times since you were last here, so it probably is."
"Ah, the life of an X-Man," said Alex, both him and Logan chuckling a bit. "Noticed the new wall paper at least."
"Jean's choice."
"Explains alot. Who all else is around?"
"Hank and Bobby are probably tossing remarks back and forth in the kitchen, Jean and Scott are around somewhere, and Chuck's holed up in his study, as usual."
"As usual," repeated Alex, keeping his grin.
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
"Come in, Alex," said the bald man in a hovering wheelchair. Alex opened the door and stepped in as the man turned to look to him. "How have you been, Alex?"
"All right, I guess, Professor," replied Alex to Professor Charles Xavier, the school's founder and namesake.
"Hmm . . ." said the Professor back, rubbing his chin.
"Prof, please," said Alex as he sat in the couch along the study's wall, "don't start gettin' into my head. I know my thoughts and . . ."
". . . words don't match," finished the professor. "No, they don't, but I didn't have to read your mind to pick up on that. It's Genosha, isn't it?"
Alex simply nodded, leaning back in the couch. There was another knock at the door. It opened a bit and a blue fur-covered head popped in.
"Greetings and salutations, Professor and young Summers," said Hank, stepping into the room. "I just wanted to pop in and say hello to our guest."
"Please," said Alex, "I'm not a guest. I'm family for God's sake."
As Alex spoke, the Professor put one hand to his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Professor?" inquired Hank, stepping toward his mentor. "Are you ? . . ."
"Yes," said the Professor, shaking his head. "Probably just a headache . . . AAAAAAAARRRRR!!"
The Professor clasped his hands to his head as Alex and Hank rushed toward him.
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
"Jean, are you all right?" asked Scott Summers of his wife, who slightly held her head.
"Scott," said Jean warily, "I . . . I'm not sure . . . AAAAAAA!!" Her hands clasped her head as Scott grabbed her to hold her up.
"Jean!" He looked at his wife's face, scrunched and wincing in pain.
"Oh Sovereign Lord, holy and true . . ." moaned Jean.
<*><*><*><*><*><*><*>
". . . how long," whispered the Professor as Alex looked to Hank for an answer to the Professor's condition, "before thou wilt judge and avenge our blood. . ."
" . . . on those who dwell upon the earth?" finished Hank in unison with the Professor.
"What?" asked Alex of Hank, changing his glances from the Professor and the blue-furred man.
"Revelations 1:10," said Hank as the Professor's face loosened. "The fifth seal."
"Professor!" said Alex, holding the Professor's head upright. "Are you okay?"
"Ye . . . yes, Alex," said the Professor. "I think I need to lie . . ."
"Professor!" shouted Scott as he came through the door to the study with Jean in his arms. "There's something . . ."
"Jean, too?" said Hank.
"Professor," said Scott as he noticed the Professor in his weakened state. "You, too?" Then he turned to Alex. "Alex?"
Alex smirked.
"What a homecoming, eh?"
<*><*><*><*><*><*>
to be continued . . .