Disclaimer: I own zip zero nada nothing -this is merely for fun.
A dystopia (from the Greek δυσ- "bad" and τόπος "place"; alternatively, cacotopia, kakotopia, or simply anti-utopia) is a community or society that is undesirable or frightening.
"You can't separate peace from freedom, because no one is at peace unless he has his freedom" ~Malcom X
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Prologue
Alcatraz Island
Weeks before Alkai Lake, there had been … pressure… buried beneath the surface of her skull. Strung through the neurons of her brain. It had frightened Jean. And well it should -it's power was coiled, angry, lavacious, greedy, from so long an entombment - an entombment she'd been tricked into thinking was necessary, thanks to him.
Thanks to them.
Her long, pearl-like fingers clenched here, before relaxing again; the white skin nearly translucent with the merest ribbons of bright cosmic power running through her veins, along side the human blood -making her more than them. So much more than them -the humans.
Or the mutants.
Holding her back. That was what all any of them did. Always holding her -Jean- back. Yes, Jean. Not her. Not the Phoenix. The Phoenix was free. To do anything.
Yes. Yes. Yes. She could see that now, here in chaos of the battle raging here -at the location Jean Grey would have know as Alcatraz. Phoenix only knew it as another petty bubble in the vast ocean of her new existence.
She breathed in, and cast her host's human hair behind her in a funnel, the red waves cracking with physic fire that crowned her host with terrifying beauty.
There were few beings in the world who could understand it's brilliant -the warmth and glory of the primeval flames; dancing from her slender, crimson draped arms in wings of creation...and destruction.
Few could understand it. What the fire was meant to do. She...didn't fully understand it herself.
What she was meant to do.
Fire created and destroyed. Ignited genius and burned away what didn't work. Create what? Destroy what?
The urge was there. The impulse.
But it was directionless. As one of these funny little men might've said...like a loaded gun that needed a finger on the trigger.
If she'd still been human, she would've shrugged. Eh, she could live with that. So for now, the Phoenix waited, and watched the battle below with benevolent amusement,as the mortals tore themselves apart. But that was the nature of fire, of evolution -it always consumed itself in the end. Oh yes.
She hated it.
She loved it.
Could no longer live without it.
Lazily, she probed the minds of the mortals around her, her skill now so complete, that they weren't even aware of her scooping. Flashes of their human existence played before her. The adrenaline of their battles, the fear pushed aside for the shake of their duty, the pain that had forged them in the past...leading to their hope for what they called the future.
Future...
Phoenix had no future. No past. Her existence was manifested as being. Adrenaline, fear, pain, hope...these were mortal emotions, meant for mortals to contemplate. They weren't suppose to have anything to do with her. And yet through the memories of her tightly bound host...the after taste of them was in her mouth. The nobleness of it.
A few of them...stuck out more than the others. The white haired women, with the painful sorrow mixed with her power as she defended her own and ended enemy lives. The petite little phaser, wide eyed and determined as she recklessly charged ahead -youth making her bold. The clash of human fire and ice, and the angry friendship that lingered there.
The...wild man, who was attempting to reach her -despite the fact that she was tearing the regenerating flesh from his bones. Of all of them...perhaps he and the weather woman understood best the flow of fire...the wildness of nature...
Something human in her soften. Jean strained. Maybe she should...should...
But no...there was another.
Breath the Phoenix didn't need caught in her throat, tightening. And oh, did he know the meaning of fire, and what it purpose was. Suddenly she was thirteen years old, right along side him, shoveling the ashes of his people around with thinning hands, and thinning hope in humanity -the realization that the men behind the fire were destroying them in the attempt to create something else- something in which he had no place.
And the fire, the crematorium's consuming fire - the need to be cruel and destroy in order to create...it was apart of him now.
Her control slipped with the realization. The emotion. And beneath his helmet, his eyes and thoughts linked with hers, bonded, understood, guided.
Grasped. And with only the merest regretful thought, he pulled that trigger.
Phoenix screamed. The fire went wild as waves and waves lashed out. Doing what she wanted -what he wanted. Bending reality, braking its rules to achieve her vision. His vision. Which had become hers. Destroy to create. Burn away what didn't work. She burned away the multitude of homo sapiens present. They clearly didn't work.
Homo superiors, she bounded, tightly, in chains of adamantium, after rendering them all unconscious. The wild man, the phaser, the white haired women -the Fire and Ice...that was what he...she wanted. To make them fit into what he was building.
To give them a chance. Otherwise they would have to be burned away to.
Because that what she -he- did. They were fire. Life incarnated. They were Dark Phoenix -Her, him, and Jean.
And in their image, they would burn the world.