Writing a story taken from a comic book or graphic novel, is something I have not dared to try before. The idea always seemed to complicated to me, and I was convinced that no matter how happy I was with what I wrote, I would always want to pick up some pencils and start drawing my own comic instead. Unfortunately, I am no artist – so this is out of the question. I am limited to a medium of storytelling through writing, so what I've tried to do here is mix things up a bit.
I'm not sold on the way I've bolded particular phrases, written events in present tense, mixed up flashbacks with current events completely… yet, but there's going to be a lot more of it because this is the angle I want to pursue. I've left it as cheesy as I can allow, so things can flow better and I'm free to do a lot more fun and ridiculous things in the storyline.
Anyway, here it is, make of it what you will all you X-men fans, don't be afraid to criticize – it is what it is. Here's the first little part.
#1: A DREAM TO DIE FOR
Scott Summers, CYCLOPS:
Agent of an envisioned dream, warrior of freedom.
Between the slats of the air shaft covering, I see two approaching shadows cast against the floor twenty feet below. Monotone voices amplify in volume as the shadows finally eradicate any light remaining across the tiled floor. I hold my breath, not offering the slightest chance to be made – this mission is too important. The two people – humans – walk past wearing expensive shoes, their every step click-click-clicking away. I make sure to get a good look at the two characters in suits, and recall their faces from the briefing. Doctor Abraham Cornelius is the chunky man with a beard on the left, who wouldn't suffer too badly from just a week of protein shakes. The smaller one – the woman – closer to me, is Carol Hines, ex-NASA technology programmer. She's only slightly younger than he is, with black hair in the shape of a mushroom cap. The two of them are wearing tight-fitting lab coats, and judging by the security of this place so far, only god knows what school-science-fair antics they've been up to.
As they pass by my position, light refills in the absence of darkness, and I release a breath. So, the two of them have been snooping around in Department H, arranging lunches, social gatherings and whatever else with some very important Canadian government figures.
I stop for a moment to think – to think about the very dream I'm out risking my life for right now. My mentor, Professor Charles Xavier, has been envisioning what many would think to be impossible, for a very long time now – perhaps too long. Hell, maybe it is even is impossible – I don't know for sure. But I believe in what I'm fighting for, for co-existence between Human and Mutant-kind. I believe that my life is worth the cause. It takes me a few hard-thought seconds to make the connection back to why I'm doing what I'm doing. Sneaking into a government-controlled towering fortress in Ottawa, Canada is not my idea of a good day out, but it's the idea of gaining ground one step at a timethat Xavier places emphasis on. I'm helping him achieve just that. My encouragement is re-nourished as a warming feeling fills my chest, the sensation I felt when the Professor first asked me to assist him in his struggle –
The Professor's eyes have seen more than I'll probably ever know, as he can use them to peer into the depths of a very person's soul. His mind is so strong, he can reach into any given human or mutant and read their mind. The concept is utterly stupendous and comes with a damning sense of danger. What if this magnificent power was to put to the wrong use? Shouldn't the mind of a person be their own, personal sanctuary?
Maybe so, but when you look Professor Charles Xavier in the face and have a discussion with him, you know he has the decency not to abuse his power. You know he's talking to you, he's listening to what comes out of your mouth rather than pre-determine it from what you're thinking. This is because the Professor is a good man, and knows of morality. With the same power bestowed upon many ordinary people, humans and mutants alike in the world, they would be driven to the ends of their sanity or simply use it for their own greed. Xavier is a man who knows how to control his power, and uses it sparingly. Ironic, considering he has to be one of the most powerful mutants on the face of the planet.
"Scott Summers" he says, with a smile like a father would give to their child. "To think we've come this far since I found you in that horrible wreck in the middle of the ocean."
We both share a delicate and small laugh. "Now, you've had military training, an access to a plethora of knowledge of human and mutant-kind here in the mansion, and a life of world-changing success awaits you."
I'm listening to his words carefully, savouring everything the man has to say. He saved my life and made me what I am – I will be eternally in his gratitude. "I am very proud of you" he says with a hint of emotion. The kind of emotion it seems he's trying to cover up. "You'll… you'll always be my first, Scott. My legacy" he said. This time, he had even more trouble getting the words out. But I could understand – the Professor had always been so caught up in his affairs that he'd never had time for romance in the past – nor was it likely he ever would in the future. Therefore, he had no children of his own, and I would always be like a son to him. Alas, he would always be like a father to me, as my parents had been missing since I was rescued by Xavier.
We are outside in the courtyard, surrounded by the greenery trademark of Westchester country, enjoying the generosity of the weather together on this cloudless summer day. I am standing, but the Professor is not. This is because Xavier is confined to a wheelchair, a most unfortunate predicament to be in. Apparently, he'd lost the usage of his legs contributing toward his dream, his vision – but I've never inquired specifically. The Professor has a deep face, with every line adding to the richness of his character; the strength of his presence. Even in a wheelchair, the man has an irreplaceable might and vigour about him you'd seldom find in the faces of other men. The Professor is also bald, a side-effect of being born with his divine mutation of being telepathic - he'd lost all his hair before his sixteenth birthday.
"So today Scott" he announces, more cheerily, "I have a proposition for you."
The giddy child in me feels the sense of adventure with Xavier's words – the man's ideas for the future were never small, and I had the advantage of being introduced to them first, before anyone else.
"A proposition?" I inquire.
"Indeed" he replies. He takes a short rest, admiring the beauty of the courtyard's fountain as the water surges down the rifts in an angel's wings, splashing with an ever-repeating SPLOSH into the pond below. "My political ties and reputation as an idealist are not enough to keep this fight up with people who have more power than you or I, Scott. Humans are becoming more afraid, more complacent and will soon be taking actions that they feel necessary to protect themselves. I cannot influence them to share our point of view from a wheelchair."
"Humans will inevitably become a threat to us, won't they?"
"Possibly – but not if we do what is necessary to stop it. We can co-exist, I know it!"
"Of course" I agree confidently. "But there's ways to go, yet."
"That there is" Xavier nods, "we can't do our business through the politically-correct mediums anymore, Scott, or Human politicians will gain the clear gap of advantage they want. We need to take matters – not into our own hands completely – but enough to give ourselves a fighting chance, do you know what this means?"
I nod. I take a deep breath.
"I think I have some idea, yeah" I say, beginning to pace back and forth in front of his chair. "Your friends in the military, who provided us with the training, with the tactics, and put that equipment up for private sale – that wasn't all for nothing. Not for one second did I think it ever was."
"As fate would have it, we are lucky in the sense that my father left behind a fortune, and this estate. Now we have to put those things to good use, to give to the world, and not indulge in the safety we have been provided with."
I feel a trace of fear inside – but just a trace. Not for a long time will there be undying peace. But the man Xavier had brought me up to be – the adventurous, determined and responsible individual I am, could never even consider turning down this offer. Never.
"What would you have me do, Professor?" I ask as I turn to look at the crystal-clear blue sky.
"The leader, Scott. I want you to lead these men and woman of mine into the world and use their abilities to their full advantage to get closer to our dream. One small step at a time."
I nod enthusiastically, with a grin as I fully grasp the concept of his plan.
"Your own team of mutants – exposing themselves to the people who hate and fear them in hopes of shaping a better world."
"A team of my best. My mutants. My… X-MEN."
There's a silence that lasts for a good thirty seconds between us, as we both think of the hardships mutant-kind will endure to fight for their freedom. I come to my conclusion, and turn to look at Xavier in the eye.
"I'll do it, Professor. But that name's pretty cheesy, can we change it?"
- and now I'm here, carrying out the actions that are required of me. Putting my life on the line. I swallow my thoughts down, and reach up just above my left ear. There, rests the side of a visor that curves around one side of my entire head – across my face. The visor is constructed of a heavy-duty metal alloy and covers my eyes. Why? Because my eyes shoot concussive blasts of furious intensity when they are open. I switch the nozzle beside my ear (that is attached to the visor) so that the plates recline slightly, and release a bright red concussive blast from my eyes. I have the intensity of my optic blast currently set to low, so it's relatively quiet and only does what it needs to. The red laser slices a cut-out of the air-vent covering as I aim carefully, producing a minute amount of smoke. I stop the eye-laser, and give the vent covering a good whack with my fist. It pops outward then upward, with enough of a gap for me to slip through.
No doubt I'll be needing to use my optical blasts again in the near future. For this, they call me Cyclops, and I'm about to get to business.