Our Story So Far:
After 'Day of Reckoning' the X-Men were forced to coexist with the Brotherhood until the location of Charles Xavier was revealed. The Brotherhood, for their part, discovered how little they really meant to their benefactor, Mystique. When Mystique was finally put out of commission, the Brotherhood elected to stay with the X-Men.
The New Mutants were driven into hiding. During this time Jamie Madrox was shot and his death prompted all the New Mutants save Bobby Drake to turn their back on Xavier when he finally returned.
The world is in a state of chaos - the existence of mutants is known now and people are not exactly happy. While Xavier was trying to keep a low profile, Magneto and his team of Acolytes chose to exacerbate the situation by attempting to murder a prominent anti-mutant senator. The assassination was not successful and had the unfortunate result of making Senator Hull more determined than ever to put an end to 'the mutant threat.'
One of the Acolytes, Blink, went through a moral crisis, which resulted in her defecting the team and joining Xavier and his students. Following this event Magneto once more attacked Senator Hull, this time with disastrous results. Hull, reacting against the first assassination attempt, had contacted one Oliver Trask and financed the production of more Sentinels. These Sentinels proved too much for the Acolytes - Magneto was crushed and his team had no choice but to flee for their lives with the X-Men.
Xavier, for his part, had nowhere to turn. His mansion was destroyed and he was listed as a wanted man. Out of desperation he turned to the one person who might be willing to help his children: Emma Frost.
The notorious White Queen welcomed the X-Men, Brotherhood and Acolyte members alike into her private academy located in the heart of Snow Valley, Massachusetts. She claimed to only want a chance to teach the next generation of homo superior. but what she wants to teach them isn't exactly clear.
And so begins the second arc of Mutatis Mutandis.
Iniquitous Genesis
Chapter One
by N
Once, Evan Daniels decided as the alarm sounded and shattered his peaceful slumber to unrecognizable pieces, just once he'd like to live somewhere that allowed you to sleep in until a decent hour. Say, eleven thirty. No, no.
Noon.
Yawning expansively, but careful not to let any spikes slip through his skin as he did so, Evan pulled himself out of bed. He glanced at the calendar on his wall as he headed out the door and was surprised to realize that he'd now been living at the Massachusetts Academy for officially two weeks.
Funny, he mused as he clumped down the hall to the bathroom. It really doesn't feel that much different from living at the Institute.
All the students were still expected to be awake at early hour for training sessions, after which they were given time to shower. Breakfast was served in the main building at seven o'clock sharp and classes started at nine. The curriculum was still being debated - Ms. Frost seemed to have all sorts of interesting course ideas but McCoy was insistent that 'normal' courses such as math and English be taught as well. So the classes tended to vary a bit from day to day. Evan personally wished that somebody would see that putting 'Mutant Biology' right before lunch was not exactly the best idea in the world; even Kurt had lost his appetite after a lecture on the properties of Tolensky's slime.
As Evan let himself into the bathroom he mused that the most bizarre thing about living at the Academy was having to board in the same building as their so-called enemies. Granted, most of them were still sticking to their respective teams outside of training, but Evan had noticed a slight shift in some people's attitudes.
The Aussie, for example, honestly didn't seem to have a problem interacting with people outside his team. He'd stroll up to whoever happened to be nearby and just start chatting. Evan had had a few conversations with the guy - he was into extreme sports, which was cool - and he had to admit that he was starting to think of him as less of a potential threat and more of just a normal guy at school.
Strangely, even seeing his lifelong nemesis speeding around campus served to make the place seem more like home. Evan had grown up Pietro's rival - knowing that at least one thing in his life remained constant was actually comforting.
Not enough constants lately, Evan thought a bit sullenly. But at least now it looks like things have settled down.
***
Concentrate, Jean Grey repeated to herself. Relax and concentrate.
She was standing in the training arena, feet shoulder-width apart and parallel. Her arms hung at her sides and her head titled forward, her eyes closed. Her breath came in deep, steady inhalations.
*Reach outwards, dear,* came the telepathic command. Jean did so, expanding her consciousness and reaching with psionic senses until she could feel a steady hum in the air.
*I feel it, Miss Frost,* she relayed to the blonde woman standing several feet away, watching with intent eyes.
*Good. That's ambient psionic energy. I want you to try and channel it. Pull it towards you, like you were a lightning rod, and then direct it into the ground.*
Jean did as instructed and was pleasantly surprised when she sensed a psionic bolt slam into the rooms' floor.
*Very nice,* Emma said. Jean could tell she was impressed and tried not to smile.
The third day they had been at the Academy, Xavier had taken Jean aside. "Jean," he had said, his tone sober, "I need to tell you something."
"What is it, Professor?" Jean had asked.
"It's about Emma Frost. Jean, Emma is a very powerful telepath. As such, I know for a fact that she will be interested in working with you as you share some of the same gifts." He sighed. "Jean, I trust you. I just want you to remember that no matter what Emma may attempt to teach you, your morals and ethics are your own. Don't let any unwanted influence sway them."
The very same day Emma had approached her with the offer to help her with some of her powers in one-on-one sessions. Jean had agreed, her curiosity somewhat piqued due to the Professor's veiled warning.
What could be so wrong that she wants to teach me? Jean had wondered.
Now, almost two weeks later, Jean had a better inkling. Emma's first few sessions had been devoted entirely to what she called 'mind wiping' - the telepathic bleaching of memories. Jean knew the Professor did this himself, but only in the most dire of situations. Emma's attitude towards the act, however, seemed to be considerably more casual.
"Sometimes, Jean darling," she had said as the two of them sat in Emma's posh office, "it's more convenient to have people simply forget things. It can save your life." She'd grinned and Jean had felt herself smile back in spite of her reservations. "Socially as well as literally."
Now, standing in the training arena, Jean reflected that Emma Frost might not be the most ethical woman in the world, but she was certainly one of the most powerful. And, in some way, Jean respected that.
I bet none of Emma's boyfriend's ever thought they needed to save her, Jean thought to herself as she relaxed a little.
"You'd be surprised, dear," Emma said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder and startling her out of her reverie. Her ruby lips were lifted in a smirk. "But with men sometimes you just have to let them have their little delusions. Their egos bruise SO easily."
At that, Jean laughed along with her new teacher.
***
Mid-afternoon found Hank McCoy afflicted with a severe case of the munchies.
He's spent most of the afternoon lecturing his young mutant charges on Shakespeare's Hamlet, but he could tell he was losing the battle for their interest and had dismissed them early. He'd skipped lunch because he'd been preoccupied with reading the play before the lecture (despite his having memorized most if it) and now he found he was positively ravening for a plate of Oreos and a glass of milk.
Upon reaching the kitchen, however, found that a somewhat morose looking Bobby Drake had purloined his snack of choice.
"I don't suppose any of those escaped the bottomless pit that is your adolescent stomach?" Hank asked without much hope.
"Sorry," Bobby replied. "But there's a pack of chocolate chip in the cupboard."
Hank nodded got himself a glass and a plate from the dishwasher. "Well, young Robert, did you find the Bard's familial tragedy as snore-inducing as your classmates?"
"Huh?" Bobby replied.
"Hamlet," Hank explained patiently.
"Oh. I guess it's okay." Bobby shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy, but I guess I wasn't really paying attention in class."
"Something on your mind?" Hank asked. Bobby was a bright kid, and he genuinely liked him and wanted him to feel comfortable confiding in him. After all, the kid didn't seem to have many other close confidants since the other new recruits had struck it out on their own.
"Nah. Well, sort of. It's just. weird being here. It's like we stepped back in time to before the Mansion exploded, but into a wacky parallel universe version." He grinned. "One where our teachers think lingerie is high fashion."
"I can assure you, Bobby, that neither Logan nor myself will start wearing lingerie."
Bobby cracked up laughing and sprayed Oreo crumbs everywhere. Hank smiled.
"I guess it's just hard to trust some of the other people here," Bobby stated after he'd controlled his giggles.
"Understandable," Hank admitted, dipping a chocolate chip cookie into his milk. "But one never knows. Some of Magneto's soldiers seem to be genuinely good people underneath the dogma they may spout. After all, young Miss Ferguson was an Acolyte. And Wolverine claims that Russian fellow doesn't seem sincerely devoted to mutant superiority in any way."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah." He frowned. "That guy's huge, Mr. McCoy. Do you think maybe he's on steroids or something?"
Hank laughed and ruffled Bobby's hair with one massive hand. "I sincerely doubt it, young Robert. He probably just eats well. You know - he doesn't consume a whole box of Oreos on his own."
"Ha, ha."
***
Piotr Nikoleivitch Rasputin had a secret.
Born and raised on a farm in Russia, he was the epitome of the strong silent type. Tall, muscular, and not one for idle chatter, he had all his life been considered a steadfast and practical person. Life, to young Piotr, had been a simple and rewarding routine consisting of family and hard work.
Then Magneto had appeared, having somehow discovered that Piotr possessed the ability to turn his brawny form into solid metal, making him a veritable colossus of power.
Magneto had desired that power. And so Piotr was faced with some complications in his otherwise simple life. Still, the decision was pretty easy - he had to go with Magneto and do as the madman ordered or his family would be hurt.
And now? Well, things weren't exactly simple. On the one hand, Magneto was out of the picture, which meant Piotr was free to return to his beloved family. But on the other hand, doing so might attract giant mutant-killing robots to his family farm. Further muddling the issue was that Piotr was starting to almost relax a little, enjoying the respite he'd been granted from fighting.
And that was part of his secret.
Quietly, making sure nobody was around, Piotr let himself into a little used room in the Academy. He closed the door behind him and wished for not the first time that the lock worked. Still, he hadn't been interrupted yet, and he doubted anyone would ever have reason to enter the room and catch him in the act.
From a supply closet Piotr pulled out his supplies and set himself up in the middle of the room, where the light was best. And then.
Pitor painted.
This was his secret. He did his best to hide his hobby, mostly because he knew full well how strange it seemed to people - the big Russian farmboy who was capable of lobbing boulders as easily as normal people throw basketballs liked nothing better than to spend a quiet afternoon with a brush in his hand.
As he painted, Piotr lost track of the 'real' world. He forgot about his concern for his family, forgot about the fact that he was living amongst people who considered him an enemy. all that existed were brush, paint and canvas.
****
Pretty as a picture, non?
Remy LeBeau smiled to himself as he watched a certain sullen goth girl trudge past the building. He was out on one of the porches, smoking, as Emma refused to allow him to light up indoors.
Well, maybe if de picture was by Edward Gorey.
Without really thinking about it, Remy gracefully vaulted over the porch railing and hurried to catch up to Rogue, who didn't even spare him a glance when he fell into step beside her.
"Afternoon, cherie," he drawled charmingly.
"Whatevah," she muttered.
Remy shook his head. "Now chere, why you always bein' so hostile t'everyone? Some of us, we jus' want t'know you a lil bettah."
Rogue looked at him. Glared at him, really. "Ah have no interest in lettin' you know me 'a lil bettah.' Ah don't want you to know me at all."
Remy clucked his tongue at her. "Now see, dat right there is what I be talkin' about."
Rogue stopped walking and faced Remy, her hands folded across her chest.
"You just better remember, Gumbo, that Ah am under no obligation to talk to you. So leave me alone." With that she stomped off, head down.
Remy grinned a little.
Pietro wasn't the only one who liked a challenge.
****
