"What's your story, Geronimo?"
John Proudstar looked over to the skinny kid in the trench coat that had spoken to him. Obviously the little prick didn't know who he was talking to. Too bad for him he had no idea how sensitive John was about his heritage. Before the kid could blink, John had exploded from the chair he was sitting on and towering his full 6'8'' height. The prick held his hands out defensively, trying to calm John down, talking slick as he could. John knew it wouldn't save him. A man nearly John's size came between them, introducing himself as Peter with a thick Russian accent, and politely asking John to back down from the prick, who he called Gambit.
"Nah, Pete, step outta the way. I got this," Gambit said as he shrugged off his coat. John didn't bother with his denim vest; he crouched low, his giant, heavily-muscled arms held in front of him, ready. Gambit threw a quick leg aimed for John's head, which John promptly grabbed and used to swing him to the ground. In an instant, John was on top of him, taking the full mount as he'd learned in the Marine Corps. Gambit was still dazed from the throw, and could only defend himself feebly from the ten enormous punches John rained from above. Had he been fully exerting himself, with strength that allowed him to lift over two tons, Gambit would have been dead; John was just using enough to teach a lesson. As he raised his fist for the eleventh blow, he felt his wrist gripped by cold steel.
"Enough. He has learned."
John looked up to see Peter, now seeming to be a steel statue, with a tight grip on his arm. He nodded and reluctantly got up from Gambit, then helped him up. Gambit just smiled and rubbed his jaw.
"You fight pretty good, Chief - I mean, uh..."
"John. My name is John Proudstar."
"Well, alright, John-boy. So, tell me. Where'd you pick up moves like that?"
"USMC. I did two years in Iraq. We -" John was cut off as Professor Xavier rolled into the room, flanked by Wolverine, to call everyone to attention and explain what was happening.
A team including Storm, Beast, Bobby, Scott, Jean, and Angel had been on a mission in Africa when they were kidnapped and held hostage by Storm's former nemesis, The Hungan. With the team so severely crippled, the Professor had chosen to bring in Gambit, Peter and John to flesh out a reserve team that would include Logan, Rogue and Kurt. While teamwork skills were not in question, as the three of them had all at one time been a member of some form of team, be it the Acolytes of Magneto or The United States Marines, but had never worked their mutant abilities in tandem with such a peculiar group. Over the next twenty-four hours, there wasn't much time, they would be constantly training strategy and drilling formation; afterwards, they would be Africa-bound.
John was plucking at his uniform on the Blackbird as it sped towards was ink-black and strangely comfortably skintight; spreading its wings across his chest was a deep red thunderbird insignia. John had long considered the Thunderbird his totem, since a vision of one had came to him in Iraq; Thunderbird was now his codename. He continued to run over the different scenarios and strategy he'd drilled; they were basic military tactics, nothing he wasn't familiar with. But he'd lost his temper twice and clashed constantly with Wolverine.
He was fiercely independent, John, and largely resented being commanded. In Iraq, he'd done the same with his officers as he had with Wolverine. He had almost been discharged, had he not have been so valuable a soldier. There probably wouldn't be any buddy-buddy nonsense with this group, either. He found Gambit's overcharged libido disgusting, Kurt's (now called Nightcrawler) insipid silliness intolerable and Rogue's falsified darkness juvenile. The only one John didn't dislike was the Russian, Peter (now called Colossus), and Wolverine he could take or leave. This was going to be a difficult time.