(Brief notes: Okay, here it is! The fruits of our labors. I want to thank everyone on the "Create you own mutant" thread whose ideas and creations made this all possible (you know, I just noticed about a week ago that I had written "you" instead of "your." After almost a year, I'm too embarrassed to change it). I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and based on your reviews, I will write many more! If you are unfamiliar with the thread in question, it can be located on the IMDB under the film "X-Men: The Last Stand." There, you can find more information concerning the characters here, as well as some surprise ones that may pop up in future chapters. A few details about some of my own mutants have been altered, but only just.)
Disclaimer: The only fictional characters who I do NOT own in this story are Die-Hard (credit to "glocktwentyseven") and Jennifer Abbate (thank you, Sparkleworks05). And, of course, Professor Charles Xavier and Cerebro are property of Marvel Comics, respectively.
Enjoy!
**********
"Tickets, please."
Cameron Smythe had all but completely drifted off to sleep when he heard the reserved, yet authoritative sounding voice of the conductor. Startled, he straightened up in his soft seat, adjusting his shirt. "What?" he asked.
"Cam, get your ticket out," his friend Lewis said from the seat next to him, his ticket already held up.
"Ticket? Oh, right, right," Cameron understood, noticing the impatient-looking conductor. He reached a hand into his bag, and after a few seconds, pulled out his own passage. He held it up for the conductor to acknowledge, but he had already walked on to the next row of the train. "Tickets, please... Tickets, please..."
"Hmmm..." said Cameron, crumpling the ticket into his pants pocket. "I guess the honor system is still in effect."
"Nah," Lewis remarked, now shuffling through his backpack. "Just apathy."
Cameron smiled a little, then leaned back in his seat, his eyes casually glancing at the varied, ever-changing landscape as their train zipped along on its route. When they left Cleveland earlier, dark, hollow tunnels punctuated by the occasional view of the city ensnared his attention. The bustling city slowly lessened in magnitude until the horizon was something reminiscent of his native Albany, New York. Scenic, rural areas slowly blended into a quaint suburb before melding into buildings that reached higher and higher into the sky. The pattern would typically begin anew... such was usually the way with long trips. Sighing, he checked his watch for what seemed to be the tenth time in an hour. "How much longer?" he asked Lewis.
"About forty-five minutes," Lewis answered, reading a magazine he'd bought back at the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame Museum in Cleveland. "One more stop, I think. Then us."
"Okay," Cameron answered, looking back out the window. "Thanks."
"You've been asking the time for the past two hours," Lewis reminded. "You should have brought a book or something."
"Yeah," a voice from the seat behind Lewis said. "Or are you just in a hurry to get home?"
Cameron twisted his neck to meet the gaze of Daniel, now propping himself up, much to his neighboring passenger's annoyance.
"No, no," insisted Cameron. "Well... kind of. I have class tomorrow, and I've got to read a couple of chapters for sociology. Plus, I have to talk with Pr-....." he immediately silenced himself. He had since concluded that it was best to keep most of the details as to his place of residence secret. Naturally, that included the enigmatic Professor Charles Xavier. The fact that they were on a crowded passenger train did not help matters. "I have to talk with our teacher," he recited, feeling slightly guilty about referring to one of the most powerful mutants he had ever met as a "teacher," "About the new students coming up next month."
"Oh, them," Daniel remembered, nodding. "You still want to be in charge of that?"
"Why not?" propositioned Cameron, now turning his torso the best he could to face the third member of the trio. "I have some good ideas, and I think I can help them get adjusted to the inst-...um... school. I know how to relate to others pretty well."
"Relate to them?" asked Lewis, looking away from his magazine. "Cam, you'd just be a tour guide and help them find their rooms and classes."
"Well... Yeah..." admitted Cameron. "But I'd like show 'our teacher' that I can be more helpful."
"You don't have to prove yourself, man," Daniel remarked. "You have a right to be there like everyone else." Lewis nodded in agreement, then once again turned his attention to his publication, which featured a very detailed article about Billy Joel.
Cameron bit his lip and averted his gaze; his brown eyes slowly moving back toward the window. Inadvertently, he let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a groan. Unfortunately, this reactivated Lewis's attention. Daniel also frowned concernedly.
"What?" Lewis asked.
"What?" Cameron parroted, trying to remain casual.
"C'mon, we know that look," Daniel prodded, lightly poking Cameron on his shoulder. "Something's on your mind, isn't it?"
"Excuse me, young man," Daniel's neighbor interjected with a look of distaste. Rudely, she shoved past the younger man before he could successfully abscond from his seat. Grumbling to herself, she marched down the compartment and out of sight. "What a grouch," Lewis remarked, putting their thoughts into words.
"Thought she'd never leave," Daniel said, now kneeling on his seat. "So, what's up, Cam?"
Cameron was silent for a moment. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lewis or Daniel; the three of them had been friends since their first months together at the Institute. The three of them often shared stories, fears, and secret ambitions with each other. In fact, close bonds were practically an inevitability at the Institute. People from all over the country... all over the world congregated there with hopes of finding acceptance, despite their "talents." Almost all of them were rewarded for their optimism... even more than they had anticipated. Being constantly surrounded with others who could empathize and appreciate each other's hardships, discrimination and (in some rarer cases) their mental and physical abuse unfairly endured because they were born different. Although the three of them were born without any physical irregularities at first glance (Cameron was vividly reminded of the day he met a mutant who was over seven feet tall, covered head to toe in bristly brown fur, complete with a pig's snout and two ivory tusks), they still had their share of unwanted attention from their respective community members due to that infinitesimal X gene in their bodies.
However, in a strange twist of irony, Cameron's "gift" was precisely the source of his occasional feelings of insecurity and doubt.
"Well," Cameron began, deciding that their friendship was slightly stronger than his own pathetic reasoning. "The others at the school... the other students... not you guys, but most of the others...."
"You don't like them?" prompted Lewis.
"No, they're cool," assured Cameron. "They're great, but... I don't think they..."
"What?" asked Daniel impatiently. "What is it?"
"I don't think they take me seriously," he summarized simply.
Cameron's two companions just stared and blinked.
"What?" they asked at almost the same time.
Cameron swallowed before continuing. "I mean, I don't think I'm... like... 'in the club.'
"Club?" asked Daniel.
"Yeah," Cameron confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I mean, Lewis, you can make smoke whenever you want. You can cloak yourself like a squid or something, or you could choke anyone who tries to mess with you. And you said that you can breath any air, no matter how polluted it is."
"Definitely. I went three days in the city without coughing, didn't I?" asked Lewis, smirking and getting a chuckle out of Daniel. "What's your point?"
"I'm not finished," Cameron said politely. He turned to give Daniel proper attention. "Dan, you just... wow," he resigned, shaking his head. "You can do all sorts of amazing things. I've never seen you get injured. When you were on the roof last year getting our frisbee and you fell off, that should have killed you, but instead you just sort of... bounced away."
"I call that the 'accordion slam,'" Daniel pointed out.
"Whatever; it was cool. And, and you can get beaten up and never even feel a thing, like a...."
"Cartoon?" Dan suggested.
"Yeah. Like a cartoon. And you can do that thing where you can make stuff out of thin air. You're practically Mr. Game & Watch! When we were at the concert, you materialized backstage passes for us!"
Daniel's smile disappeared instantly. "Right..." he began uneasily. "Ah... keep that between us, okay? I think it goes against the 'personal gain' rule or something."
Lewis laughed openly. Cameron however, looked sullen.
"I won't tell anyone," promised Cameron. "But my point is, you guys have-" he looked around suspiciously before continuing. "You guys have abilities that make you really... special. You're practically super heros. Our classmates know it, and our teachers know it. You can do really impressive things that you'd find in a comic book." Cameron sighed again. "Well, what can I do?"
Daniel scratched his coal-black hair. Lewis shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You..." Lewis tried to say. "You can.."
"Voices," Cameron interrupted, a hint of disdain corrupting and permeating his normally civil manner of speech. "I do voices." Sighing once again, he turned his gaze out the window, watching the lighted skyline of New York City slowly come into view.
**********
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the PA system crackled to life. "We are now beginning our descent into J. F. Kennedy International Airport. Please return your seats to their upright position, and lock your tray tables..."
Without a moment's hesitation, Jennifer immediately complied, anxious for her excruciatingly long and tumultuous flight to finally be at its end. She made sure to exceed the flight crew's expectations, even depositing her empty water bottle and candy wrapper into a plastic bag and yanking out her pillow from behind her back to place neatly in front of her.
With trembling fingers and a her foot tapping nervously, Jennifer sat back and mentally prepared herself for her first visit to the USA. It was difficult, though; she had never left Ireland, before. In fact, she had only just begun to travel outside of Cork a few years prior. So when she had been contacted by the Xavier Institute in New York, inviting her to stay and study with them, she was initially apprehensive and uneasy. However, after corresponding with the Institute's liaisons via email, and having a long heart-to-heart with her godfather who'd convinced her to take advantage of such wonderful opportunities, she finally decided that she'd spend a couple of weeks at the Institute. Just to watch, of course. She would make no commitments until she was absolutely certain that it was the right place to be.
With a deep breath, she casually strolled down memory lane. When she had received a detailed, hand-written letter from a man named Charles Xavier, she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. First of all, how had a man she had never heard of come into possession of her home address located over three thousand miles away? She had immediately assumed that this Charles was an old associate of her godfather/legal guardian, James. However, when she showed the letter to him, James was just as confused as his "daughter."
What was even stranger about the matter was that the letter seemed to be an answer to her life's biggest source of worry and despair. Ever since her parents had departed, all Jennifer had hoped for was to find others like her... others who were "special," according to James. The man who had never given up on her, even after her own parents had.
"'s okay, m'dear," she clearly remembered him saying to her as she sat next to him on their home's musty old sofa years ago. "I've got the oddment in me, as well. I know what yer goin' t'rough, and let me say this: what you've got isn't a curse. Not at all. It is a gift," he insisted, staring into her eyes that normally cast fascination and fear on others. "You are special. Truly special. But you can't try t' make the others understand. You've got to find others like you. Like us. They're the ones who will understand you. People who can help you reach your fullest potential," he choked, almost crying. "Only then will you find true acceptance."
He had held her hand in his own before continuing. "But make sure you're on the right side, m'dear. Make sure that you're with those who want to use your abilities for the greater good. A thief is a thief. Human or not..."
Jennifer took his advice to heart, and researched the Xavier Institute. She wasn't sure how, but the Professor's letter seemed to radiate warmth and compassion from the very pages on which it was written. It went on to describe the ideal living conditions, plentitude of classes to take, and the other "mutants," he had said as delicately as possible, who could offer her guidance and insight though her life. Professor Xavier, from what she could decipher, had discovered her presence through a faculty member named "Cerebro" (odd that he had somehow forgotten to write "Mr., Mrs., or Ms." preceding it). But if this "Cerebro" was as intelligent and compassionate as the professor, Jennifer decided she needn't be worried.
Finally, after deciding that she wasn't getting any younger, and the fact that she relied heavily on the advice of James, a fellow mutant, she packed some bags, bid her godfather a tearful goodbye at the airport, and began her journey across the Atlantic.
Jennifer would have greatly appreciated a stress-free flight to commemorate her first trip abroad. Regrettably, the fates had other ideas. Not only had she been forced to have a connecting flight in Frankfurt, Germany, but her first flight from Dublin had inexplicably been delayed by forty minutes. After she had touched down in Germany, she literally ran through the airport with her trademark "Irish Pride" backpack bouncing along with her. She grimaced as she recalled that she was stopped by security twice. Apparently, the sight of an eighteen year old foreign girl with unnaturally pale skin and crimson eyes running panicked through an airport was a major red flag. Further complicating matters was the fact that Jennifer was much better versed in Gaelic than German. The guards checked her passport, said something along the lines of "Das ist verboten, mein Liebchen," and sent her on her way.
Thankfully, she boarded her flight with less than five minutes before taking off. She'd tried to relax the best she could, but there was simply too much awaiting her in the USA for her to properly rest. Once she checked into her hotel, she'd think about getting some dinner, taking some pictures of the city, and then try to get a lot of sleep. She'd heard horrible stories about jet-lag...
"Flight attendants, please prepare for landing."
Steeling her nerves and gazing out the window at the massive metropolitan city below, Jennifer prayed that, even if the Xavier Institute wasn't for her, that something wonderful would still come out of her visit to America.
"All right, then," she resolved softly to herself, taking in the full view of the mighty Empire State Building. "Give me strength, Lord. Maybe I can do this wit'out James, but I can't wit'out You."
**********
ETA: 00:26:35.05
Less than thirty minutes... they'd be in position in less than thirty minutes.
Never blinking, the tall, dark-haired man in the forest green suit cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his exquisite leather chair. He averted his gaze from his computer screen and stared at the shorter man in a plain black suit who was fidgeting nervously in the huge, palatial office.
"Twenty-six minutes," the taller man stated. It was not an ordinary proclamation; more like a proposition. He obviously expected a very specific response.
"Yes!" the shorter man exclaimed with nervous excitement. He tried to calm himself and spoke more carefully. "Everything is in place, Mr. Krieg," the nervous man stammered.
Mr. Krieg smiled and took out a pricey cigar from his jacket pocket. "Relax, Sam," he said genially. "If everything is set, everything is ready, then you have nothing to fear."
Sam nodded, but did not seem entirely convinced.
"After all," Mr. Krieg remarked, setting his cigar ablaze with a solid gold lighter. "If there was any mistake in the reception, your head wouldn't roll." Krieg leaned back more and placed his expensive handmade Italian shoes atop his solid marble, hand carved imported desk. "Your job was simply to identify our recruits," he raised his eyebrows at the last word. "And determine when they'd be arriving," he concluded.
"Yes, sir," Sam concurred. "I'm just a little jumpy, I guess. This is my first assignment when we were intercepting more than one mutant at a time."
"Hey," Krieg said in between puffs of smoke. "You set up the last mutant for capture, didn't you? She was a fighter! Our toughest, yet, and we were successful. A little banged up, but still..."
"Thank you, sir," Sam acknowledged proudly. "Um... If I may ask, what are we going to do with her?"
"Don't worry, my lad," Krieg replied enigmatically. "That's my concern. Not yours."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, swallowing.
Krieg sighed. Sam had all the proper markings of a good businessman. Except confidence.
"Tell you what," suggested Krieg, now putting out his cigar on a silver ashtray. "Why don't we go over the specifics one more time. It'll give you peace of mind."
"Very good, sir." Sam opened a manilla folder containing three separate documents with a photograph attached to each one. In a manner akin to rehearsing for a play, Sam related the contents with flawless diction and perfect clarity:
"Mutant number 181: Daniel Huang. A.K.A.: "Hammerspace." Abilities: metaphysical distortion and shaping of body mass, superhuman stamina, and spontaneous creation of three-dimensional objects through atomic modification of air molecules."
"Now that one I have to see," added Krieg, nodding thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir," Sam replied automatically. "Mutant number 182: Cameron Smythe. A. K. A: "Vox." Abilities... I mean, ability: copying voices with 100% accuracy."
There was an awkward silence. "You're sure that's all he can do?"
"Yes, sir," Sam said guiltily. "Our sources are exhausted. His only skill is voice mimicry."
Krieg grumbled. "Well, better than nothing. Last one?"
"Mutant number 183: Lewis Weigand. A. K. A: "Koffing," Sam stifled a laugh. "Abilities: can release clouds of toxic smoke from his pores, and superhuman lungs that can filter any and all impurities."
"Good. You see?" Krieg reassured. "You haven't missed anything. Now regale me with the operation," he requested with exaggerated theatrics, putting his hands behind his head.
"Mutants 181 through 183, according to the mainframe, have purchased three train tickets from Cleveland, Ohio to New York City, New York. The date is for today, the 24th of July, and their train is set to arrive at 7:05 pm. Our people will intercept them at the station via our usual method, and after applying the appropriate security measures, transport them here for subsequent interrogation and detention."
Krieg smiled, observing his young protégée. "You see, Sam? I don't know why you always worry. You're careful, and I respect that, but whether you choose to admit it or not, you are fully capable at this job. I knew you would be when I first brought you on." Krieg casually adjusted his embroidered silk tie. "It's a simple recruitment, just like-"
Krieg was cut short as his cellular phone rang in its electronic way. "Excuse me," he asked Sam before fishing out a cell phone made even tinier in his huge hand. With a flick of the wrist, Krieg flipped open his phone and mashed a button with his finger.
"Yes?" Krieg asked. Sam was silent as his employer quietly listened. Krieg's words had taken a hold of him. He was starting to relax, even breathe easier. However, he felt telltale panic in his abdomen when he suddenly saw Krieg's face frown slightly. "What?" Krieg asked in a way that made Sam shake. The green-suited man set his feet back on the floor and rested his free hand on his desk. "Are you sure?" he asked. Krieg's face was unreadable as he nodded, occasionally emitting "Yes," "Right," or "Okay."
This went on for several minutes. Finally, Krieg took a deep breath and rapped his stony knuckles on the marble. "All right," he said into the lilliputian phone. "Send me the specifics.... yes... fine... very good. Danke schon. Auf Wiedersehen." With his eyes trained on his computer, Krieg casually turned off his phone, flipped it shut, and put it back in his pocket.
Sam watched Krieg make a few keystrokes on the computer before meekly asking, "Sir?"
"Change of plans," said Krieg, still typing.
"Change?" Sam did not like the sound of that.
"Well, more like a bonus," Krieg said. "My contacts in Europe just stumbled on a mutant heading for New York."
"Another one?"
"Yeah," Krieg answered, now pushing his chair back and standing to his feet. "Seems there was an incident in Germany. One of my agents at the Frankfurt airport encountered a girl who looked mighty strange. On a hunch, he took her name, ran it through the system, and what do you know..."
"They've confirmed she's a mutant?" Sam asked anxiously, butterflies once again taking up residence in his stomach.
"Let's just say there are some 'inconsistencies,'" Krieg replied. "We don't know the extent of her abilities yet, so I think the old 'stun n' run' will have to do." He laughed in a self-satisfied kind of way.
"We... We'll be taking her too, then?"
"Yeah," Krieg said, now unwrapping a rare, delicate French candy from a silver dish. "Not too many foreign mutants, here. That makes her a collectable, doesn't it?" Krieg smiled and popped the candy into his mouth. He held another one out to Sam, who eagerly accepted it.
"Thank you, sir," Sam expressed. "Shall I take down what information we have?"
"Please," replied his superior, walking toward the doorway. "They'll be sending her file over. She's set to arrive at good old JFK in about a half hour. Alert one of our teams, classify it as 'Immediate Incapacitation,' and send a copy of her itinerary to each of them. After that," Krieg left, waiting for Sam to write it all down.
"Sir?"
Krieg smiled. "After that, why don't you join me up in the lounge?" he was almost out into the hallway when he turned back at the younger man. "You look like you could use a drink."
With that, the enormous man marched out of his office, singing "Cotton Fields" under his breath.
Sam watched him go for a second, then headed to the computer. Pen in hand, he made a few quick notes on a sheet of paper based on what was visible on the computer screen. It looked to be a passport application.
"Mutant 184..." Sam mumbled to himself. "Jennifer Abbate..."