&&&
It's called the grey fallacy. One person says white, another says black, and outside observers assume gray is the truth. The assumption of grey is sloppy, lazy thinking. The fact that one person takes a position that is diametrically opposed to the truth does not then skew reality so the truth is no longer the truth. The truth is still the truth.
--Michael Stackpole
&&&
Emma Frost stood in the middle of a street in the heart of Mutant Town (or District X) in New York City. It was the middle of the night and she was alone. Dressed in a trench coat and large hat, Emma was trying to be discreet. What she did next was anything but.
"People of Mutant Town!" Emma called telepathically, spreading her message across at least a dozen block radius. "The enemy is at your doorstep! The Friends of Humanity are coming to burn your homes down around you and terrorize your families! Arm yourselves! Guard your homes and your families against this threat! Are you men…or are you MUTANTS?"
By the sudden flurry of turned on lights and loud curses, Emma judged that her purpose had been no small success. But by no means over. Emma retreated into an empty alley and waited.
&&&
A full moon hovered over the woods outside of Bayville. It seemed somehow fitting. Bigby charged straight at the mob of Purists, Quarrymen, and Huntsclan; some one hundred fifty in all.
The wolves howled and bayed as they followed their dread lord into battle. Rahne stood stunned as she stood at the top of a ridge as the wolves ran into the mob. The mob was armed; indicating that they had more on their minds than just a simple march. But caught off guard most of them hesitated in taking out their weapons.
It was in that second that the wolves were at their throats. Literally.
Rahne stood shell-shocked, not sure of what to do. She never imagined a fight like this: one with foes determined to tear one another to shreds. Could it be stopped? She doubted it. Should it? She didn't know.
"If I call the others…" Rahne mused…she shook her head. If the X-Men tried to intervene, what would they do? Try to separate the two? That couldn't end well.
Those were human beings down there, getting killed…but they were on their way to kill other people. And weren't the wolves—and Bigby—as sentient and alive as any human? Granted, Rahne harbored little love towards the Wolves since they attempted to seduce her away from the X-Men…but if she tried to stop them, they'd be the ones getting slaughtered. And Reverend Craig was down there. Her father.
"I can't handle this." Rahne moaned as she covered her face with her hands and slumped to the ground. "I…just can't."
Bigby was in his element. Most of the mob focused their weapons on him, leaving them vulnerable to the rest of the wolves. Of course since none of those bullets were made of silver nor even as large as his fleas they stood little chance of hurting him. Bigby lashed out with his fangs and caught one hapless Quarrymen in his mouth. He bit down, severing his spine in one CRUNCH.
Tossing the dead man aside, Bigby went back to tearing and rending Hansel's unwitting henchmen to shreds. The wolves clawed and tore at arms, stomachs, and throats. The ground grew slick with blood, most of it human.
A small detachment of Quarrymen made a break for it, running up to where Bigby left the X-Men. He would've gone after them, but he found himself stymied by the Huntsclan. Bigby wasn't worried about the masked, high-tech magic haters. "It's your funeral."
"I have slain dragons, beast." The Huntsman snarled as he raised his energy-staff.
"Join the club." Bigby snorted, unimpressed. "Only the ones I killed weren't the pocket-sized ones you're so familiar with." The Huntsman jabbed at him with his energy-staff. It stung, singing fur but doing nothing that would really hurt him. Bigby, moving much faster than his size would suggest, clamped his jaws down on the staff and jerked his head back. He was so swift, so strong, that the Huntsman's arm was torn off. Shrieking in agony, he grasped the bleeding stumpy. Bigby was on him in a flash. With a snarl and a crunch, the Huntsman was dead. The rest of the Huntsclan joined him soon thereafter.
As Bigby confronted the last of them, a teenaged girl with a long plait of gold hair emerging from the back of her mask; Bigby snorted. She was tired, battered, and bloody but she still clenched her weapon in her hand and raised it at the giant wolf. Grunting, Bigby tossed his head. "Run, kid." She was brave, but not stupid. Given the chance, the girl ran. None of the other wolves moved to stop her.
Seeing the situation well in hand here, Bigby ran off to see what had become of the X-Men and the Quarrymen.
&&&
After an hour or two, Emma saw the arrival of the Friends of Humanity marchers. Protected by police, they started marching down the street. But the street and stoops of apartments and houses were crowded with mutants; most of them armed, either with bricks and bats or the occasional gun, and none of them in a mood to be trifled with. A cordon of mutant toughs stood in the middle of the street, blocking the marcher's way.
A burly police sergeant walked up to them. "Why don't you lot clear off! These men have a right to march—"
"And we have right not to let our town be terrorized by these Nazi thugs." The lead mutant retorted. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of African descent. Even without powers, he would've been formidable. "Turn around."
"You really want to start trouble?" The cop blustered at him. The mutant didn't look fazed in the least.
"Look around. You're not facing a crowd of immigrants who barely speak English or the usual Black or Latino kids that can't fight back. Any ONE of us have enough power to demolish your goddam goon squad. We don't want trouble with the government or the police. But if you show up playing bodyguard to guys who want to kill us all in our beds, then you're going to have trouble."
"You can't get away with messing with the US government." The cop growled at him. "They'll stomp you flat like THAT." He snapped his fingers.
"Maybe." The mutant admitted blandly. "But you won't be around to see it. Neither will your buddies. Now unless you want your chief writing to your widow and your fatherless kids about the how and why you died defending a bunch of fascist goons I suggest you get going. Now." The cop looked up into the mutant's eyes and quailed. There was no inch of give in him.
"Back to the station boys." The cop choked out.
"You chickenshit! You're buggering out on us for a bunch of muties?" Graydon Creed screeched at the police sergeant. As the two of them argued, the FOH crowd looked on nervously as more and more mutants made their way onto the sidewalks to watch balefully.
Growing nervous, some of the more fair-weather Friends of Humanity decided to trickle away from the rear of the march. The process went on for a good five minutes until the police sergeant shoved Graydon Creed on his ass and barked orders for his men to pull out. Creed turned and paled when he sudden realized that his march had lost a good two-thirds of its size, leaving only the hardcore FOH cadre behind him…and bereft of police protection.
"Well," The strong-voice black mutant smirked as the police cars drove off. "Let's chat."
&&&