Hey all! Welcome to the revised edition of my story The Problem with Invisible Mutations. If you've been keeping up with the story thus far (and I hate to do this again), I'd suggest you re-read it. Some important changes have been made. These changes affect the development of the story as a whole. I really want to make sure I'm putting my best work out there, so that's why I keep revising. A massive thank you to all those who put in the time and effort to read my story. You all motivate me to keep writing.
Okay, here's a brief explanation of Joanna's personality as of right now:
She may seem a bit strange, but she joined a CIA training program at 16, she didn't have much of a childhood. Common situations, feelings, and sometimes things outside of work confuse her. She has problems dealing with situations she hasn't been trained to handle, so that's why Erik is a problem for her. As I say in the story, she doesn't quite know how to react to him.
Also, she has an anxiety disorder of sorts, if you couldn't tell earlier. I've seen the posts on tumblr about the incorrect representation of superhero characters with mental illnesses in movies and comics, so I want to do my part to change that? Joanna struggles with some aspects of life, but for the most part, she lives and interacts normally. Sometimes, her own issues get the best of her, but that doesn't mean she needs to be locked away or something (like they sometimes do with the Scarlet Witch). I'm going to do my best to write her honestly and her symptoms accurately!
Charles Xavier's eyes danced over the paper in front of him. Any signs of fatigue weren't visible on his face. His companions' faces held different expressions.
The three of them, together, sat on the long conference table in one of the many vast rooms in the CIA facility, looking over the list of coordinates Charles had obtained from Cerebro.
Erik wore his customary scowl at the head of the table and Joanna's hand propped up her chin to his right. The two of them both looked a bit frustrated. Charles sat on his immediate left. They had been silent for several minute sans the sound of page turning.
Having gotten thousands of names and they decided it just wasn't plausible to research each and everyone of those cases. They needed to devise some sort of system for recruiting, but as of yet, someone was always in dissent to the proposed plan.
Charles, being himself, wanted to contact every mutant they found, even if they wouldn't be able to help.
Erik only bothered himself with mutants that had seemed to have made some progression in the development of the powers. To him, the sooner they took down Shaw, the better.
Joanna once again was the middle ground between the two. She was actively reviewing potential recruits, but couldn't shake off her conscience for some reason.
The idea of exposing more people (especially those younger than herself) to the population as freaks was absolutely revolting, despite her orders to cooperate.
The last few days had been filled with inner turmoil. She wanted to help take down Shaw. He was currently threatening global security and he had ruined the lives of so many...like Erik.
But still, they were practically bringing teenagers in to what could certainly become their deaths.
"Well, I think I've found someone we can all agree on."
"Really?"
Erik, as usual, was skeptical. He had put down every candidate Charles had chosen up to this point, further complicating their task. But, maybe it was for the best. An inexperienced agent put not only themselves, but their entire team in danger when sent out into the field prematurely.
"Alex Summers, aged 18 years. Currently serving time in state prison for the murder of man who abducted him and his adoptive sister."
"He certainly has experience."
Charles sighed.
"Erik, if we were to recruit this boy, it would not be because he was a killer."
"It would certainly help us if we were."
Joanna sensing a potential conflict was quick to intervene.
"Do we know anything else about him?"
"Err, yes. It says here that his parents were killed in a plane crash, somewhere in Alaska and he has a younger brother. It appears the two were separated in foster care."
"How long does he have to spend in prison?"
"About 11 years."
"For a self-defense killing?"
"Not enough evidence to prove his case. He had prior offenses as well. The case file only listed his testimony."
Erik re-entered the conversation.
"He's definitely not going anywhere, so we'll plenty of time to talk with him."
"Then it's settled. We leave in fifteen. Erik, would you mind helping me with the travel arrangements?"
The other man nodded.
"Right, then I guess I'd better check this in with upstairs.
"Do it."
Well then. Erik got a question and she got an order. Guess, she had an obligation to participate now.
Without looking back, she left the room.
Moira sat at a desk, frowning at the papers at front of her.
"I need to use the phone, if you don't mind."
"What?"
Moira looked surprised, even shocked to see Joanna.
"The phone, from this office. I need to use it to check in with HQ."
"Yes, I heard you the first time."
Joanna suppressed a groan. Then why would she bother ask for clarification? Had everyone chosen today to become especially different?
She moved toward the phone.
"So you're leaving to get another recruit, then."
Moira sounded vaguely unsure.
Joanna nodded.
"Um...would you mind waiting for just a moment?"
"No?"
"I'm sorry for being so strange earlier. Sometimes I wish he would just tell me in person."
"What?"
"Nothing! Nothing. I'm sorry. Please, continue."
So, Moira had developed a thing for someone on their team, a male who was probably Charles. How predictable.
Joanna wanted very much to sigh. And she had shown so much potential too, when she shot him down at the bar.
"When will you be back? I was hoping to discuss our plans for offense. I know you proably already have, but we need to make sure they are within the preconceived CIA parameters."
"Our plan of action is entirely up to the dynamic duo. If I perceive the need for changes, I'll make them. Otherwise, I'll be sure to relay your message to them."
Moira smiled.
"Thank you, Joanna."
"No problem at all."
Once again, she retained her exasperation.
Several hours later, Joanna stirred in her seat. They'd been given the privilege of using one of the CIA's private jets, so their trip had been peaceful. They had avoided the usual hustle and bustle of a city airport.
The three of them had spread out in the relatively large plane and she and Charles had fallen asleep quickly. Erik, on the other hand, had been awake when she fell asleep and awake when she had woken up. She could see him front where she sat and it looked like he hadn't moved an inch.
Joanna got up and walked over to him. He seemed to have no problem at all with recruiting teenagers. He wasn't her preferred option, but if Erik had one thing, it was confidence. He always seemed to know what he was doing, right or wrong. Perhaps talking with him would dispel some of the concerns she had?
"Can I sit with you?"
He looked at her and shrugged before staring out the window again.
The two of them sat in silence for a while. Joanna had so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't phrase them.
Recently, She'd noticed something about Erik made her strange; she wasn't usually like that. He made her feel silly or even frivolous at times. She even found herself acting different around him; she was maladroit and more guarded.
When in the company of others, she could interact with him fine, but one on one?
"How are you okay with this?"
There it was again. Now, she had just blurted out what she was thinking.
"With what?"
"We're recruiting children to fight some mass murderer, endangering their lives before they even have a chance to properly live them…"
"In retribution for other children."
"What?"
"The children who also had their lives taken away by that mass murderer. They had lives to live and dreams to fulfill as well. But, they weren't given the chance."
"How does that make us any better than Shaw then? We're doing the exact same thing."
"No, we're not," he stated, with a hint of agitation.
"There recruits are soldiers, not victims. They choose whether or not they want to be involved, whether or not they want to fight."
"I..."
She turned away, unable to meet his stare.
Erik moved closer to her, so that their faces were but inches apart.
"Reality isn't a training exercise. There's no mandate that teaches you how to deal with something like this. Believe me, you learn through experience. You may be uncertain now, but by the time I'm-we're- finished you won't need to ask anymore questions."
Slowly lifting her eyes, Joanna nodded, not catching his mishap.
"I suppose you're right…"
"Right about what?"
Charles and woken up and moved to rejoin them.
Joanna silently massaged her temples as they headed toward the state prison in yet another standard issue vehicle. She'd been expecting to receive clarity from her discussion with Erik, not more unanswered questions.
Just what exactly had he been through at the hands of Shaw?
Alex Summers bounced a bright green and white tennis ball against an adjacent wall.
Back and forth, back and forth. It kinda felt like his life. It it had been foster home, then juvy, then foster home again, until he got thrown back it juvy. It was exactly like that now, but he just wasn't sure he wanted to bounce back anymore.
The sounds of his lone tennis ball and the occasional passerby or guard was all that he had to hear. Today, one of the guards was talking to some CIA agents.
What the hell did the CIA want with a state prison?
Apparently the guard was think along the same lines too, but his words hit a little closer to home than Alex liked.
"What the hell does the government want with a guy like Alex Summers?"
A male voice replied with something Alex couldn't quite make out.
"I hope you're not planning on putting him with others. First guy I've met to actually prefer solitary confinement."
Alex hoped so too. He didn't do well with others, even when he was a kid. If the CIA was going to take him, which they probably were, he just hoped they weren't going to put him in some sort of study group.
The door to his cell swung open and he braced himself for the worst. However, instead of seeing a man in a black suit accompanied by scientists in white coats, he saw two men and a lady. They didn't look like your standard trio of suits.
"Mr. Summers?" The first man cocked his head to the side slightly as he asked the question.
"That's me."
"Then its a pleasure to meet you."
He stuck his hand out.
Alex didn't shake it.
"These are my friends, Mr. Lensherr and Agent Storm. We're like you, Alex."
"Like me? What do you mean like me?"
"Mutants. He means we're mutants. The taller man answered him.
Wait a second...could it be possible? No way! He hadn't told anyone. How could they have known? They had to be talking about something else.
Wait a second, Alex wasn't even sure what a mutant was.
He's right. We are mutants.
Okay, now this was getting freaky. He heard the first man's voice, but his lips weren't moving. Was he like a freaking ventriloquist or something?
I'm not a ventriloquist; I'm a telepath. Sorry to disappoint.
Telepath? What the hell did he mean? And, his lips still weren't moving.
I meant I can communicate with you brain to brain, telepathically. I also know about your abilities.
Shit! They were going to put him in some sort of containment facility now. He'd tried to keep it a secret. He had'nt even meant to hurt all those people. This was bad.
It doesn't have to be. We don't want to put you in a facility. We just want your help. We need your help to stop a very bad man. Should you choose to come with us, I can explain in greater detail.
Alex quickly considered his options, though it wouldn't be much help considering that one of the CIA agents could like read his mind or something. He could either stay here and rot in prison of the rest of his life or he could go with the agents, who may or may not be lying, and finally go outside, if only for a few seconds.
"I don't speak from experience, but I'm sure we're better than prison."
This time it was the lady who spoke. Like the first guy, she looked like she genuinely wanted to help him.
Alex was a fairly simple guy. He didn't miss the company or the "aire" (as his foster mother used to call it) of the outside world; he missed the feeling on wet grass under his feet and sunlight on his back.
He didn't want a mansion and a sports car, he just wanted the chance to go outside and maybe throw around a football or something.
After this is over, I can promise you all of those things.
He sighed. It would be nice to get some reminder that he was alive again.
"Fine. I accept."
"Great!"
The man gave him a large smile, his lips were moving when he spoke now.