Dr. Moira MacTaggert's white high heels tapped against the tile floor, sending echoes up and down the hall of the research facility on Muir Island. The complex never maintained an especially large staff, but the crew roaming the pristine white halls was particularly skeletal at this hour of the morning. The sun had only barely illuminated the horizon over the far shore of Scotland.
Even so, Moira had no intentions of dragging her feet. Today was an important day. A special guest was due to arrive bright and early, and she needed to make sure that she was there to greet the new arrival.
Dr. MacTaggert heard a feint bamf behind her and caught a whiff of brimstone. "Guten tag," called a voice.
"Good morning, Kurt," Moira answered without turning around. "Is she here?"
Kurt Wagner stepped up alongside of her, keeping pace with her stride. "Ja," he confirmed. "And I spoke with the professor. He is ready to begin."
Dr. MacTaggert shook her head and smiled slightly, giving him a sideways glance. "I'm sure that he is," she said, chuckling. "But I'm going to have to speak with our new specialist first."
Kurt had left Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters nearly a year ago. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of engaging in violent confrontations as an X-Man or freeloading off of the others without giving something back, but he also wasn't all that pleased about wandering into society once more. And who could blame him? He'd spent half his life as a circus freak and the other half wandering abandoned buildings and sewers as he tried to find someplace he could feel welcome. Charles was the one who suggested he spend some time working with Moira on Muir Island. And although she had initially felt that his insecurities and history of self-mutilation would make him a better patient than assistant, Dr. MacTaggert had seen him grow significantly over the course of their months together. He had proven a valuable asset to the island's skeleton crew of mutant sympathizers, and he seemed to have gained more confidence in the bargain.
And then, when Charles showed up again… well. That was certainly a day to remember.
A homeless woman had given birth to the John Doe at an emergency clinic in Northern Ireland nearly 60 years ago. She disappeared from the hospital two days later, leaving a little boy who was effectively brain-dead in the ongoing care of the government. His case was perfect for something that she and Charles had been discussing for years — the possible transfer of a mutant's evolved mind into a new body. Of course, all of her subsequent research regarding John Doe and mutants with psychic abilities like Xavier's had been purely theoretical. Transferring someone's consciousness into another brain wasn't the kind of thing that could or should be easily applied in practice. You couldn't just pick the blasted thing up, then drop it right in.
Yet Professor Charles Xavier had pulled it off. In the blink of an eye, at the moment when he knew he was as good as dead, he had managed to move his mind out of his body and focus it into an individual on the other side of the Atlantic. In truth, the distance his unique brainwaves traveled was probably a testament to the strength of his mutation more than it was proof of their shared theory. It probably wouldn't work as well for all psychic mutants.
The fact remained that he had made the leap, a feat that was not without sacrifice. Not only did he wake up in a body that required months of intensive physical therapy before he could move about normally, he also lost his powers in the transfer. In fact, he was now just an average homo sapien — John Doe did not possess the mutant gene. And although Moira had wanted to call the School for Gifted Youngsters as soon as she discovered that Charles was alive, he had requested that she hold off. He didn't want his students to be told that this unrecognizable man who could barely move or speak was their old professor.
It had taken months, but the new Charles had come to function like a normal human being. Which, truth be told, was a difficult adjustment for him. He wasn't used to keeping his thoughts to himself, and he still wasn't very sure-footed. Yet he could walk, he could talk, and now there was just one piece of the puzzle remaining…
Moira stepped into the lobby with Kurt right behind her and stopped momentarily when she caught sight of the new arrival. The woman before her stood awkwardly, her back hunched. A gray cloak covered most of her body, hanging all the way down to her ankles… but her face was still visible from beneath a hood. And it was that face that gave Moira pause. Although Kurt had warned her of Masque's unique condition, the reality was still somewhat startling. Her grotesque deformities made one of her eyes seem to bulge out in front of the other, and her cracked lips appear to jut forward as though they were being pulled from her face. Her upturned nose was crooked and appeared swollen as though recently broken.
Nevertheless, Dr. MacTaggert was a professional. She had seen her fair share of birth defects, burn victims and worse. Her hesitation lasted for only a second before she stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Moira said as she smiled politely. "Um, Kurt tells me you wish to be called-"
"Masque," the woman finished for her, cutting her off. Her voice was raspy and harsh — the sound of a 70-year-old woman who spent her best years smoking 12 packs a day. "You are brave not to avert your eyes," Masque added, cracking a horrible smile.
Moira shook her head slightly and maintained her pleasant demeanor. "I'm a doctor. I don't judge anyone based on their appearance — or their mutations."
Masque tightened her lips. "My mutation has failed me," she spat.
When Moira shook her head this time, it was much more vigorous. "I disagree," she answered. "Many doctors would give anything for your unique talents. To mold flesh like clay-"
"All flesh save my own," Masque hissed in interruption. Moira frowned, taking moment to choose her next words carefully.
"I take it you understand that Muir Island is no mere hospital," she said gently. "Our staff and facilities are focused on the ongoing betterment of mutantkind."
"So Kurt has told me," Masque acknowledged, her eyes half-lidded. "Yet he also says you are no mutant."
"No," Dr. MacTaggert responded flatly. She noticed a veneer of disdain and confusion come over Masque's sagging eyes. "Is that a problem?" Moira added.
"If this is so," Masque said slowly, "Why should I trust you? Why should any of us?"
Moira looked over at Kurt, who was already looking back at her. The trust in his face soothed her nerves a bit.
"Because there is no 'us' or 'them,'" she explained, her eyes still locked on Kurt's. "There is only people, human and mutant, sharing a world together." As her words began to pick up speed, she looked back at Masque. "I'm a doctor, and I don't think any patient should be rejected. There's an unfortunate dearth of medical facilities dedicated to helping mutants. Not too long ago, I heard of a hospital in Canada that brought in a veterinarian to assist in treating a mutant with a tail. A vet, can you believe that?" Moira paused, catching her breath. "You're not animals," she said. "And despite how it may sometimes seem, you're not separated from the rest of this world. You're a part of it, and I need… " she trailed off, catching herself, and sighed. "I want to make sure that… that modern medicine is prepared to deal with that."
Masque smiled hideously once more. "More than a professional interest, is it then?"
Moira was slightly taken aback at the implication, but couldn't deny what Masque had perceived. "I — yes," she admitted. "There are people — I have personal connections to the mutant gene."
Masque nodded sagely. "I see," she whispered. "And in return for your help with my condition, you expect me to perform some favors for those that you love?"
Moira sighed heavily. "Actually, just one favor," she told the other woman. "A special case."
Masque's eyes drifted towards Kurt. "Shall I take it, then," she muttered, "that you have reconsidered my offer?" She reached a hand towards Kurt's face…
…and he promptly intercepted with one of his own, grabbing her arm by the wrist. "No," he told her.
"You weren't nearly so sure the last time we met," Masque reminded him.
"Believe me," Kurt replied, "I understand who I am now." His expression remained firm.
Dr. MacTaggert watched Kurt's face thoughtfully. She suspected that he was still tempted by the offer — in truth, she was a little surprised he had rejected it once before. He was the one who told her about Masque, whom he had met while hiding in the sewers of New York City. The woman lived among a group of deformed mutants who called themselves the "Morlocks" after the subterranean race from The Time Machine. Moira wished she could've gotten the entire lot of them to come to Muir Island, but finding Masque and convincing her to take the journey had been difficult enough. She'd resigned herself long ago to the fact that not everyone can be saved all at once… and some people just don't want to be saved.
As soon as Kurt relinquished his grip, Masque withdrew her hand. "Then who is my newest subject?" she asked.
Moira nodded. "I'll introduce you."
"You must be Masque," the bald stranger — Charles — said, smiling.
Moira flinched a little. It was an involuntary reaction. She still wasn't used to hearing the familiar English accent coming out of the strange man seated on the bed. She understood that his mind would naturally carry the accent over to his new body, but why did his voice's tone sound so much like his old one? Did he still have latent psychic abilities that were projecting the perception into her mind? Or was it much simpler, and he was merely imitating his old self? She hadn't probed too deeply into it, because there'd been too much else on her mind, but-
"I am," Masque replied, grinning horribly. The response shook Moira out of her reverie.
"Has Moira explained my situation to you?" Charles inquired.
Masque glanced towards Dr. MacTaggert. "She has not," the deformed woman said.
Moira took a breath. "It's complicated," she said. "There was… Charles performed a-"
"I did not always look like this," the professor helpfully interjected. "I'm more of a tenant in this body, a body that was lifeless before I came into it. I used to be — I am Charles Xavier… and I was born a mutant, much like yourself."
"And now you wish to reclaim your original form," Masque finished for him, smirking.
The man on the bed nodded. "Just so," he confirmed. There was a long pause as his words hung in the air.
"I will need some reference to work from, of course," Masque finally said.
Kurt nodded. "We have many photographs," he told her. Reaching into his coat, he produced a sealed envelope and handed it to her.
Moira watched her inspect the envelope's contents with some curiosity. She had originally suspected that Masque would be more leery of what was being asked of her. Now, however, it was clear to her that her newest guest was not a woman who suffered from many moral dilemmas.
At last, Masque set the pictures down. "Leave us," she commanded.
Moira hesitated. She looked at Kurt, who simply nodded. If he didn't fear this woman's intentions, then she would have to trust his judgment.
"Very well," Dr. MacTaggert acknowledged. She let Kurt head for the door before following suit.
Masque's teeth jutted out from her crooked smile. "As for you," she told the professor, "I suggest you brace yourself. This will likely hurt… quite a bit."