# 1: Scattered
He grasps the desert ground. Crouched, he scopes the area and notices a gas station from afar. A couple of broken-down cars rot outside of the gas station. Cans can be seen thrown on the edges of the vicinity. The sun is glaring, but his eyes can take it. He wears a dark military jacket, tough to tell if it's blue or black. Very worn. His shirt is blue, and his pants are a black hue. The wind gushes over him, but he continues forward. He has a stubble, unusual for him, but the search is long. Most of all, he wears a head gear, akin to night vision goggles, but flat on the eyes. The glass on the lenses is black, but the eyes give it a slight tint of red. The headwear is to control his powers. He once had control of his powers, but due to a man experimenting on him it led to his powers increasing dramatically. He lost control of them in the process. This loss of control has made his powers a ticking time bomb, a power growing too strong that it may very well end his life. He knows this, he feels it, but his mind is always centered on his goal.
The gas station seems empty when a man comes out of the restroom. It seems to be the owner. The man seems at home in the station, very relaxed. He is balding but isn't exactly old. Perhaps in his mid-forties. He opens the door leading to the back of the counter. It's guarded by a fence.
"Good evening sir, how can I help you?" He asks, as he gets comfortable.
He looks around only noticing how well kept the inside of the gas station is kept. Surprised by the wreckage outside. He walks up towards the man and asks him: "Have you seen this man?"
He shows him a picture of a strange looking fellow, Mister Sinister. There is history between them, bad blood that runs longer than he can remember. He is the man responsible for his fate. He heard a rumor that led him to a friend. She pointed him to the deserts of New Mexico. He has spent days searching, battling…hunting.
"No, I can't believe I have." He answered. "Say, there are some waters at the back if you're thirsty. They're only 1.99 $ each. I mean it's a long road in this desert."
"That's fine. Thank—"
"—This desert is called Jornada del Muerto," He says. His eyes seem experienced in the area.
He looks at the man. His visor gives him the reading on the man's heart and breath. He seems very relaxed. A fair warning he believes.
"Like I said, no thank you."
"Say, what's with the head gear?"
He walks away, but before exiting he responds, "The heat."
The terrain is vast. The wind blows dirt and heat. A spiny lizard crawls through the grime. He wanders how someone could live in this dreaded heat, but he is quick to remind himself of his own background. Coming from a broken home and the verge of the unknown was once his fate. The desert does not seem so unusual for him anymore. A vast nothingness.
He gets on his motorcycle but before driving off he stares at the unforgiving desert. "Journey of the Dead, huh." He leaves a trail of smoke behind him. He continues to look for Mister Sinister, he continues to hunt him down. It's been a long journey for Scott Summers, the Cyclops.
Meanwhile,
Charles Xavier is advising a group of university students at Cornell University.
"One at a time, one at a time," Dr. Wang-Su says, as she raises her voice over the students. "As you all know, Dr. Charles Xavier will be presenting his theory of the X-Gene. So, please don't, uh, make a fuss about certain ideas that will be presented. Everyone will get their chance to speak. Also, Dr. Xavier will be front and center, so please be courteous with the volume in the room—"
"Oh, please Dr. Wang-Su." Professor Xavier said, as he smiled. "I may be a little old and, in a wheelchair, but I can sure raise my voice."
"Sorry, I did not mean—"
"-I know, I know. Thank you." He said, as he fixes his position.
And so it began,
"Dr. Xavier, how come the X-gene, as you called it, only appear on certain individuals? Seeing as 'mutants' are a new to the lexicon of biology and study, how is it that you know so much about it?"
"Both questions are very good. You are?"
"Oh, my name is Tony Gonzalez."
"Well, Mr. Gonzalez, those are excellent questions. First off, the X-gene works like any specific attribute in a human body. For instance, your dark brown hair was passed down by your parents or your grandparents, or great, great grandparents. We all have the X-gene, but some simply activate it. Now why does this X-gene activate on some and not others? Well, that's part of the fun of researching this new phenomenon." Charles moves towards the students in the auditorium. Each student and some faculty focus on the man in a wheelchair, a man ready to introduce the world to mutant kind. "As for your second question…" Charles Xavier looks at the students, he smiles towards their curiosity, reminding himself that he too was a student once. Yet, he worries about their reactions. "The answer for my knowledge lies in the fact that I am…a mutant."
For the past six months Charles Xavier has been going to universities across the world discussing the X-gene. He hopes to convert professors and students to get an interest in the study of mutants, or what has been discussed—Homo sapiens superior. However, Xavier is hesitant to use such terminology without further research to truly back that hypothesis. He has had success and failures in each school. One such incident involved him freezing the whole classroom in order to leave in peace, but others he's made great friends; and some even contained mutants.
Xavier smiles at the classroom. The classroom is shocked by his response, and as a result, silence engulfs the room.
"Yes, um," Dr. Wan-Su tries to move on from Professor Xavier's reveal, when she notices a a person sitting in the classroom that does not look familiar. "I don't believe I know you, could you introduce yourself please?" She asks.
"I'm sorry, I'm not a student here. I saw that Dr. Charles Xavier was going to speak today and I wanted to know his insights on the X-gene. My name is Ororo Munroe."
"Ms. Munroe, I'll gladly take any questions you bring. You don't have to be a student or a professor or even work in the university." He spoke. Professor Xavier moves closer to her admiring her interest as well as her beauty. "Please, go on."
"I think you know what I'm thinking, now don't you Charles Xavier?" Storm smiles at Xavier. She is aware of his ability.
Storm has traveled far to reach Xavier. She left her home in search for answer, answers regarding her powers. She is praised as a goddess, but her instincts tell her she is not above humanity. Her powers are strong, strong enough to muster thunderstorms that would crush cities. She knows her strength is godlike, but such strength shouldn't be held by a mere mortal. At least she believes. She constantly reminds herself of her mortality, always trying to bring herself down to earth. Nothing has felt right to her, but her powers can provide her with a sense of wonder. So much so that she doesn't let herself enjoy them. Am I a God? Or am I demon? She thinks to herself.
"Ms. Munroe, if you don't mind me asking, how do you know of me?" Xavier asks.
"Research. Research, Professor Xavier. I need your help and I know you're trying to gather the brilliant minds of the world to study the X-gene. What if I offer you my help?"
"Research, huh." He says telepathically, with a sense of hesitation. "I want to understand what we're going through. I welcome you to my house—"
"—Oh, Professor, your home is your home. I don't think it's right—"
The classroom begins a commotion as they are surprised by their interaction.
"My home is a school I'm building." He smiles at the thought. "I'm inviting you to my school for the gifted. Albeit it's rather new. As in I only have one teacher."
Dr. Wang-Su taps Charles shoulder as she whispers to him. "What exactly is going on here Dr. Xavier—"
"—My apologies Dr. Wang-Su…" He smirks at her and soon turns to the classroom. "Excuse me students, I know some of you were eagerly wanting to know about the X-gene, but I'm afraid I'm going to cut the presentation short. Please, if you have any questions please talk with Dr. Wang-Su and she'll provide all of you with my contact information. Good day."
Professor Charles Xavier and Ororo stroll down the campus towards their destination.
"So you want me to teach in this school of yours? why not grab plain old teachers like Dr. Wong-Su and the like?"
"Simple, theyre not mutants. Plus, you're quite clearly well equipped to teach. You're well equipped, you know how to handle your powers like few mutants can."
"Who's the other teacher?" Storm asks.
"He's a man I respect dearly. His name is Scott Summers. I think you'll enjoy his company. So, you want my help and I want mutant teachers, what do you say?" He extends his hand for an agreement.
She agrees.
Further north on the other side of the border, a loner is scours the wilds.
The snow is blinding white, all we see is a white background to a stoic man moving in silence. He moves like an animal readying itself for prey. His eyes dead serious, his breathing is slight, he readies his bow. He lets his fingers go as the arrow flows smoothly off his bow and into the white-tailed deer's neck. He has conquered his target.
The Wolverine, a skilled soldier hunting for survival as he lives in the cold of the Northwest Canadian territories. These lands are indigenous protected lands, but some do not follow such laws. Logan is there to protect from such law breaking. He brushes off the snow from his puffy jacket. With shaggy dirty hair and a lumberjack beard, Wolverine has an intimidating look. Still, he asks for nothing but peace of mind. He desires a day when hunting goes smoothly, when his sleep is undisturbed, and when the locals go without harm.
It is not this day.
The deer does not breath. Its body lay on the white snow, it's blood slightly splattered. Wolverine pulls the arrow out and gives a prayer for the animal. He utters words most men would not know.
As he walks home (a cabin) with the meat he has hunted a woman from afar yells for him.
"Logan!"
He continues to walk until the woman's voice sounds too loud to ignore. She is of the indigenous people. Her wear is that of her tribe. She seems frail, a suggestion of not much luck with food. Wolverine has tried helping with hunting, but one man is not enough. She speaks in her language. He listens.
"Who has attacked?"
She talks with great care. Her face is as serious as it can get. Her pear-green eyes water up, but her pride doesn't allow her to shed a tear. Much of the tribes opposed Wolverines stay in their lands. He was called "the devil that walks the earth," as their first moment witnessing him was a brutal battle with a bear. He butchered the bear unlike anything the tribe had seen. The final image of that day was a man covered in blood and fur. His eyes looking animalistic staring towards the sky as he screamed so loud the birds flew off, then silence took over the scene.
Still, the people found him useful. In time, he began to make friends with them, but asking for help still stung. Today they would need his help. She leads him to the tribe. The pathway is well hidden. Traps upon traps lay everywhere, but she knows her way around, when finally, he sees all the members sitting down in prayer. The rhymes and hymns of a people echo in the air. A giant fire bursts in the middle of them all, sparks and bark flow through them. The sun has gone down only illuminating the fire.
"Logan!"
"Logan!"
"Logan!"
Wolverine's attention is on them. He worries about them. He smells their fear, their sense of hope flees them, but what now he thinks.
"Who attacked the tribe?" He asks.
The elder speaks. He says a man able to control metal killed one of their young. The man is said to have flown to the sky as if it were a God. The tribe trembles in shock and fear of the metal God known as Magneto.
Wolverine does not know of such powers, but he fears no one.
The elder continues to explain the situation. He tells Wolverine about another fellow who was from a tribe not of their own. He called himself, Thunderbird. Wolverine knew of Thunderbird. He had experience with him in the Great War of Silence. He and eight others fought against a legion of troops (mostly Russian and United States military) until the two sides went silent. Many deaths occurred, but Wolverine and Thunderbird survived. The battle was discussed as a misunderstanding between Russia and The United States in order to avoid the embarrassment of not being able to kill all eight individuals. For the Russians and Americans, these eight individuals would be known as the Silent Eight. The word would spread across the world about these individuals becoming almost myths for standing their ground against such an onslaught. The reason for this battle still is a mystery to most, except those who survived the battle.
Wolverine goes to the scene of the crime. Blood is splattered everywhere, corpses lay on the ground, fresh, but brutalized. This is no ordinary mutant…A strong one indeed. He wonders why someone would work so dangerously…recklessly. The smell of death permeates the air as Wolves roam the area but are too scared to get near him. Through it all though, he smells a mutant. He turns around to see Thunderbird standing with his back against a tree. He wears a jacket with it's sleeves cutoff. He carries a tomahawk strapped on the side of his leg, with a a knife holster across his chest.
"Wolverine, I heard you were around these parts."
"What business is it of yours Thunderbird?"
Thunderbird looks at him with a smile.
"I saw trouble in these here parts. You know I can't say no to helping people in need, at least not these people. Besides, I think we can help other."
"I can handle this situation." Wolverines' blades appear as quick as he breathes. "So, why are you here?"
"I'm here looking for a Mister Sinister. You know the guy who did experiments way back when. You know the one." Thunderbird said.
"Why would you look for that dirtbag?" Wolverine's face sharpens. He's curious.
"A man with a lot of questions, don't you think?" He snickers back.
"It's not your style to look for danger friend. Why don't you leave it all behind and let me handle this lands situation?"
"Magneto is the one you look for. He is going to be a problem Wolverine. Especially for you." Thunderbird says, as he walks towards a broken tree bark.
Wolverine looks angry at the constant questioning, but he wanders who this Magneto is.
"I'll figure it out." Wolverine said, the wind blows through them. The snow slowly covers their surroundings.
"He can control metal as I'm sure you know." He walks towards Wolverine. "Listen, comrade I want to help you. We've both been through hell and back. I wouldn't want you to go berserk for no reason."
Wolverine looks at him with a sense of respect.
"Well, what really brings you here?" Wolverine asks.
"I'm looking for a girl. She knows where Mister Sinister is and you know how hard it is to find the son of a bitch. She was kidnapped by a man of this tribe, but I believe she escaped. Hence, why I'm here."
"How do you know this man was of this tribe?"
"Because that man," he points to the brutalized body, "told me. He then said these words." Thunderbird says the words of the tribe. Words that only the men of these lands would know. "A death call, I think that's what they call them. Poor fool didn't stand a chance, but I can assure you Wolverine, I didn't kill him. Magneto did. "
"I know…" Wolverine crouches as he grabs snow, dirt, and blood off the ground. He smells it and suddenly he hits the ground. "I'll help you, but I want a favor in return."
"Deal, what's the favor?" Thunderbird asks, quite surprised by the request.
"I don't know yet," He stands up giving Thunderbird a smirk.
They turn to the dead body and the bloody scene left behind. Both men know that what lies ahead is no ordinary mutant.