Shake Your Foundations

3. Stand

Tuesday morning dawned, bathing the Chicago sky in a warm color bath of golds, pinks and oranges. Despite the early hour and the fact that the entire team needed to be dressed in their finest clothes (or whatever nice clothes they could filch off their housemates), there was remarkably little chatter inside the garage of Burnout's Custom Cycles as news crews gathered outside for the press conference.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Gnawgahyde asked the assembled teens, a note of doubt in his voice. Burn-Out, Heart-Wrencher, and he would be sitting in, but it was really Shadowatch's show today.

"Not as if we have a choice." Andi grumbled, straightening the front of her button-up blouse one last time. "I can't in good conscience let this slide. You got your notes, dude?" She looked to Neal, who nodded an affirmative.

"Yes." He spoke, glancing outside at the makeshift podium rigged with microphones. "They're waiting for us."

"Then I guess we best not keep them waiting any longer." She sighed. "Come on, gang; time to make Spike throw a hissy-fit."

Anyone living in Illinois and within view of a television screen tuned in that morning. While constantly doing public relation stunts or PSAs, the cast of "Growing Up Biker" had never called a press conference before, making this an important occasion. News reporters gathered around the stage readied their pens and writing tablets and double-checked their microphones as the young stars and their handlers walked out of the shop. They lined up single-file behind the podium as one of the public's favorite foreign exchange students, Neal Sharra, stepped up to speak.

"Imagine this with me." He began. "You're a teenager whose only goal in life is simply to survive high school. That's challenging enough, but then odd things start to happen to you. You suddenly feel hot wherever you go, the result of a fever that doctors cannot explain. You don't have the blaring headaches or stiff muscles associated with the kinds of typical childhood illnesses that traditionally cause a fever like yours. In fact, the only other symptom is the intense burning sensation prickling your skin. You've tried lotions, gels, and even soaking in icy water, but nothing seems to help.

"One weekend, just to try to take your mind off your mysteriously non-contagious illness, you go for a walk in the park. That's when everything goes to hell." He paused, collecting himself and giving the reporters a chance to write down their notes before continuing with his speech. "The burning feeling in your hands becomes unbearable, and what has been building inside of you for the past few weeks finally boils to the surface. To your shock and horror, your hands catch fire, but your flesh does not burn. Bystanders and onlookers scream in terror as your fight-or-flight response kicks in. You run away, scared of yourself just as much as those other people are. Unfortunately, your unintentional pyrotechnics display has attracted a handful of cops, who approach you with their guns drawn. Confused and terrified, you throw your hands in the air and scream at them not to come any closer; it's not safe for them to be too close when you don't know exactly what's happening to you. But, as your hands raise upward, a jet of fire shoots out and ignites a tree. You don't even have time to tell the police that it was an accident, because they shot first, putting a bullet through your skull before you could apologize. This is what was going through the mind of the young man so senselessly gunned down on Sunday."

As Neal stepped away from the podium and tried valiantly to maintain his composure, Andi Creed—his older and taller cast-mate—stepped up to take his place. Now the press was curious. It was a well-documented fact that tact was not one of the young blonde girl's strong suits. Why have her stand and speak after such a tear-jerking story?

"We, the cast and crew of 'Growing Up Biker', would like to offer our most heartfelt and sincere condolences to the family and friends left behind when the life of this law-abiding young man was cut so tragically and needlessly short over the weekend. No parent should have to bury their child like that." The expression of sorrow on her face hardened into a determined stare that looked misplaced on a fifteen-year-old. "And it was needless." She continued, contempt clearly evident in her voice. "I usually don't make it a habit to condemn first-responders or the police, but this occasion is a marked exception. These two officers, trusted by parents and guardians all across the city to keep their children safe from violence, are no longer worthy of the badge they carry. They let fear override their judgment on numerous prior occasions. Accusations of unnecessary use of force and discrimination against minorities litter their service records, and their personal lives, from what we have uncovered, are even worse. The information is out there, if you choose to look for it and honestly wasn't that hard to find. They are an embarrassment to the Chicago Police Department and humanity at large. On behalf of the family and well informed citizens of Chicago, we here at "Growing Up Biker" call for the immediate and swift removal of those two officers from the police force and a bar on their service records so that they may not serve in any law-enforcement roles ever again."

As newsrooms for the major and minor networks buzzed to life in an attempt to search out and confirm the information presented in her speech, a few more experienced reporters eyed the tall girl critically. That sounded like the well-rehearsed speech of an experienced, mature spokesperson; not one that a teenage reality TV star should give at a press conference. She acted far older, far stronger than the other young celebrities who were supposedly her peers. In fact, all of the teenagers seemed to be acting in the most mature fashion anyone had ever seen of the young hooligans. It was like a switch had flipped today, allowing everyone to see that they were neither stupid nor naïve, and certainly not blind.

As she stepped backwards into the lineup with uncanny grace (some had been sure she would trip and fall when she started), Walter O. Jones, warmly referred to as Burn-Out by other bikers, stepped up. Was there really anything else that needed to be said?

"I've been dealing with these kids since before we started filming. Two of them I consider the sons I never had." He glanced proudly to the two Dukes brothers. "We all have our favorites here, but I'm getting off topic. As a role model, caretaker, and legal guardian, it don't make a difference to me what the kids can do. It doesn't matter if one of them wakes up tomorrow with purple skin and yellow eyes; they're still the same kids they always were. We've always skewed the grading curve here on the set, and we continue to be unpopular with certain activist groups. We know that open support of mutants in their campaign to be treated as the human beings they are will make us even more unpopular, but to be honest...we don't care. We don't care about the dirty looks. We don't care about protestors camping with picket signs across the street, and we certainly don't care if hateful adults try to hurt our kids. If the kids don't kick their asses, we will and that's a promise. There ain't any way we could tell our kids to hate someone for being different when they're all so different themselves. They're smarter than that, and so are we. Popular or not, we know where we stand. Can the same be said of the rest of you?" Without further elaboration, the muscular African-American man walked away, leading the rest of the cast back inside the shop. Several reporters scrambled for a quick comment, but none got a response.

However, in a matter of only a few hours, the video footage went viral.

"How dare you!" Spike Freeman's voice roared over the telephone. The producer was far from pleased with this morning's press conference, and was now unleashing his anger on Burn-Out. "I specifically said no press conferences! What part of that did you people not understand?!"

"And the kids said they would boycott that order if things got hairy, which they did." The African-American Dreadnok wasn't fazed by the producer's outburst. He'd heard far worse conniption fits from Zarana, and the worst Freeman could actually do to them was cancel the show. "They warned you weeks ago about this, Freeman. You seem to have conveniently forgotten that."

"That footage is being replayed all across the country! Everyone knows who those kids are now and it's making my bosses nervous."

"Zartan doesn't seem worried." Of course, Zartan hadn't actually called yet… "Besides, this means that the show will catch the attention of a national audience. Your network may not want us after this, but I'm sure we can find another one." Somebody out there would be willing to deal with the controversy.

Spike growled, clearly unhappy with the ultimatum. The higher-ups over the vast network of stations lumped under the same national name had considered airing "Growing Up Biker" on stations in California, New York, and across the Midwestern states before the press conference. He simply couldn't risk them trying to switch networks right now, not when the quarterly ratings reviews were so close at hands. That show was one of the big money makers for their little corner of the cable market. "We'll see how things play out with the quarterly reviews. I can't make any more promises after that." This could either make ratings soar or nose-dive, and he wasn't entirely sure which one would be the end result.

"That's all we need." Burn-Out remarked. "Don't worry about us; we can take care of ourselves."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Spike groaned.

Meanwhile, In Bayville…

"This is unacceptable!" The Baroness hissed. The Cobra agents chosen for the infiltration mission inside Bayville High School were gathered in an empty classroom during the lunch break. She glared venomously at Zartan and his siblings. "I thought you had those rugrats under control!"

"They are doing exactly what they should be doing." After twenty years with Cobra, the Baroness's outbursts didn't even garner a raised eyebrow from Zartan. "Damage control needed to be done in the Chicago situation. They did not reveal anything about themselves or their affiliation to Cobra. Even if the network chooses to let them go, we still come out on top in this deal. And in case you haven't noticed, our children are not the ones you should be concerned about."

"He's right. Magneto's planning something in Chicago. You heard the audio yourself." Zarana chimed in. "And since the plonker never seems to do his own dirty work, you can bet the Brotherhood will be going as well."

"You cannot let those little delinquents interfere." The Eastern European woman snarled.

"Which delinquents? Ours or theirs?" Zandar asked with a shrug. It was a perfectly valid question, given the circumstances.

"Yours, you baboon! Do not let your delinquents engage the other delinquents!" The Baroness bellowed. "We cannot afford for either of the other mutant groups to learn of our true identities, and if they fight Shadowatch, they will surely figure it out!"

"That's not going to work very well." Zarana frowned, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "No way is Shadowatch going to let a brawl like that on their turf go unpunished."

"They can pick a fight at a later time." Zartan waved. "I'm sure they will have plenty of other chances to brawl with the Brotherhood." Although whether they took those chances or not was a slightly different matter. The fact that three of the original six members had very strong ties to one of the Brotherhood made matters a bit more problematic than usual. "Besides, the teenagers are not my main concern."

"How could it not be?" Destro's girlfriend countered. "Sure, chaos caused by the X-Men and Brotherhood is good for Cobra if they're left alone, but if a third group comes into play…"

"I can safely say that at present Sabretooth is a more viable threat to our mission than a bunch of social outcasts." The mercenary glared at her. They had yet-to-be-officially-confirmed information that the old Canadian mutant had been sent to Chicago by Magneto for an unspecified mission. "If his job gets in the way of the plans Shadowatch already has, we will be down the only young mutants Cobra presently employs."

"Then tell them to stay out of his way!"

"Yes, that will work so well when one of our heavy-hitters happens to also be his daughter." He countered. She stared in astonishment, clearly having forgotten that piece of information.

"His daughter?" Zandar put his hand to his mouth, struggling not to laugh at the expression on the Baroness's face.

"Oh, come on now, woman, Cobra has known that for two years! You do not simply forget important information like that!"

"Do not patronize me, Zartan!"

"Turn-about is fair play! Or unfair play, not that that matters to us." Zarana growled, jumping back into the argument. "Quit trying to tell us how to run our goddamn team!"

"I was put in charge of this mission and I will manage any issues that might jeopardize its success!" the Baroness hissed.

"Not when it concerns Shadowatch, you won't!" Zartan's tone dropped to a low growl. "We will deal with them as we see fit when we deem it appropriate, even if that means one of us has to leave in the middle of a school day." The kids came first; end of discussion.

"I'd gladly sub in Chemistry." Zandar spoke up. Teaching the damn art class was rather quickly leading to a level of hypertension Shadowatch never deigned to trouble him with. Their kids knew where the boundaries were; these shallow little plonkers didn't even know what boundaries were, let alone where they were located. "Art's an elective class; they can do without it for a day or two."

A feline growl sounded from the Baroness. She obviously wasn't happy with that development, but she was fast realizing there wasn't a lot she could actually do to stop it. And it would get Zartan out of her hair for a day or so, which was a real perk in this situation. "Fine." She spat. "But if they mess this up, the blame will fall on your head, Zartan."

"It usually does." The Dreadnok leader grumbled. This was going to be a long week.