First Contact
"Stop… drop… shut 'em down, open up shop
Oooohhh, Nooooooo,
That's how Ruff Ryders roooooll…"
The old black Cadillac DeVille rolled down the street, music blaring from a sound system that was worth ten times more than the car. Inside the car, four dark figures were having a heated debate over their next intended target. It was a clash of sense and sensibilities – a meeting of the minds, as it were.
"…I'm just saying that we need to do MORE than just destroy that den of iniquity. We need to make an example out of it! It's just the white man's way of poisonin' the 'hood…"
"X… n*gga what crack have you been hittin'? DEN OF INIQUITY?!? Come on… this is a crackhouse!"
"Yeah man, Holly's right. White people don't put the crack pipes in folks' mouths. People got the sense God gave 'em to do what they want."
X looked at Wise-Son and Holocaust in the front seats, a little dumbfounded by their rebukes. "Really Wise? Did black people grow the cocaine? Did they make the chemicals that refine it? Did they send that sh*t over here?"
"Yeah, but X", Wise answered, "As soon as that stuff gets over here, there are plenty of brothers waitin' in line to help 'em sell that sh*t and get a cut o' the profits. (He gave Holocaust a sideways glance) In fact, they'll gladly KILL each other for a bigger piece o' the pie."
"Don't start with me Wise! We got a deal." Holocaust had been down this conversational path before. This was the part where Wise-Son chides him about his "Street-Pharmaceutical" business. "We hit the crack houses, Blood Syndicate keeps all the money, and I get the product!"
"And resell it", finished Wise.
"Up in Harrisville and Kenosha. Let them trailer-park trash boys smoke it all up! I don't give a sh*t!"
"Some of it always comes back down here man, you know that."
"That's why we get it back! Man, I don't understand ya'll! We got the opportunity of a lifetime!" This hero-Robin Hood stuff wasn't worth it for Holocaust. Now, revenge and organized crime were right up his alley. "The gov'ment tried to smoke our asses, but now we got them mutha f*ckaz over the fire!"
"But Holly…"
"Don't gimme that 'But Holly' sh*t, Wise… forming the Syndicate was genius, man, I'll give you that. But we ain't doing enough with it! In a year… we could OWN this f*cken city. It's all about power, my n*ggaz. And right now, we got ALL the power. Cops scared of us, the fed's scared… ain't NO mutha-f*ckaz got sh*t on us! F*ck 'em all!"
"But Holly…", Wise let out a sigh of exasperation. "I don't know why I repeat myself. I keep saying over and over, we need to get ourselves more organized. Take our time, and get ready for the counter attack."
"Bu…"
"Let me finish, dog. You're right, we'll own this whole f*cken STATE in a year, but only after we beat 'em for real. They're scared, and they're watching us. The government, or whatever X-files mutha-f*ckaz who run this country… they're gonna send somebody after us. Somebody who they think can deal with a bunch of super-powered gang-bangers. It was like that sh*t we saw on TV last year in New York. Super-high-powered folks!"
"Yeah", added X, "Cuz we're their worst nightmare. N*ggaz who can fly and sh*t."
"Exactly, Com-man-do X." Wise emphasized the Commando part of X's gang name in a way that clearly annoyed X. "We are their worst nightmare. Just about every surviving crew in this city has a super gang-banger in it. That's why I made sure that most of us were part of OUR OWN super-gang. It's cool that we ain't fighting each other. I'm glad about that. But what we need to do is get ready to run this sh*t military-style. Cuz mark my words brothaz, they're coming for us."
"They already are, my thuggish brethren!" Everyone turned to the until-now silent Virgil Hawkins – a.k.a. Static (the most electrifying teenager in history, or at least in his own mind). Virg was a nice kid, a near genius computer geek. But whereas Wise-Son was great at tactical matters and building consensus, Mr. Hawkins was a wise-cracking clown who often offended the "cool" folks, and used his newfound 'Static' persona to be the hero-guy he always wanted to be – too bad he couldn't tell the folks at Sadler High! By now, everyone saw the flashing red and blue lights that were following their car. Cops. No one broke a sweat.
"Static, you know what to do", said Wise. Virgil rolled down his window and extended his arm pointing to the car behind them. A crackle noise preceded the blue-ish beam of electricity that shot from his hands and smacked the police cruiser, circling it almost like a rope tied around it. The car shook for a moment, and then… began to rise in the air. The police officer inside quickly opened the door and jumped out before the car got too high – cursing loudly as he hit the ground and rolled hard (ahhhh, that darn momentum). "Holocaust, fire it up!" Holocaust looked at the floating police car in his rearview mirror. He seemed to squint a little, and then, quite suddenly, the car exploded into a fiery ball of flames! It wasn't that an explosion caused the car to burn up… the car just ignited itself. Like if someone dipped the entire thing in gasoline or kerosene. Inside and out, every single piece of it started burning at the same time.
X looked displeased. "I don't see why you always let the cop escape Static. You could magnetically seal the door. Hell, you could stick him to his seat. I've seen you do it."
"Because X…" said Wise, "that cop will go back to his HQ and tell the others and scare them even more. The lower police morale is, the better for us. They don't ever come near Paris Island anymore."
"Darn SKIPPY", interrupted Virgil. Noticing the expressions on his co-passengers' faces, he said "What!? Some of us around here can say a whole 3 words WITHOUT having to cuss all the time. And SKIPPY is an awesome peanut butter… and pretty darned manly! Well, at least the chunky kind."
"Why haven't we kicked his ass yet?" Holocaust had little tolerance for their beloved nerdling's humor. But even though Virg was not a gang member, Holocaust personally sought him out after the Big Bang and recruited him to join the Syndicate.
"Because I'd zap all your beepers and cell phones."
"The man has a point", said Wise. "Holly, turn here on Moor's Blvd. There it is. Our 'den of iniquity'. It's SHOWTIME gentlemen!"
"Question", Static asked (causing some eye-rolling on X's part), "Why don't I just fly us all to these places instead of driving in Holly's caddy? I could lift this thing and just swoop us in!"
"Cuz I like to DRIVE my car, not dive bomb in it!"
"And you're scared as sh*t to fly Holly.", added X.
"That too. Sue me. I'm human? If folks was meant to fly, then we'd all have wings and sh*t!"
"Can it guys. Let's get down to business and do these thug-wannabes some serious damage. It's go-time!" With that, Holocaust parked his car, and he and Wise, Commando X, and Static got out and faced their crackhouse target. In a mere minutes this place would be a smoldering ruin, and all the inhabitants would be run off or killed, depending on which ones actually fought back.
~~~
Westchester, NY –
The Blackbird lifted off its secret subterranean landing pad, and blasted westward towards the city of Dakota. As Cyclops put it, if anyone could detect that plane, they DESERVED to capture it. As it was, the Blackbird reached Dakota skies in a matter of minutes, not even enough time for Wolverine to complain about Cyke's landing (which hadn't improved all that much). As the plane hovered over the city undetected, Cyclops took the time to re-brief the others on the mission.
"Remember, this is a blind contact operation. We don't know what to expect, but in all likelihood it'll be hostile. After all, what we do know is that these mutants are willing to commit crimes out in the open, even in front of news cameras."
"I still can't believe they're not afraid of public reaction", said Ororo. This whole situation made her uncomfortable. At the mansion, discussing the Big Bang always made her angry. She still didn't agree with their official "non-response". She admired Logan for at least TRYING to do something.
"Well Storm", Scott responded, "news reports state that they act in groups. That might account for their boldness."
Jean just shook her head, "No Scott, not groups. Criminal gangs. I just hope they'll listen to us."
"I hope so too, but we must err on the side of caution. We just can't take any chances."
"One-Eye's right." Jean, Storm, and even Cyclops looked at Wolverine with mouths agape. "What? I agree with him. These guys were willing to snuff each other out BEFORE they got mutated. I don't imagine they got any nicer." Wolverine shifted a little in his uniform. He was still getting used to the feel of the black leathery material – supposed to be some kind of Kevlar weave that stopped small-arms fire. Of course, he had no problem getting used to the way it looked on Jean! Or Ororo! Or Marie! *Whoa there, time to change thought patterns before Jean picks up on it*.
Jean's sudden smirk gave him the feeling that she may have already picked up on Logan's thoughts, but she never said anything. Probing minds was a no-no in her book, and she would never knowingly invade anyone's thought-life. But sometimes, if she was thinking about someone, she could almost pick up their strongest thoughts or emotions. *Stop looking at Logan's uniform*, she chided herself.
"Logan", Marie turned to Wolverine and gently placed her hand over his gloved fist, "You think that these guys are really that dangerous?" Even though she was in the advanced training curriculum, Marie was not fond of potentially hostile encounters like Logan was – her only time out being the fiasco with Magneto. She'd been trained to incapacitate anyone, and that training gave her a little confidence, but it was a contact skill. She had to get real close to her target. And since these targets were traveling in rabid wolf-packs, this was not a pleasant prospect.
Wolverine, sensing her fear behind the question, opened his hand up and held her smaller hand. He leaned in close and whispered, "Nothing is going to happen to you kid. I swear it. I'd die before I let anything happen to you."
"Don't say that Logan, don't ever say that. I don't want to lose you again."
"You couldn't lose me even if you tried."
The Blackbird lurched a bit as its landing gear extended, and the plane made an abrupt stop. "I know Logan", said Cyclops, "And YES, I call this a landing."
"Wasn't going to say it."
"Yes you were."
The women collectively rolled their eyes at the sight of grown men acting like competing school-boys. After disembarking from the jet, the group opted to stay together, with Logan leading the way into the urban wasteland that was Paris Island. After all, Logan had actually BEEN there before. Logan led them to the one man he knew who could have some reliable information on the whereabouts of the Blood Syndicate: Rev. Tat Larsen.
Upon opening the door to the storefront church, Tat Larsen nearly jumped out of his skin. Not only was Logan standing there, but he was surrounded by 4 leather-clad people… one with white hair, and the another one had some weird glowing red glasses. The other two looked normal, albeit the streak of gray in the younger girl's auburn hair struck the old man as odd. "Uhhhh.. why don't you all come in and take a load off." Logan was quick with the introductions, and the five X-men were soon seated and ready to question Rev. Larsen.
"Revered Larsen", said Cyclops, "what do you know about this Blood Syndicate? Our information is very spotty."
"Oh? It's the Blood Syndicate you're after? Hmmm… They popped up a little after the Big Bang. Started recruiting almost every Bang-Baby they could get their hands on."
"Every what?" Marie cocked her head in a manner that made the gray streak in her hair hang over her face, hiding part of it. "What's a Bang-Baby?"
Tat sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee a bit. He leaned in close to the X-Men and continued his narrative. "The Bang-babies are the people who survived the Big Bang and came out changed. Everybody but the cops and the news knows it was the gas that did it. Folks are still getting cancer and dying from that gas, but a few OTHER folks started doing some weird stuff… like flying, and breaking stuff, and even shooting fire."
Hearing these descriptions, the blood drained from Rouge's face. Facing fiery gang-members who could fly was NOT on her list of things to do if you want to live long.
Cyclops stood up and paced back and forth through the aisles. If it weren't for his visor, they'd be able to see his eyes squint as a million thoughts were coursing through his head. Plans, plans, and more plans were being mulled over. The voices of the other people in the room became distant and garbled, as his tactically, analytically-educated mind processed the information and tried to formulate some scenario that minimized the potential bloodshed.
"… I said, WHAT'S THE PLAN?!?" Cyke jerked his head back as Logan's voice snapped him back into reality.
Quickly composing his thoughts, he answered (in Fearless Leader voice), "We split up into teams, to minimize our perceived threat to the gang members. But we maintain radio contact, especially when we make contact with the Blood Syndicate."
"I'll go with Marie and Ororo", Logan quickly asserted, "Marie's green, and I'm not an energy-wielder."
"That's almost exactly what I would've suggested", Cyclops said. "I'll go with Jean, since she can do area-effect damage to multiple attackers, but Marie is a close combat fighter. Her abilities would compliment our team more than yours."
"She's a newbie, One-Eye! And I'm not letting her out my sight on one of these X-boy missions again! You want to be responsible for her?" The word "responsible" dripped from Wolverine's lips with a menace that betrayed his calm demeanor. Not wanting to risk the possibility of Wolverine holding him "accountable" for Marie, Cyclops merely nodded in agreement with the team rosters and all five X-Men laid out a plan to split up and search Paris Island.
Wolverine, Ororo, and Marie went north, while Cyclops and Jean, with a map in tow, headed south. Cyclops couldn't help but stare at the blasted out urban wasteland. This neighborhood lost its war with poverty, crime, and hopelessness nearly two decades ago. Burned out, abandoned tenements gave way to burned out INHABITED tenements. If it weren't for the street signs and different liquor stores, pawn shops, and small markets that lined each street, he and Jean would've quickly become lost in the urban maze.
Marie, Ororo, and Wolverine crossed Moor's Blvd into Lincoln drive. The women were just following Wolverine, who almost seemed to be literally following his nose. He then stopped abruptly, and took in a very deep breathe through his nose. "Hold on… I smell something weird…". Those words froze Marie in her tracks. Ororo began scanning the area, which looked a lot like the other run-down city blocks, and saw nothing out of the ordinary – people out at night, mostly in groups, and hanging outside of the small shops and liquor stores. She then noticed some young men across the street eyeing them very closely. Too closely.
"What is it Logan?", whispered Marie.
"Wait… It's like a person is here,… but they keep fading in and out of my senses. The scent is here one moment, and GONE the next."
"Are you sure that there is someone there Logan?" asked Ororo.
"Positive. You two stay close by me and… Ooommf!!" Logan suddenly doubled over in pain. He felt as if someone had just punched him several times in the stomach. As he bent over, he could hear Marie scream his name. He had to clear his head and get ready to fight. SCHUNK!!! Out popped the claws on both hands, "Ororo, you see anybody… light 'em up!!!"
"But Logan, I don't see anyone, I…uhhh…", she couldn't believe her eyes. Standing close to Logan was what looked like a ghost – the ghost of a young latino man. He was fading in and out, like an image from a television with bad reception. "Marie, get behind me.. NOW!!!" Marie, didn't need to be told again to take cover. As she saw the blurry image of a man walking toward Logan, she let out a small yelp and fought her every instinct to run over to Wolverine. She immediately obeyed Ororo's command. "Who are you? And why have you attacked us?" Ororo's eyes were already frosting over. The wind began to pick up a little, as clouds began to roll in, covering the night sky.
"Heard you guys were looking for the Blood Syndicate, right?"
"That's right Casper!" said Wolverine as he stood up again. "You better start talking and fast, or I'll cut you a new butt-hole!"
"Really?" the stranger asked, looking amused. "Anyhow, you guys want to find the Blood Syndicate, right? Super Gang-bangers?"
"Yes… yes we do. Can you tell us where to find them?" Ororo asked, but she already knew the answer to her own question.
"Lady, right now, I'm about as much of the Blood Syndicate as you punk-mutha-f*ckaz can handle!" The ghost-man just cocked his head, and raised his eyebrows quickly, as if to dare Ororo to do something. Which Ororo did. The winds began to pickup furiously. In a matter of seconds, it felt like a hurricane was bearing down on that street. Onlookers quickly ran away to take cover inside various buildings. Even the gang-members who had been staring at them took off for safe refuge. Ororo then directed the full fury of the makeshift storm at the young ghost-like man. It had absolutely no effect… that is, until he tried to become solid in order to hit her. As soon as he gained some solid mass, the gale-force winds picked him up and hurled him across the street, slamming him into a brick wall… hard. Ororo's eyes widened in surprise as she watched the young man slide down the wall, but fade out as he did.
"He fades out if he's… unconscious?" She couldn't believe it. "That's impossible. You mean he has to USE his power to become solid? How could he exist like that?" She walked over to Logan, who was getting up and being attended to by Marie. Ororo took out her 2-way radio and contacted Cyclops.
"Yeah Storm, what's going on?" Cyclops' voice came through clearly – thanks to enhancements and modifications done to their radios.
"Cyclops, we have been attacked by a member of the Blood Syndicate. There may be more in the vicinity. You and Jean need to get over here before you get ambushed too."
"Is anyone hurt?" Jean asked. "Scott, we need to join them.
"OK, Storm, stay put. Jean and I are near the Blackbird. We'll be there in...
"Forget the Blackbird, Scott", Jean said. "I have a better idea!"
Ororo could hear Scott mumble something to Jean, and then heard him yell, "WHAT THE…. Jean, be careful… we're going to hit something! Watch out for that tower… higher, higher… No, I mean, lower… LOWER!" Ororo heard the distinct sound of an optic blast. "Oh my God, that was a close one… Please Jean, slow down a bit before we…"
"Scott, we're already here", Jean said, as she and Cyclops hovered above their 3 comrades. Storm looked up and giggled at the worried look on Scott's face. Huge beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Apparently, their Fearless Leader isn't all that Fearless.
"Jean… (catching his breath)… put us down…. GENTLY!" Scott wasn't afraid of flying, in a plane that is. Being telekinetically hurled from one end of the city to another was not his idea of flying the friendly skies. As his feet got a firm grip on solid ground, he turned to his fiancée and asked, "how did you lock onto their position so quickly?"
"I used Logan's mind to guide me. I figured he'd have the best sense of tele-location." Scott stifled a groan at the thought of Jean linking with Logan's mind. Who knows WHAT else passed through between them. He turned to Logan who was already on his feet and stalking the area – claws out.
"You see something?"
"Can it, Cyclops! When Hurricane Storm blew through here everybody high-tailed it. But not EVERYBODY." The warm, caring, noble personality of the man named Logan faded… to be replaced by the rabid Wolverine. Wolverine crouched down like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey, claws out and gleaming. He drew another long breath through his nostrils. In a low growling voice, he said (barked), "Cyclops, Jean, Storm, Marie… get ready. We're about to have company!"
"Marie, get back behind Storm and me", said Cyclops, taking up a defensive posture in the same direction that Wolverine was watching. "Jean…"
"I know the drill Scott, I'm scanning the area for anyone with hostile intent… it's tough in this densely populated neighborhood to distinguish if the hostility is meant towards us or someone else."
"Well, if you did a slight mind probe..."
"No Scott! You know I won't do that! That would be invading people's minds and that goes against everything I believe in… that WE believe in, right?"
"Right Jean, I'm sorry. I… heads up! Here they come!"
"Oh God…" Marie yelped slightly as her body tensed up. One year of training was not enough for this, regardless of how intense it was supposed to have been. *Only on covert missions, last resort, that's what they told me…*, she thought. She saw Storm also grow rigid, and she tilted her head back a bit, as the winds again began to pick up. "I bet her eyes are snow-white by now", Marie whispered, and tugged at her gloves to expose her lethal-skinned hand. She quickly covered it back up. *Close range, up-close, by surprise. Remember your training*, she could almost hear Cyclops' voice repeat those words as she mentally chastised herself.
There they stood, facing southward on Lincoln drive, Wolverine and Cyclops in front, Jean and Storm (the "area-effect" combatants who didn't need to physically aim their "shots") right behind them, and Marie in the rear – since her power would be used as a last resort to incapacitate someone… or worse.
And then they appeared.
There were about twenty five young men walking towards the X-Men, of varying ages ranging from their late teens into their late twenties. Most of them were African-American, but there were a few latinos as well. Many wore corn-row braids, dreadlocks, afros, and other popularized urban hairstyles, while the rest wore varying hats, baseball caps, or skull caps (notably, all the headgear was black in some way). At about 20 feet away, the crowd of young men stopped. They eyed the X-Men with expressions ranging from "intimidating" to "murderous". Not too many variations, actually. After what seemed like forever, but was actually 5 seconds, four African-American young men stepped forward.
The first one wore his hair in corn-rows, and had a black bandana tied around his head. He was slightly taller than the rest, and you could see his slim, yet muscled, frame coming through his overly long, white, tank-top tee-shirt. It hung way past his waistline, and over the over-sized khaki slacks he wore. Several gold rings adorned his hands, as well as a rather thick gold necklace that hung from his neck, down his chest, with a charm of the words "Spark It Up". The second and third young men each wore black baseball caps. However, the taller one's cap was backwards, and made of leather. He also wore a long, black leather jacket over his white tee-shirt, and oversized black jeans. The shorter young man, who was quite skinnier (and younger) than his companions, had a black "Dakota Eagles" cap on, with the top cut off to reveal his braided up hair that stuck out and looked like a wild mop on his head. He wore a long black and white polo shirt, that went over his baggy black jeans. The fourth young man had a close-cropped hair cut, almost bald, and had no shirt on, but did have blue "cargo" pants with many, many pockets. You could see his many tattoos all over his arms, and even on his abdomen. There was a picture of Malcolm X on his shoulder, and the words "Nur Allah" on his stomach (Light of God). He was stockier than the others, but also easily twice as muscular.
The young man in the leather cap spoke first, "Ya'll came lookin' for the Blood Syndicate… like I knew you would."
"Listen to me, we're the X-Men. We've come from…" Cyclops tried to speak, but was quickly cut off.
"I don't care who you with!!!" The young man spat back at Cyclops. "You got two choices, b*tch… leave now, walking… or get shipped back to your boss in a doggy bag, you feel me?"
"Scott, this is going to get out of control", Jean said. Addressing the gathering of men, she stated, "Look, we are not here to hurt you or anyone. We just came to…"
"Bullsh*t!" Shouted someone from the crowd. "That black cracka b*tch blew my dog Fade into a wall!"
"Only after he already hit me in the stomach, you worthless piece of gangster-garbage!" Wolverine fought every instinct to rip these new chest cavities.
"Wolverine, you are NOT helping!" Scott's voice was dripping with the patented "Fearless Leader" tone.
"Gangster-garbage?" said the shirtless, tattooed young man. "That's it. You want some, come get some, cracka muthaf*cka!" he stepped in closer to Cyclops.
"Not today kids!" Wolverine sprang forward, claws bared. The young man with the leather cap stepped in front of his shirtless friend, just as Wolverine slashed his chest with both arms. Everyone gasped.
Wolverine stared wide-eyed at his handiwork. He wasn't intending to cut deep, but was sure the leather-capped young man would need a new abdomen, since he stepped into a blow that wasn't aimed at him. But that wasn't what startled him. What had Wolverine, and the rest of the X-men, shocked was that while the young man's white tee-shirt was ripped in the chest… there wasn't even the slightest scratch on him. "This was my favorite shirt…" was all Wolverine heard before a roundhouse right caught him square in his unprepared face. He tumbled back to the floor, spouting up some blood through his nose and mouth.
"This is not good", he thought to himself. And the fight was on.