AN: you know, as soon as I figure out how to work italics on this thing, it'll get a bit more interesting.
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As it turned out, it was not until later the next day that Logan was able to talk to Hank McCoy about what had happened. He was pacing in front of the medical room when Storm finally showed up.
"Logan," she said in a surprised tone. "How long have you been here?"
"Since you last checked on him," Logan growled. "Is he awake yet?"
"The Professor said that he might be waking soon," Ororo said. "Why don't you wait inside? It'll be easier."
Logan shrugged and followed her in. He pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, leaning on the back, as she checked the still sleeping man's vital signs. Apparently pleased with what she saw, the weather witch laid out some pills. "If he wakes up still in pain, give him this," she said, pointing at one. "If he'd like to go back to sleep, have him take these; they're light sleeping pills." Logan nodded restlessly, and she gave him a soft, understanding look. He glanced away.
Storm walked to the door, pausing and placing a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder as she passed him. "Logan," she said quietly. "Everything will be fine."
He felt himself tense. "Sure, Storm," was all he said, but he clenched his jaw to hold back the thoughts he had.
She frowned. "You may not believe it, but we care for you here very much," she said, a little firmer this time. "If this isn't what you're looking for, or if you find out something about yourself that you don't like, we will still care for you. You're still a member of the X-Men here, no matter who you were---before."
Surprisingly, Logan found himself relax. "Thanks, Storm," he said, looking up at her. She smiled, her teeth as brilliantly white as her hair, and left. Logan sighed, and went back to watching the Beast sleep. To his surprise, the man had shifted and was staring back at him.
"You don't recall anything?" Hank asked, in a voice that was gently puzzled. "You don't even know who you were before the Lake?"
Not saying anything, Logan shook his head.
Hank tried to turn, to look him straight in the eye. He attempted to push himself up into a sitting position and winced when his arm moved. Logan stood up to help him raise the bed to a folded posture. Hank nodded his thanks and leant back against the pillow again. "I didn't know your memory loss went that far," he said. "And it's lasted that long?" At Logan's nod he went on. "As a physician, I think I should tell you that complete recovery of your memory after that long is exceedingly unlikely. Even with a man of Xavier's power, it is possible that the brain cells that held the memory could be destroyed. Your earlier memories could be irretrievable."
The pit fell from Logan's stomach. Is that why, after all these years, nothing could spark anything in his memory? The earliest back he could remember was the Alkali Lake facility. Would he never get his life back? "That's why it's important that I know everything I can," he struggled to say.
Hank nodded. "Alright."
Just then there was the small implosion of air that signaled Kurt's arrival. He glanced at the two other men. "Zhe Professor said zhat you vere avake," he said to Hank. "And that you vere down here," he added to Logan. "Vould anyone like lunch? I vould also like to hear zhe story vith Laurel." He didn't mention anything about the mark on Hank's neck, but Logan knew it was foremost on his mind.
"A ham sandwich'd be great," Logan said. Kurt nodded, and looked at Hank.
He grimaced and put a clawed hand on his stomach. "No thanks. I'll wait until everything settles down first."
"Be right back!" Kurt said, and disappeared.
"Isn't he the one who attacked the President about a year or two ago?" asked Hank, as soon as Kurt was gone.
At the neutral tone of his voice, Logan furrowed his brow at the man, searching for any hint of censure. "He was under Stryker's control," he growled. "I believe you know what that feels like."
A dark look crossed the Beast's face: pain, self-anger, understanding and fear. Logan felt guilty almost immediately for being so callous. "I do," Hank said quietly. He ran a hand across his arm, gently brushing the fur, his eyes on the claws at the tips of his fingers.
Logan made a useless gesture with one hand. He had reacted badly at the supposed insult of his friend. Hank finally tore his eyes away and glanced at him. A slight smile tugged at his lips. "What?" Logan asked warily.
"Laurel always said that you weren't good at apologies," Hank said. "She said one time that when you felt guilty you'd usually get angry right after. Before that happens, I understand. You were just being protective."
Again it hit Logan; that's exactly what he usually did. How did this girl, whom he had never met, know him so well? But he looked up at Hank anyway and nodded.
Kurt "bamfed" into the room again with two plates. He handed one to Logan and took up a half-sitting half-crouched position on the other table, with deference to his tail. He took a big bite of his roast beef sandwich, his sharp teeth sliding into the bread wickedly. "Fo?" he asked, his mouth full. "How ded you moot her?"
Hank grinned, and Logan, once again feeling relaxed around this man, grinned back. "It was a while back," he started. "I was working on a form of gene therapy that would suppress the newly discovered X gene, as requested by the people who funded my studies. I had just finished a prototype of the therapy, a sort of super-condensed gel that would---" he paused. "Do you know anything about how gene therapy works? The newly developed studies that have started to help with cystic fibrosis and some forms of cancer?"
When both of them shook their head, he sighed, but did not look surprised. "Currently not many people do, even after we mapped the genetic code. Most forms of gene therapy, for suppressing or replacing detrimental genes already in a living human being, are still in the trial stages. So what I created was something like a virus, which would implant the new genetic code, that of a human without the X gene, in the cells it infected. It was also sort of a cancerous virus, so it would infect all cells indiscriminately. But the gel I created was just the virus condensed. It wasn't the therapy in and among itself. But that's not what some people thought…"
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Hank McCoy stepped out of his car and sighed happily. He was finally home. After almost a year of working in the lab in Florida, he was happy to take a break and go home. "Home" meant his house in the outskirts of Bullford, Montana. It even had a small laboratory that he had built with the money from his first published report. He unlocked the door and threw the keys on the countertop. He placed his hands on a side-table and did a quick jump and flip combo and landed on the couch. All what he wanted to do was relax. He kicked off a shoe and grabbed the remote with a foot. Flicking on the TV, he sighed again and relaxed against the cushions. No one knew he was home, and no one would bother him until he finally had to go to town to do some shopping. He was just fine with eating dried goods for a while.
Suddenly the door burst open. A huge bright light was focused through the doorway and men in fatigues thudded in as Hank blinked in confusion. "There he is!" shouted one. "Get him!" shouted another. That got him into action. He leapt, bounded off the wall, and raced for the back door. There was another explosion, and the back door itself flew off its hinges and raced for him. Thanking his reflexes, Hank dove out of the way just in time. Men started to run in through the back door as well. They shot at him, tiny darts that Hank heard buzzing past him to smash into the walls. Without thinking, he snagged one out of the air, and stared at it as he leapt for the loft over his living room. It was some kind of tranquilizer dart! He grabbed the edge of the loft and looked up to see a man bring the butt of his gun down on his head. Hank fell and smashed into his favorite coffee table, creating a pile of splinters. The pseudo-army jerks grabbed for his legs and arms, and he tried to flip, to throw them off, but he only managed to turn himself onto his belly.
"Thank you," came a voice, and Hank looked up to see a short man with glasses and a tidy goatee walk towards him. "How convenient." Behind him was another man carrying something Hank recognized right away: his virus! In a transparent cooling chamber. How did they get that?
His attention was pulled away by a small, gut-freezing click-click. Another followed, and another. He was surrounded by men holding guns, pointing them right at him, and he knew that even if they were all filled with tranquilizers, it would be lethal. A pistol was set next to his head, and cocked.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," said the man with glasses, leaning over Hank's back. He felt the collar of his shirt get pulled away, and suddenly there was a burning sensation. It filled his entire mind, making him arch his back in pain. He might have cried out; he didn't know. But just as soon as the pain ran through every cell in his body, it disappeared. He felt the men move away. He tried to move his arms, to sit up, but he couldn't. They've paralyzed me, he thought to himself. Why?
"Alright," came the man's voice. It suddenly felt as if there was a huge wad of cotton between Hank and the rest of the world. Everything felt numb, not a pleasant, half-asleep numb, but a sort of separated numb that was in itself much more frightening.
"Sit up." Hank would have snorted, if he had the ability. They paralyzed him and then expected him to sit up? But suddenly his body did it. Hank was disconnected from it: he could only sit there and watch (metaphorically speaking) as his body levered himself up and sat.
"Hm. Do a handstand." Hank's body did.
"On one hand." It was done.
"Stand on your head." Hank stared at the man, upside down, wishing he could at least glare or do anything to show his emotion.
"Good. Sit again." He turned to his assistant with the virus. "Just like the other one. Make a note of that. She's almost ready for outside contact." Then he turned back to Hank. "What is this?" he asked, pointing at the virus.
"It's a genetically mutated form of the virus Maxcillius hermanes, which was discovered four years ago by Maximillian Harper, Austrian geneticist, while perfecting the cure for the AIDS virus. It's named after himself and his favorite Greek god, Hermes, because Harper had no family and very few friends to name it after. Maxcillius hermanes is particularly distinguishable for its ability to infect more than one type of cell and insert its own genetic code into the other cell, much like the AIDS virus, so it can be reverse transcribed into the RNA---"
"Enough," said the man, holding up a hand. Hank felt the flow of information cut off. He was shocked; all that had come right out of his head, like a floodgate had been opened and everything he knew had come out. "Will this stop mutations from showing?"
"It will not stop mutations from showing. What the virus is engineered to do is replace a normal human genome that has the X mutation expressed with another normal human genome that does not have the X mutation expressed. It-"
"Understood," said the man impatiently. "Will it work?"
"It is unknown at this time because it has not been tested yet. The virus is just a prototype. It-"
"Why hasn't it been tested yet?"
"Because if the genetic code is to be copied into all cells, tissue as well as independent, it must be the same as the subject's original genetic code, with just one minor adjustment. If another's genetic code is implanted, the eventual result would be a genetic copy, a clone, of the other. Each virus must be made specifically to each individual subject. But that is immaterial because---"
"Who is this prototype based off of?"
"The original genetic code is mine, for reasons of speed and utility. It was never intended to be used because---"
"Aren't you a mutant?"
"Yes."
"What is your mutation?"
"I have increased agility and strength."
"Why don't you try this for us?"
"Because I have no wish to attempt---"
The man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "That wasn't a question. This is an order: drink it for us, now." His assistant pushed the cold vial into Hank's hand.
No! Hank's mind cried. It's not meant to be drunk! This is just a prototype! It's not supposed to be used! But that didn't stop the slow inexorable movement of his hand to his mouth. The greenish goo flowed down his throat, and he could feel it working as he swallowed it. His throat convulsed, and he fell to the floor, thrashing and frothing, as the virus changed his genetic code much faster than anyone had expected it to. The pain reached a climax, and he knew no more.
The man looked at the mutant, unconscious on the floor, as blue fur sprouted from his body and claws grew from his fingers. He watched, slightly horrified but concealing it, as the man in front of him turned into a large, blue-furred beast that was a horrid combination of some form of animal and human. He kicked the monster slightly.
"Let's put this down as a failure," he said. There was a beep. The soldier that had held the vial was now talking into a cell phone. He looked up at the man.
"General, it's the base. They said that they might have more information about a mutant possible for the operation you had." The soldier obviously didn't know what operation they were referring to. The general sighed. He had to get a proper assistant. One that he didn't have to worry about betraying him. His mind floated back to the mutant back in the base. Almost ready… she would do fine. "I want you to fly me back to the base, lieutenant, and then you will fly back here and dispose of this one. Make it look like an accident."
"Sir." The man saluted.
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dun-dun-DUN!!
STAY TUNED!!!!
(tee hee)
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As it turned out, it was not until later the next day that Logan was able to talk to Hank McCoy about what had happened. He was pacing in front of the medical room when Storm finally showed up.
"Logan," she said in a surprised tone. "How long have you been here?"
"Since you last checked on him," Logan growled. "Is he awake yet?"
"The Professor said that he might be waking soon," Ororo said. "Why don't you wait inside? It'll be easier."
Logan shrugged and followed her in. He pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, leaning on the back, as she checked the still sleeping man's vital signs. Apparently pleased with what she saw, the weather witch laid out some pills. "If he wakes up still in pain, give him this," she said, pointing at one. "If he'd like to go back to sleep, have him take these; they're light sleeping pills." Logan nodded restlessly, and she gave him a soft, understanding look. He glanced away.
Storm walked to the door, pausing and placing a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder as she passed him. "Logan," she said quietly. "Everything will be fine."
He felt himself tense. "Sure, Storm," was all he said, but he clenched his jaw to hold back the thoughts he had.
She frowned. "You may not believe it, but we care for you here very much," she said, a little firmer this time. "If this isn't what you're looking for, or if you find out something about yourself that you don't like, we will still care for you. You're still a member of the X-Men here, no matter who you were---before."
Surprisingly, Logan found himself relax. "Thanks, Storm," he said, looking up at her. She smiled, her teeth as brilliantly white as her hair, and left. Logan sighed, and went back to watching the Beast sleep. To his surprise, the man had shifted and was staring back at him.
"You don't recall anything?" Hank asked, in a voice that was gently puzzled. "You don't even know who you were before the Lake?"
Not saying anything, Logan shook his head.
Hank tried to turn, to look him straight in the eye. He attempted to push himself up into a sitting position and winced when his arm moved. Logan stood up to help him raise the bed to a folded posture. Hank nodded his thanks and leant back against the pillow again. "I didn't know your memory loss went that far," he said. "And it's lasted that long?" At Logan's nod he went on. "As a physician, I think I should tell you that complete recovery of your memory after that long is exceedingly unlikely. Even with a man of Xavier's power, it is possible that the brain cells that held the memory could be destroyed. Your earlier memories could be irretrievable."
The pit fell from Logan's stomach. Is that why, after all these years, nothing could spark anything in his memory? The earliest back he could remember was the Alkali Lake facility. Would he never get his life back? "That's why it's important that I know everything I can," he struggled to say.
Hank nodded. "Alright."
Just then there was the small implosion of air that signaled Kurt's arrival. He glanced at the two other men. "Zhe Professor said zhat you vere avake," he said to Hank. "And that you vere down here," he added to Logan. "Vould anyone like lunch? I vould also like to hear zhe story vith Laurel." He didn't mention anything about the mark on Hank's neck, but Logan knew it was foremost on his mind.
"A ham sandwich'd be great," Logan said. Kurt nodded, and looked at Hank.
He grimaced and put a clawed hand on his stomach. "No thanks. I'll wait until everything settles down first."
"Be right back!" Kurt said, and disappeared.
"Isn't he the one who attacked the President about a year or two ago?" asked Hank, as soon as Kurt was gone.
At the neutral tone of his voice, Logan furrowed his brow at the man, searching for any hint of censure. "He was under Stryker's control," he growled. "I believe you know what that feels like."
A dark look crossed the Beast's face: pain, self-anger, understanding and fear. Logan felt guilty almost immediately for being so callous. "I do," Hank said quietly. He ran a hand across his arm, gently brushing the fur, his eyes on the claws at the tips of his fingers.
Logan made a useless gesture with one hand. He had reacted badly at the supposed insult of his friend. Hank finally tore his eyes away and glanced at him. A slight smile tugged at his lips. "What?" Logan asked warily.
"Laurel always said that you weren't good at apologies," Hank said. "She said one time that when you felt guilty you'd usually get angry right after. Before that happens, I understand. You were just being protective."
Again it hit Logan; that's exactly what he usually did. How did this girl, whom he had never met, know him so well? But he looked up at Hank anyway and nodded.
Kurt "bamfed" into the room again with two plates. He handed one to Logan and took up a half-sitting half-crouched position on the other table, with deference to his tail. He took a big bite of his roast beef sandwich, his sharp teeth sliding into the bread wickedly. "Fo?" he asked, his mouth full. "How ded you moot her?"
Hank grinned, and Logan, once again feeling relaxed around this man, grinned back. "It was a while back," he started. "I was working on a form of gene therapy that would suppress the newly discovered X gene, as requested by the people who funded my studies. I had just finished a prototype of the therapy, a sort of super-condensed gel that would---" he paused. "Do you know anything about how gene therapy works? The newly developed studies that have started to help with cystic fibrosis and some forms of cancer?"
When both of them shook their head, he sighed, but did not look surprised. "Currently not many people do, even after we mapped the genetic code. Most forms of gene therapy, for suppressing or replacing detrimental genes already in a living human being, are still in the trial stages. So what I created was something like a virus, which would implant the new genetic code, that of a human without the X gene, in the cells it infected. It was also sort of a cancerous virus, so it would infect all cells indiscriminately. But the gel I created was just the virus condensed. It wasn't the therapy in and among itself. But that's not what some people thought…"
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Hank McCoy stepped out of his car and sighed happily. He was finally home. After almost a year of working in the lab in Florida, he was happy to take a break and go home. "Home" meant his house in the outskirts of Bullford, Montana. It even had a small laboratory that he had built with the money from his first published report. He unlocked the door and threw the keys on the countertop. He placed his hands on a side-table and did a quick jump and flip combo and landed on the couch. All what he wanted to do was relax. He kicked off a shoe and grabbed the remote with a foot. Flicking on the TV, he sighed again and relaxed against the cushions. No one knew he was home, and no one would bother him until he finally had to go to town to do some shopping. He was just fine with eating dried goods for a while.
Suddenly the door burst open. A huge bright light was focused through the doorway and men in fatigues thudded in as Hank blinked in confusion. "There he is!" shouted one. "Get him!" shouted another. That got him into action. He leapt, bounded off the wall, and raced for the back door. There was another explosion, and the back door itself flew off its hinges and raced for him. Thanking his reflexes, Hank dove out of the way just in time. Men started to run in through the back door as well. They shot at him, tiny darts that Hank heard buzzing past him to smash into the walls. Without thinking, he snagged one out of the air, and stared at it as he leapt for the loft over his living room. It was some kind of tranquilizer dart! He grabbed the edge of the loft and looked up to see a man bring the butt of his gun down on his head. Hank fell and smashed into his favorite coffee table, creating a pile of splinters. The pseudo-army jerks grabbed for his legs and arms, and he tried to flip, to throw them off, but he only managed to turn himself onto his belly.
"Thank you," came a voice, and Hank looked up to see a short man with glasses and a tidy goatee walk towards him. "How convenient." Behind him was another man carrying something Hank recognized right away: his virus! In a transparent cooling chamber. How did they get that?
His attention was pulled away by a small, gut-freezing click-click. Another followed, and another. He was surrounded by men holding guns, pointing them right at him, and he knew that even if they were all filled with tranquilizers, it would be lethal. A pistol was set next to his head, and cocked.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," said the man with glasses, leaning over Hank's back. He felt the collar of his shirt get pulled away, and suddenly there was a burning sensation. It filled his entire mind, making him arch his back in pain. He might have cried out; he didn't know. But just as soon as the pain ran through every cell in his body, it disappeared. He felt the men move away. He tried to move his arms, to sit up, but he couldn't. They've paralyzed me, he thought to himself. Why?
"Alright," came the man's voice. It suddenly felt as if there was a huge wad of cotton between Hank and the rest of the world. Everything felt numb, not a pleasant, half-asleep numb, but a sort of separated numb that was in itself much more frightening.
"Sit up." Hank would have snorted, if he had the ability. They paralyzed him and then expected him to sit up? But suddenly his body did it. Hank was disconnected from it: he could only sit there and watch (metaphorically speaking) as his body levered himself up and sat.
"Hm. Do a handstand." Hank's body did.
"On one hand." It was done.
"Stand on your head." Hank stared at the man, upside down, wishing he could at least glare or do anything to show his emotion.
"Good. Sit again." He turned to his assistant with the virus. "Just like the other one. Make a note of that. She's almost ready for outside contact." Then he turned back to Hank. "What is this?" he asked, pointing at the virus.
"It's a genetically mutated form of the virus Maxcillius hermanes, which was discovered four years ago by Maximillian Harper, Austrian geneticist, while perfecting the cure for the AIDS virus. It's named after himself and his favorite Greek god, Hermes, because Harper had no family and very few friends to name it after. Maxcillius hermanes is particularly distinguishable for its ability to infect more than one type of cell and insert its own genetic code into the other cell, much like the AIDS virus, so it can be reverse transcribed into the RNA---"
"Enough," said the man, holding up a hand. Hank felt the flow of information cut off. He was shocked; all that had come right out of his head, like a floodgate had been opened and everything he knew had come out. "Will this stop mutations from showing?"
"It will not stop mutations from showing. What the virus is engineered to do is replace a normal human genome that has the X mutation expressed with another normal human genome that does not have the X mutation expressed. It-"
"Understood," said the man impatiently. "Will it work?"
"It is unknown at this time because it has not been tested yet. The virus is just a prototype. It-"
"Why hasn't it been tested yet?"
"Because if the genetic code is to be copied into all cells, tissue as well as independent, it must be the same as the subject's original genetic code, with just one minor adjustment. If another's genetic code is implanted, the eventual result would be a genetic copy, a clone, of the other. Each virus must be made specifically to each individual subject. But that is immaterial because---"
"Who is this prototype based off of?"
"The original genetic code is mine, for reasons of speed and utility. It was never intended to be used because---"
"Aren't you a mutant?"
"Yes."
"What is your mutation?"
"I have increased agility and strength."
"Why don't you try this for us?"
"Because I have no wish to attempt---"
The man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "That wasn't a question. This is an order: drink it for us, now." His assistant pushed the cold vial into Hank's hand.
No! Hank's mind cried. It's not meant to be drunk! This is just a prototype! It's not supposed to be used! But that didn't stop the slow inexorable movement of his hand to his mouth. The greenish goo flowed down his throat, and he could feel it working as he swallowed it. His throat convulsed, and he fell to the floor, thrashing and frothing, as the virus changed his genetic code much faster than anyone had expected it to. The pain reached a climax, and he knew no more.
The man looked at the mutant, unconscious on the floor, as blue fur sprouted from his body and claws grew from his fingers. He watched, slightly horrified but concealing it, as the man in front of him turned into a large, blue-furred beast that was a horrid combination of some form of animal and human. He kicked the monster slightly.
"Let's put this down as a failure," he said. There was a beep. The soldier that had held the vial was now talking into a cell phone. He looked up at the man.
"General, it's the base. They said that they might have more information about a mutant possible for the operation you had." The soldier obviously didn't know what operation they were referring to. The general sighed. He had to get a proper assistant. One that he didn't have to worry about betraying him. His mind floated back to the mutant back in the base. Almost ready… she would do fine. "I want you to fly me back to the base, lieutenant, and then you will fly back here and dispose of this one. Make it look like an accident."
"Sir." The man saluted.
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.
.
.
.
.
.
.
dun-dun-DUN!!
STAY TUNED!!!!
(tee hee)
