Bobby sat cross legged on the floor of the danger room, the group of students around him forming a circle. One of the kids had asked him why the Friends of Humanity hated them, and he honestly didn't know how to answer that. He didn't quite understand the politics of hate either. He didn't understand why it was so dangerous to be a mutant, or a gay person, or a refugee. His only answer, perhaps to his own questions than anything else, was simple and unerringly accurate. "Because the majority of people are not mutants," He raised his hands in wonder and looked around the small group of outcasts, their faces upturned to his own. He smiled as warmly as he could and shrugged. "And the majority of people are not comfortable with difference. The Friends of Humanity want to exaggerate our difference and make sure we don't become what they fear most."
"What is that?" Sam said from across the room.
Bobby sighed heavily. "I guess, they don't want us...mutants..to be equal. Because they think they're superior. And that makes them jerks, right?"
There were general nods of assent among the small throng. Bobby's explanation seemed to somehow deepen their understanding of something that loomed big and black and large in their visions. Some of them smiled. Others just looked sadder. Bobby wondered if what he said empowered these young mutants, these future X-Men, or ruined their childish hopes that one day being different wouldn't matter. Maybe it was better that they knew the truth from early on. Xavier's dream was not going to come to pass while ever the Friends of Humanity were there to bring about its destruction.
A dark thought crossed Bobby's mind just then: What if the Friends of Humanity did succeed tonight? What would happen in a world where there were no X-Men left to fight them?
Sam crossed the floor to where they were sitting, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His face was pale and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes had a faraway glint to them. "I don't like this. Why is it quiet up there?" He demanded, looking upwards.
Bobby sat still and listened. Sam was right. The explosions above had stopped, and the dull sound of gunfire was a memory. Bobby looked upwards as well, then his eyes settled on Sam's, wordlessly asking the question, "Is it all over?"
Fire bordered Jean's vision as she rushed down yet another hall. The mansion had become a giant rat maze thanks to the blaze that licked every part of it. Ororo clutched her hand as they rounded another corner, skidding slightly on the polished wood and breaking into a sprint towards Xavier's office. Ororo could hear footsteps thudding loudly on the floor behind them, gaining speed, and getting louder with every second. She looked over her shoulder long enough to see a young militant round the last corner, gun held level with his eye. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the burning corridor and fired one shot cleanly.
The bullet hit it's mark. Ororo felt an explosion in her shoulder, which ripped her off her feet. She heard Jean call her name, and felt Jean topple over with her. Blood filled her mouth, her vision, as she tried to call the winds, call the thunder, anything. But she was fading fast. The sound of her head smashing against the polished wood registered dimly and she stared in front of her, watching the black boots of the young gunman approach.
She was out cold before his boot struck her jaw.
****
Creed strode through the burning hallways in a tailored suit, hands clasped behind his back, a group of young men trailing in his wake with guns pointed every which way, eye darting in every direction. He looked every bit the president he aspired to be as he let his gaze sweep over the devastation his troops had brought about. His mouth was curved into a smirk. He turned to talk to his right hand man. "It was just the two women?" He asked.
The other man nodded and listened to a report crackled over his ear piece before replying. "Yes, sir. They were apprehended outside the main office. Still no sign of the others."
Creed nodded. "Tell the men to be wary of the mutant known as Wolverine. He has combat training and could be more difficult to pin. They are to approach him with caution."
"But we have no intelligence that would indicate he is even inside the mansion, or on the grounds...."
Creed stopped walking, causing the men behind him to skid to a halt. He clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder, causing him to flinch. Creed's fingers bit deep into his muscles. "Listen to me very carefully. If there is one mutant that we should even come close to fearing, it's him. He's not like the others. It will take more than firepower to bring him down. If any man here gets a visual, he is not to engage this mutant in any way unless he has full back up, and I am to be informed immediately. Understood?"
The other man swallowed and nodded before Creed released him. Creed turned away and walked towards Xavier's office with his men following. One of them opened the door for him, and entered the room first, leading with his gun drawn. Creed strode in and looked down at Jean Grey, who was being held by her hair and forced to sit in Xavier's chair. Her chin dripped with blood and she was struggling to speak. Creed stepped over the unconscious Storm and sat on the edge of Xavier's huge desk. Jean tried to struggle free of her captor's grasp, but he wrenched his fist into a tighter ball of her hair. She winced and groaned, but did not take her green eyes from Creed.
"Dr. Grey," He said by way of greeting, and smiled at her like she was a guest in his home. "My name is Graydon Creed."
She spat blood onto the floor, and glared at him, red hair falling over her brow. "I know who you are."
"I trust you know why I'm here?"
Jean seemed to consider this. Her face took on an almost serene expression, despite the indignity of her situation. "Yes, I know why you're here, and you won't win."
His smile didn't waver as he shrugged, and nodded to the man holding Jean. She was yanked out of the chair and dragged around the desk. Creed sat in the leather chair and leaned back, surveying the damage to the wall caused by Scott and Logan's brawl. Outside, the rain had subsided to a thin drizzle. On the manicured lawn, puddles danced with the reflection thrown by the fires above. "Look around you. The world Charles Xavier built up for his freaks. It's burning to the ground." He swept a hand in front of him to illustrate his point. His eyes flickered on Storm's prone body, briefly, before he continued. "This is a great day for humanity. This is but the first in a series of strikes we anticipate will follow, carried out by other groups, other visionaries and saviors."
Jean curled her lip at him. She was fairly hanging from the other man's fist. "Nothing you do here tonight will be regarded as heroic. They will lock you up and call you a madman. Your name will not go down in history, and people will not respect you...." She drew a breath and her eyelids fluttered as if the energy of having to talk was draining her. "...And there will be other mutants willing to fight you. Or men just like you, because your hate is not unique."
Creed cocked his head to the side and his amused expression melted away. Thunder rolled like the growl of a faraway great cat. Scowling, he rose from the chair and seemed to consider what to do now he was on his feet. His dark eyes flared with omnipotent rage. "What is it your precious Xavier, this so called Great Man, calls it? The X-Factor. It is the single cell mutation that sets humans apart from mutants." He raised an eyebrow at Jean, who was at once disgusted and surprised that he had even bothered to read any of Charles Xavier's books, much less quote from them. "And it makes a mockery of god's plan. Men were created equal. No one man should have advantage over his brothers." He was rambling, struggling to make his point, or to impress upon her what he so thoroughly believed in, and she could see the frustration in his eyes. He was like a petulant child who after a long and loud tantrum, had achieved that which he cried and wailed over, and now didn't know what to do. His fists were clenching and unclenching like meaty butterfly wings and he looked like he wanted to strike at something. She hoped it wouldn't be her. He caught her staring at him, and stopped still, his body dangerously immobile. His eyes bored into hers as if he were trying to read something within. Then it struck her.
He doesn't know I've lost my powers. The narrowing of his eyes as he regarded her confirmed this; he was trying to block his thoughts. The beads of sweat forming on his brow were indication enough that he had let some thoughts cross his mind that she could use to some advantage.
She decided to make a gambit. She licked her lips and tried to pull herself upright, but the soldier behind her simply tightened his grip on her hair. She winced before taking a shuddering breath. "I know what drives you, Creed," She said slowly. "And too many people see it as jealousy, but both you and I know that's wrong. You are righting an enormous wrong that has been dealt you and the rest of the world. Why should only some be bestowed with gifts that border on the magical, the superhuman, the fantastic? Why should others be left behind?"
He flinched, but made no move towards her. It was if her point was physically striking him. If she strayed too much, or took a big enough leap, she had no doubt that he would see through her like Logan did whenever they played poker and she had a killer hand. "Why are so many families cursed with a child with such extreme deformities or powers dangerous enough to kill someone if they so desired? And why is it that the cruel twist of fate, the X-Factor, can completely skip someone and leave them ordinary, helpless...Powerless..." She watched his face in profile, and she could see something in his look. The way his face seemed to slacken and his posture slumped. She was on the money, but with each word she brought herself closer to that imaginary cliff face, where he could either jump or push her over. "I'll tell you right now, Creed, I wish I didn't have to hear what goes on in the minds of normal people. I wish I didn't have to share their secrets, listen to their lies and intrude on their fantasies. I sometimes ache to be able to look at someone and not know what they're thinking. I would trade it in a second, but it's something I cannot change. My parents had no control over it, just like your parents had no control over you being human."
The last word seemed to shatter his composure in that instant. He turned to face her in what to her felt like slow motion, because in that few seconds she knew she pushed that little bit too far; she pushed him closer to the edge of that cliff than he was ready to go. She let a little sigh escape her lips, which was meant to come out as an entreaty, but for some reason was not formed and lost on that last expulsion of breath before he leapt over the desk and drove into her with both fists.
Morgan wondered, not for the first time during this case, what the hell he was doing.
He stood in the now deserted headquarters of the Friends of Humanity, which resembled a top secret military bunker more than it did a political party's nerve centre. He moved from the grey walled lobby into a grey walled main room, gun drawn and leading him with expansive sweeps of his arm. His steps echoed on the hard cement floors. The stark, nondescript layout and design of the place gave him the creeps.
"Anyone here?" He called tentatively, then followed up with a gruff, "This is the police."
In reply his own voice echoed back, along with the soft striking of his boots against the floor. He ducked into a large office to the side of the main room, and walked towards the naked desk situated squat in the middle. This was the only carpeted room in the facility, he noted. It was free from any other furnishings, even a chair behind the desk. Instinct and a shrewd cynicism told him this was Creed's office. It reflected the feel and look of the man's office in the city.
He holstered his gun and started going through the drawers in the desk. Almost all were empty, but there was one left, which informed him with its immobility, that it was locked. He knelt before the drawer, and fingered the little silver lock. Too many years hanging around teenage thieves and hoodlums told him this cheap little lock should be no problem to pick, if he ever paid attention to the masters at work. Sighing, he stood up and drew his gun, smiling to himself at the stupidity of the situation. Whatever was in there, was probably going to be damaged and rendered unusable and probably inadmissible in court, but what the hell. He literally had only one shot, which rung in his ears and bloomed from the barrel before piercing through the little silver lock, and proceeded to shred the top of the drawer it protected.
He knelt down again, and gunpowder assaulted his nostrils and his eyes. The drawer contained two loose leafs of paper, both singed from the forced entry, but intact. Frowning, he lifted them up, treating them like evidence.
Printed on the first sheet of paper, and taking up no more than three quarters of a page, was a brief history of the Friends of Humanity followed by an overview of the party's doctrine and future plans. It looked like a media release. It sounded like an angry explanation for something they had done, or were about to do. Morgan sat the sheet on the desks smooth metal surface, and studied the second page. In streaked black and white, someone had printed an aerial photograph of Xavier's mansion and the surrounding environs. He recognised it as an image you could download from a website specialising in satellite photography. Most people saw it as a novelty; Gee Mabel, our house looks funny from outer space! But Morgan saw it as evidence of intent. Little red X's marked two points on the perimeter fence surrounding the school, beside each one a little notation which looked like electric current measurements. He identified them because his power bill showed similar language.
It was clear that whoever cleaned out the Friends of Humanity HQ had done a thorough job of it. Morgan knew even as he placed the sheets of paper on the desk and hurried out of the office, that Creed had the advantage. He let a prayer slip past his mouth as he ran towards his car.
The leader of Unit four assessed his options while he blew a huge pink bubble of gum. Radio static crackled over his ear piece, most likely through mutant interference. He wasn't quite sure what mutant interference was, but it sounded right, and in this situation, it was the only explanation that fit. He sat crouched behind an overturned steel table in the student cafeteria, the corners of his vision shimmering with flames from the nearby kitchen door. Aside from the pop and hiss of the fire, and the intermittent white noise from his ear piece , there was no sound.
He decided it was best not to think about the fate that befell unit two and three. His troops were still alive, for the time being.
"--Are---There--"
The crackled fragmentary voice exploded into his ear piece and he almost jumped to the ceiling like a frightened kitten. He glanced back at the other men, who crouched beside him. They all heard it too. He pressed the piece to his ear and tried to concentrate on the voice, drone out the static. Whoever it was, they were transmitting on the secure frequencies. He hesitated, and when no trace of a human voice could be heard, he opened his mike with a press of a button. "Th--This is Unit 4 leader," He began in a rapid, low voice that belied his fear. He spat out the gum. "I repeat, this is Leader of unit 4. State you position."
Static responded in the darkness. He listened hard for anything. It could have been an echo, or Unit One could have been transmitting a call for help. Unit One was assigned to protect Creed and a signal from them could only mean...
"Unit Four?...Did you say---" The ear piece crackled to life again. "Can you say again..."
"This is Unit 4 leader...I can hear you."
"Thank god. Unit Two--Casualities-- mutant ambush..Still on the loose."
Unit Leader #4 licked his lips. "State your name and location and I'll send some guys to get you."
"Too risky Unit 4. There is no use in wasting more men. If we don't make it then at least you still have a chance to kill the muties..."
Unit Four leader saw sense in the other man's plan. "Be advised our location is the cafeteria."
"Ok. Gotcha"
The men of unit four heard the approach of the smaller group before they saw their heavy boots. Unit Leader Four still crouched low and plastered himself to the upturned table.
"Unit Four?"
Team Leader Four stood up, feeling like a coward, and watched as a black clad figure approached, boots falling heavily on the polished beige floor. The other man held his gun pointed upwards, a gesture of faith or good intentions, he didn't know which.
"Where did you see the mutants last?" He said by way of greeting, his voice startling him.
"Level two and three," The other man said, his voice muffled by the balaclava he wore. "A group of them. Where are the women?"
Leader Four looked at his men huddled beside him and then narrowed his eyes to a spot over the new man's shoulders. "From what we understand, Mr. Creed and Unit One have captured them."
A pause. The man made no move towards them. His gun still pointed upwards. "Where are they now?"
"Last known location was Xavier's office. But the radio links aren't so good...."
The words had barely left his lips when a crimson beam hit him like a semi truck, punched through his stomach, and exited in a fine red mist from his back. His team were too stunned to move, huddled together behind the overturned table. Cyclops ripped off the shredded balaclava as Sebastien and Chamber rounded the corner, dressed in the same black uniforms. Chamber kicked the table away and stood before the cowering young men, pinning each one with a hate filled glare."What should we do with them?" He asked Cyclops without turning.
Cyclops strode over to the limp body of Unit Leader Four, checked his pulse, and took his ear piece. "Their leader here needs medical attention. Personally I don't care if he bleeds to death. And each one of them will suffer the same fate if they decide to do something stupid." His visor pulsed with crimson energy as he spoke, walking towards the young men with purpose. "Leave now, take your leader with you, and we won't kill you."
Chamber glanced sideways at Cyclops. "But there's nothing stopping us from attacking them when their backs are turned."
Sebastien joined them. "But they would've killed you. I wouldn't let them live."
Cyclops grabbed the closest young man and pulled him to his feet, teeth clenched. "I'm only going to tell you this once. Run. Don't test my patience. Take your leader and get out."
There was a split second of indecision. The young man in Cyclops' grasp looked at his team mates. "B---But the mission...."
"Your mission will fail. How many times do I have to tell you? GET OUT." Cyclops shouted words made him flinch. Cyclops let him go, thrusting him violently towards the others.
This time there was no indecision. Unit Four gathered the injured leader and scurried out, abandoning their weapons. Cyclops held a restraining hand on Chamber's shoulder as he watched them leave. "We don't have time," He said softly. "We need to find Jean and Ororo."
Chamber hesitated, tried to shrug Cyclops' hand off. "We had the chance to kill them--"
"And it would have solved nothing."
Chamber turned to look at Cyclops. "Do you really believe that?"
"This is they way we were taught." Cyclops' jaw muscles bulged. He was daring Chamber to challenge Charles Xavier's beliefs. Those lessons Charles taught him as a teenager, he followed dogmatically.
"Logan wouldn't have just let them go."
Cyclops flinched. "Well I'm not Logan, and he's not a part of this team. Not anymore."