HEIR TO THE WORLD
Prologue:
AUGUST 2003
There were four of them, all mutants, in their teens, dressed in black, standing in a loose square formation, ten feet or so apart from one another. At the centre of the square, bruised and bleeding, kneeling half-conscious, was a human. The oldest of the four mutants walked across to stand over the man, sneering down at him.
"The names, Father," he said. "Give us the names."
"The…names?" the old man repeated, his mind lost in a turmoil of confusion and pain.
The young man knelt down to face him, and hissed viciously, "The names of the men you worked with! There were three of you, I know there were! I know you were conducting research into mutant genetics together! You made me what I am! Now give me their names!"
This last demand was accompanied by a sharp backhand across the human's face, knocking the old man to the floor.
"Rosiçky…" he mumbled.
"What was that?" the mutant demanded.
He grabbed his father by the shoulders and yanked him back on to his knees, "What did you say?"
"Rosiçky…Van Gaarde…"
"Rosiçky and Van Gaarde – those were the two men you worked with?"
No response.
"Father! Were those the two men?"
"Yes…"
The young man smiled, but it was not a smile of joy. His face resembled that of a shark, and he stood once more, to face the other three mutants, "All right, we've got the information we need. Ocelot, I want you to find these two men: Van Gaarde and the other one, Rosiçky. Nightshade, if you could get rid of that."
He gestured to the human, who was still moaning in pain, cowering at his feet. The old man looked up in terror at his son's words, and trembled, "Don't kill me! I can give you more information!"
"Such as?"
"Rosiçky had a son! He was given the mutation implant treatment, the same as you!"
The young man slowly looked down at his father, and a smirk crossed his face, "Really. That is interesting. What do you know about the son?"
"He is the same age as you – you were born on the same day."
"Where can I find him?"
The old man's brief moment of lucidity seemed to have passed, as abruptly as it had begun, and he mumbled incoherently, "You can identify him…by his eyes…"
"His eyes? What about his eyes?"
His father appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness, and the boy kneeled down once before, grabbing the old man by the shoulders and fixing him with a piercing stare, "Tell me! What is it about his eyes?"
"They're gold…the pupils are gold…"
"His pupils are gold. All right – can you tell me anything else?"
"No…I don't know anything else…"
"Then you're of no further use to me!"
He threw the man aside, and straightened again. The other mutants in the room remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
"This makes things more difficult," he said. "If this man Rosiçky did have a son, who was given mutation therapy similar to my own, he will be a threat to me. I want him killed. Nightshade?"
The mutant nearest him, the only female in the room, closed her eyes briefly, then nodded, "I'll take care of it."
"Good. Ocelot, your orders are unchanged. Impervious, you will remain here with me. Nightshade, dispose of my father. We don't need him any more."
The girl walked across the room towards the slumped figure of the human, her feet brushing the floor as silently as an autumn breeze. She stopped and crouched beside the old man. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and she extended her right hand, holding it steady just between the man's shoulder blades. Her index finger began to change, narrowing and elongating, as it transformed into a needle-sharp blade. She stabbed it into the man's back, and he cried out as the point slid home. Poison began to flow from the tip of her mutated finger into his bloodstream. He struggled for a moment, then the poison got to work, and his movements began weak and sluggish. He convulsed, then fell back against her, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, his mouth open in a silent scream. She retracted her blade, and it changed back into an ordinary finger once more.
The oldest mutant watched dispassionately as his father was murdered and carried out of the room. He had no love for the man. His father had never loved him either. If he had, he wouldn't have used him in his genetic experiments. The boy laughed to himself as he thought about it. In a way, he hated his father for what he had done. At the same time, he was delighted it had happened, since he had been given mutant power of such magnitude that he could do anything he wanted, and no-one on Earth could possibly stop him.
Except one. Rosiçky's son had to be killed.
