Writer: Rowland Wells
Disclaimer: I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise. I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.
Alternate
X-Men
#01
"ask me no questions, i'll tell you no lies"
In the sub-zero temperature conditions of the West-Siberian snow fields, near the Salekhard dam, a beaten and bruised man lay shivering on the ground, his laboratory coat stained with blood spots. He cowered, groaning to himself and clutching his broken arm. A long shadow loomed over him, pausing to take in the sight. Magneto took hold of the documents in his hand, and tossed them violently over the Doctor's body. 'Make sure this installation is never resurrected, human filth.' He stated. The man crawled back onto a fallen tree stump, covered in a white sheen of snow. 'What are you going to do?' He asked, his voice cracking with fear. Magneto lowered his gaze and turned to the serene view of the Salekhard dam, water pouring over the turbines, powering the installation underneath the snow fields.
'I'm going to raze your base to the ground, and anyone that's still in it.'
Wanda walked with Pietro out into the early morning light through the installation doors. She nodded to her father, and they joined at his side. The Doctor leapt to his feet crying out. 'You can't – my wife is still in there!' He took hold of Magneto, spinning him around. As soon as his fingers grasped the material of the lord's uniform, he was brought off his feet and tossed effortlessly against the doors. 'My men were in there! Your kind crossed a boundary that you cannot account for by this 'research'! Spare me your pain.' He glanced over to the five prisoners being escorted into the helicopter, and then turned his attention to the dam. He stretched out his hands and concentrated on what lay before him. The helicopter's rotor blades spun into life. Summoning a supreme effort, he collapsed the generators inside the installation, and reversed the turbines at the bottom of the dam. In a brief instant, the land shook as if an earthquake had struck, and broke, falling in on itself. The dam ruptured cracks through the main wall and blew open an epic wound, throwing water out onto the flat land beneath it. It welled up, covering the lake and trees in a tidal wave. His eyes remained unblinking as he witnessed this will of force. Magneto raised the metal structure from the remains of the underground installation into a colossal wall, blocking the path of the water. It jutted out from the land like a skewer, breaking the path of the water in two. The crew onboard the helicopter called to him, and Magneto turned to leave, the water shattering over the snow fields. It hovered quickly and then disappeared into the air.
'I took care of everything inside – everyone that was being held is onboard now, father.' Wanda looked back at him from the controls of the aircraft. 'It seems we've picked up a stranger here as well as the Acolytes, father.'
Magneto stared back at his son, Pietro as he entered the cockpit. 'Why did you wait so long to leave? You endangered everyone onboard – think next time, you fool!' Pietro bowed his head slowly, and then grabbed at the controls angrily. He kept silent. Wanda locked eyes with her father and grasped his hand. 'I thought we should wait for you, travelling home on your own could have taken too much out of you.'
Magneto walked out of the cockpit without saying a word, and into the cabin. He surveyed the contents. The former prisoners sat, dressing themselves with blankets, while Rogue sat with their new prisoner, tending his cuts and scratches. His long hair was tied back in ponytail, and his red eyes penetrated Magneto's gaze. 'Who are you, my friend, and what were you doing in that government installation all the way out here?'
Rogue tucked a syringe back into a medical box, placing it under the seat. She swished a lock of hair behind her ear with gloved hands. 'He hasn't said anything since I saw him. Guess he's just the silent type.'
The stranger rubbed at the injection point with callused fingers, and kept his head low. Magneto looked at his followers, each of them exhausted from their ordeal. 'Do any of you know anything about this man?'
Cortez spoke to him, the musty blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 'My lord, he was with me and Anne Marie in our cell block – he said nothing throughout our capture. He was there before we arrived. I can't tell you anything about him.'
'I guess he's a mystery, then.' Rogue said. She looked at the stranger, lying back against the cold metal interior. His red eyes closed, letting tiredness overcome his senses.
* * *
His mind was connecting to the thoughts of a million different people all at the same time. Visions of past and present flashed vividly before his mind's eye, coupled with the feelings and tension from everyone one of the people's lives. Charles Xavier existed with these neural patterns and thought processes on a plane away from the rest of his conscious reality. He was able to communicate with his machine, Cerebro, and locate, down to a specific house number, the mutant concerned. Blurred images of passion, anguish and fury lurched to and fro in a swirling wave throughout his mind. Charles blocked it all out, and focussed intensely on the character in front of him - a young, pale, Boston-born teenager, unhappy with his situation, and hiding from his capabilities. This child would be a perfect candidate for the Institution's New Year induction programme. Closing his eyes, Charles took off the helm, and placed it back onto the set. He disengaged from the Cerebro computer, and wheeled himself around. Tessa walked over to him, a form in one hand and a pen in the other. 'Did you find him again, Professor?'
He started out of the giant room, along a light-lit pathway. 'I found him – I want you to add his profile to the top of the chart, Tessa. Could you tell me the top three candidates so far?' The walked into the underground corridors and toward the lift. Gun-metal grey walls reflected the echoing darkness throughout the passages. 'So far we've got: Drake, Pryde and Rasputin at the top. When are we going to get a head on things? It seems like we've kept ourselves undercover for too long now, Charles.'
He looked at her, considering his response. 'I'm waiting for one more mutant to join - a drifter that's recently been arrested in New York. I'm confident she'll join; otherwise we'll start preparations for the new term. Hopefully the children should fit right in with us without too many interrupts disturbing the people here already. I don't want trouble for any of the new students before they're sufficiently prepared.'
The lift opened on the ground floor of the Mansion, and both occupants came out and into Charles' office. 'I don't need to remind you, Charles that this Mutant Registration Act is hanging on a knife edge – if there's one more terrorist performance in the heartlands of the U.S, it might tip the situation over into chaos. It might mean more than just this suggested Act.' Tessa sat in a leather chair, leafing through their documents. She picked the three top ones out and laid them before him on a grand wooden desk. 'There you go.' She got up and made to leave.
'I've got good expectations for our future prodigies.' He answered. Underneath his wise mask though, Charles Xavier was scared of the outcome. Truly, the balance of the human-mutant conflict was able to be tipped in favour of ordinary people. All it would take was one more radical mutant exposure, and then the hammer would fall.
* * *
'I'm sorry Miss, but this identification ain't quite right for what you wanna do here. I'm afraid we can't really help you.' The NYPD detective passed the wallet back to Jean, who paused temporarily, fingering it slightly. She stood in front of a group of police detectives in the middle of the uptown New York stationhouse, her patience crumbling as the people around refused to submit to her psychic suggestions. 'I think you've got it wrong,' Jean replied, projecting herself into the heads of the people with more vigour. 'I'm not who you first thought I am – I'm Assistant D.A McClure – here to pick up a Ms. Munroe. She was picked up for the wrong reasons. She's not responsible for anything.' The detective nodded feebly, then took out a cell key. His eyes were dull and unresponsive.
'There's been a mistake here, Ororo Munroe – seems like you've been picked up for the wrong charges.' Jean said. Her concentration was wavering slightly, so she turned the detective around and pushed him out of the door. The woman in the cell stood, and undid a tie in her long white hair. It cascaded over her shoulders as she strode smugly out of the cage. 'Yeah, I knew something was wrong – say; you don't exactly look like a district attorney. What's going on?'
Jean decided to level with her. 'Here's the deal Ororo, I know about you – you've got special abilities in your blood, same as me – I'm here to get you out of this place and back to where I work: Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. It's a place where you can be accepted and looked after – your abilities trained and focussed and your lifestyle dramatically changed. Take a look; there are no obligations, and you don't have to stay, but, if you want in, I suggest you make your mind up real soon, before I lose my nerve, and these cops get their minds together again. If you don't want anything to do with us, say so, and you can stay in jail for the time being, drifting pointlessly from one place to the next. You understand?' Jean took several steps back from the cell and toward the door. She took a look outside, checking for a clear path out of the stationhouse.
Ororo replied quickly. 'I'm in – anything's better than what I've got going on right now. I got my stuff, so we can get a move on.'
Jean and Ororo walked passively from the room, and then hurriedly out of the police station, Jean freeing their minds only once they reached the end of the block. 'How come you found me, anyway?' Ororo said, breathlessly, as they boarded the train from uptown New York to Westchester Country.
'We've got a system that can locate people of our kind pretty quickly. 'Course, it can't tell us whether they're up for joining our dream, but I'm glad you were – made my trip out here worthwhile.'
'Yeah, well, I'm just gonna take a look, girl; can't commit myself to anything just yet.' Ororo replied.
'See the institution first, before you decide that, my friend. It changed my life completely.' The train sped out of the city and through the suburbs toward their destination.
* * *
In the heart of the Savage land, Magneto's proud fortress, Avalon, stood alone against a backdrop of lush jungle vistas and the Pacific Ocean's serene waters. Composed of glistening, moulded metal on the natural rock face, it was a sight to behold in its magnificence. Rogue and Wanda escorted the new stranger from his sanctuary across a lake, into the hall that overlooked the jungle. Magneto was awaiting their arrival, dressed in his silk robes. He pulled a chair from across the hall. The stranger looked at him, then at Rogue, and sat in the chair. Magneto dismissed his daughter and watched the stranger interact with Rogue silently. He took her gloved hand carefully, but on a nod from her lord, she receded.
'You have stayed in my care long enough, stranger. I think your mask is trying my patience.' He loomed closer. 'Tell me who you are, and how you came to be in the care of those human 'officials', and their interest in Homo Sapiens superior.'
The stranger looked blankly at his towering form for a second, and then leaned back into the chair. 'My name is Gambit. I was picked up in Louisiana. There were several men who ambushed me after I was caught stealing. C'est ridiculous [maintenant ma vie, it is getting a lot more complicated.]'
'How come you never said anything like that to me?' Rogue whispered, coming closer to him. Magneto locked eyes once more with her, and she stepped back. 'What were they doing to you in the Salekhard installation? Why were you there?'
Gambit stared out of the huge glass window overlooking the jungle. Trees wavered idyllically in the wind. The sounds of nature were present all around. 'I was there because they took me there. I was out of the way, and no-one was gonna look fo' me. I seen what you can do, Sir, and they chose me because of my abilities. I can charge things I touch with energy – make 'em burn. They wanted to know how I was a thief for special people also, but I told them they were wrong. Those people, ils ne l'aiment pas, mon ami.'
'Will you tell me anything about what they did to you?'
'Why you wanna know, sir?' He replied, tiredly. Rogue took a step forward quickly.
'Because you're under my care now, Gambit, along with everyone else here;' Magneto glided over to the colossal window overlooking his territory, and cast an open hand over the sight. 'I sincerely hope you will decide to stay with us and join my cause. I will put a stop to the systematic atrocities affronting mutant kind on the face of the planet every day in every way. I have power, and power over the world leaders. Once they tip the balance in their favour, I, and everyone on our side will respond to free up the superior race. If you're not by my side now, then you soon will, be it in the Savage land or be it anywhere else on God's Earth, my comrade.'
Gambit observed his justification with cynicism, but made an attempt to shield it. He kept silent for a moment, leaving an air between the two. 'You want me to follow you? I ain't never been no team player before.'
Magneto walked slowly over to Gambit, sitting in the metal chair. He straightened his clothes, and then caressed the material of Gambit's robes. 'Think about it,' he smiled and walked off out of the hall 'but not too long. For now you are a guest in my domain.'
Gambit stood up after his departure and switched to Rogue, who stared at him. 'He got me out of you than I did.' She said, perching her hands atop the chair. 'Why didn't you say anything to me?'
'You not need my story to tell you 'bout me, chere. My name is Remy LeBeau – I'm a Cajun, and I think I'll be stayin' here wi' you. My life is too messy to want to catch up on. This whole thing might give me a chance to start again.' She took another few steps toward him. 'What did they try to do to you at that place – I was there, I saw most of the underground.'
'The scientists there, they wanted me t' be some kind of ultimate warrior – figured if I could focus myself, I would do their dirty work. I'm glad you got me out, chere; truly glad. What's your real name?'
'Rogue, is all…'
'An' what's your deal? Why are you in this?'
'I don't really want to talk about it.' She replied, despondently.
'Why? We've all got things we want to hide from other people, and I understand, but at least tell me about yourself.'
'Ask me no questions, Remy - I'll tell you no lies...' She hesitated for a second, but left him staring after her retreating form.
* * *
The danger room was part of the X Mansion's basement, having been incorporated for training protocol when the entire estate was under construction. Capable of projecting life-size opponents and obstacles into a huge variety of locations, it created a formidable and deceptive learning tool. Centred above the room, overlooking every proceeding within it, a control box contained Dr. Henry McCoy, who was busy pressing every button and flicking every switch in sight to combat his friends, working bellow. The room was flooded in darkness, allowing only the luminous crimson light from flares positioned throughout the trenches to penetrate several feet ahead of them. Scott and Warren ambled forward cautiously, wary of any activity coming from the sides of the trenches. 'What's our situation, Hank – we've gone this far without coming across the hostage.' Scott whispered into his headset. He kept a finger on the switch of his visor, ready to flick it open.
'You're about forty feet ahead of the target' the microphone buzzed back. 'Make sure you're eyes are open for any non-combative units.'
They picked up the pace, reaching a crossroads in the shallow trench. The two of them split up and went either way.
Warren was the first to encounter resistance. Several man-sized metal constructs appeared from the side. They lurched toward him, but Warren's reactions outmanoeuvred their clumsy sensors. His wings stretched, flexed and in one fluid motion, he shot upward and beyond their grasp. Strings of gunfire laced back and forth above him, and he flew down behind the last construct, which was struck by the fire from the others. It collapsed in a clatter, and he picked up a pipe from its wreckage, flying once more out of the way. 'Careful you don't get anything hit by those things.' Hank echoed down the microphone. He switched a button in the control room on, and several cameras zoomed in on Scott, running toward the noise.
Warren took hold of one of the red flares lining the ground, and jammed it in a groove of the largest construct. Wielding the pipe viciously, he struck the area, and jumped out of the way as it burst in a spark of dazzling light. A red beam shot across his bow, striking another construct as Scott joined the skirmish. Amid the confusion Hank's voice was lost in the noise, and neither of the two teammates in the room noticed as their hostage target came running. Mistaking her for another hostile, Scott blasted the image in half, switching the program off, and turning the lights in the room back on. 'Bad shot, Scotty.' Hank said over the loudspeaker. 'Some news just in – the Professor is calling a meeting. Get up to his office, and I'll see you both there.' The voice flicked off, and Warren patted his teammate on the back. 'Look before you shoot next time, I guess.'
'It was too difficult with all the lights off; hopefully we won't have to encounter that kind of situation too often. I'd like to think I wouldn't kill an innocent so easily in the future.'
The two young men walked into Xavier's large office in the Mansion and joined the rest of their friends around the new arrival. An edgy, young, black woman stood before them, fidgeting idly with the pen holder on the Professor's desk. He rolled his chair around to face the five students, all expectant. Scott and Warren looked exhausted from their performance, and Jean was tired from the travel. 'This is Ms. Ororo Munroe. Her name will be 'Storm'. I want you to make her feel as welcome and free as you each did when you first arrived. She has come from New York, and will be staying with us for the time being – is that right Ororo?'
She faced the five of them, and tucked her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans. 'Yeah; just until something better comes my way. Hope to make myself useful.'
'Nothing better than this is coming your way, girl – I'll show you to your room.' Jean said. Ororo shook their hands, and gave one last look to Charles, before following her new friend up the stairs.
'Anybody want to say anything?' Charles asked, placing the pen holder down on his grand desk. 'I'm hoping that some of you might be able to attend the Mutant Registration Act proposal with me tomorrow. It's in Washington, and I'll need an escort; could be fascinating political material.'
'What's the deal with Ororo, then? What's her power and where's she from?' Scott said.
'She's got superb control over the atmospheric conditions in her area, so much so, that she can make it rain inside a building. I found her once a strange report in the tabloids was published recently, and I followed it up. It seems Ororo has been drifting from state to state, sometimes winding up in stationhouses for petty crimes and such. I think we've received her at a pivotal point in her life. Nurture for her now, will mean she could stay with us for quite some time.' Charles started out of his office, and the students followed behind, Tessa collecting his papers before they left.
'I'm hoping that we will pick up several more new students before the new term can start – that way we can establish ourselves as more of a private school for anyone who wants to enquire about it. So far I've located the top three potential candidates to join – two in the US and one in Russia. Ororo will be the first of these new students.' As Charles came to a stop in the middle of the lobby, they dissipated, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Ororo settled on her new bed, opposite Jean who opened the doors, draws and closets for her. 'And if you ever need to get out onto the balcony, there's a code for the windows which is the same in most rooms – it's 1234. They have a panel on the outside too, so you can come back in if it gets locked. I'm in the room next door, so give me a shout.' She paused, watching the new intern. 'How are you holding up?'
'I guess it's a little fast. Freaky for me, really; no-one's treated me this good in a long time. I'm grateful, you know that.' Ororo hugged her, and then set about to tend to her backpack. 'There are only a few of us here since the Professor set it all up, so don't be scared to talk to me, or Scott [he's a great listener] – we're in this together.' Jean was halfway out the door when Ororo spoke up. 'Will I ever have to risk my life for all this?'
'Sometimes it gets hazy in situations. We've got your back, always.' She left, closing the door.
Jean stepped down the stairs to find Charles at the bottom, awaiting her. 'I sensed discomfort from her at the start – especially when she came into the Mansion.' He drove his chair back toward the office. 'Ororo has eased in since I spoke to her – your contribution is invaluable as well, Jean, and for that I can't thank you enough.'
Jean ran a hand through her short red hair and walked by his side. 'I sensed that too, Professor – it's clear from the surface her life to date hasn't exactly been a roller coaster ride. She's got hope, though; hope and staying power. I can feel that.'
'What's that saying?' He asked. 'Plus ce change, plus ce même chose. It will be the same story for every one of the new students.'
'[The more things change the more they stay the same] – I hope you're right, sir.'
* * *
The centre of Washington D.C was overcrowded with humans and mutants alike, all anticipating the flurry of passion that would sweep the city and the rest of the world once the Mutant Registration Act was decided. On Capital Hill was the magnificent centrepiece of American democracy that held Congress. The steps were lined with bodyguards and security forces, keeping out the screaming and screeching protestors. A select few were allowed to attend the discussion, and they were being ferried in a stream by more of the black suited bodyguards. The last remaining politicians and congressmen entered the building from their refuge. The riot barriers shook and trembled terribly as a fresh wave of passion passed through the crowds.
'…And these statistics from 1985 show exactly what this bill plans to establish – how many mutants are in the free world at this very time! Nobody knows how many, or what abilities they have or whether they pose a threat to ordinary people…' The speaker strode about the court area, suitably proud, and delivered his oration with strong belief. '…Going back to the '92 incident, in which several Canadian civilians were crushed to death when a Brazilian-born mutant used his telepathy to squash the car trying to overtake him in a tunnel! This kind of unchecked declaration of raw power is exactly why we need these people and their powers stamped down on, so that it will be possible to make life safe for the ordinary American as well as the ordinary mutant! Such acts of violence and random exposure can lead to anti-mutant action, which is not the right way to go about dealing with such proceedings…'
At Charles' side sat Hank and Tessa, both discouraged by the deliveries and lectures being spewed out from either side of the political fence. They sat uncomfortably, discussing each point made with as much fervour as the speaker. Charles was more concerned with not what was in front of him, in the congress court, but with one man who stood alone by the court entrance; a man that Charles recognised from his past. He sat still, watching this man for some time.
'…Of course, what this will mean for mutants everywhere is the systematic destruction of their privacy, and the revelation of every single detail of their lives. Most mutants will clearly not want this uncovering of information to occur, especially for it to be common knowledge among people that have the power and inclination to abuse it. Then, there is the actual accomplishment of the registration; although it becomes illegal to not alert officials to such facts, most mutants will surely not want to register themselves – and anyone who is adamantly refusing, well, surely you can all see the flaws in this logic…'
Charles watched until the man decided to turn his back on the discussion and leave. Immediately, he started up the chair and quietly exited, leaving his reasons echoing in the minds of his two students. He came down the corridor and called to the man. 'Erik – giving up on hope so soon? You realise that the potential to strike a blow for mutantkind is present here today.' Charles moved closer, and looked up into the face of his adversary.
'Do you honestly believe that politically correct tripe, Charles? They're all humorists, mouthing platitudes and invective proclamations alike, without a decent regard for the consequences of any of their actions. How could an intelligent being, such as yourself, be deceived into considering they could provide a difference in the world we live in today? It's remarkable how gullible you are, still.'
'Don't insult me, Erik – society is becoming more and more open every day – we may not have been able to cause a storm when we went around asserting our way of life all those years ago, but people change and become more advanced.'
'And we are those people, Xavier. We are the ones that became more advanced, and evolved for the better. I should think you might be going senile if you continue to put your faith in the same people that grew up hating our kind.' He replied. 'Once this bill passes, and we're oppressed to the point of rebellion, every mutant on the face of the planet will come to me and my cause; and as a saviour, I shall rise above the dictators of this world to lead the better race. I won't allow anyone to stand in my way – not this government, not the world, not even you, Charles.'
'Are you sure you want to do that, Erik – the road to hell is paved with good intentions.'
He pointed to his head. 'Don't try to fool me up here, old friend. You'll understand once this President proclaims new laws and acts to crush mutants.'
'You're making a mistake if you believe that, Erik.'
'I am making no mistake – now leave me alone!' He raised his hand, and crumpled the metal in the wheels of Xavier's chair, leaving it dulled. He marched out of the corridor and away from the building.
Tessa rounded the corner at a hurried pace and caught the Charles struggling with his chair. 'What happened?' She asked, concerned.
'I had a run-in with an old opponent. How is the Act going?'
'I think we've lost the fight, Professor.'
* * *
Nearly a fortnight after the Mutant Registration Act was passed by Congress; the world was still in uproar over its ultimatum. Mutants in several key locations in every state had publicly demonstrated, calling for immediate reform or dissolution. Riots from mutant sympathisers took place in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Quebec in Canada. While the wound was still open, Xavier insisted any exposure from his students would increase the tension within the U.S limitless times. They stayed in the Mansion most of the time, resting and training, while Xavier planned their moves for collecting the new students.
At around the same time, the President of the United States was returning from international affairs in Europe. His Leer Jet landed at JFK airport in Dallas, Texas, and he was scheduled to be paraded through the city whilst visiting relatives in the State. Preparations were made on the eve of the day, allowing for no errors once he was to travel in an open top limousine with his wife. His path along the streets was planned, and bodyguards lined the area, securing it beforehand.
Jamison Atkins, the black-suited bodyguard on the left side of the limo jogged alongside, as the President and his wife waved heartily to the crowds of supporters come to witness the main occasion. He smiled admirably at the people, wishing them well, and calling out loving sentiments as the limo cruised by on the sunny afternoon. Not a cloud appeared in the blue sky, save for the murky, oily smog that lined the atmosphere over the city. It reflected the heat, stiflingly.
A boarded-up window in the Texas Book Depository building on the main path cracked slightly as it was forced open from the inside by the butt of a metal pipe. The window resisted two more swipes, and then caved with a clatter. A woman leaned out into the light of the window slowly, watching the street below, and analysing her arena. The bodyguards sweated and struggled along, keeping with the pace of the open top limousine. She leaned further out of the window, closely observing the details of the vehicle as her main target. The President waved in her direction without noticing the threat from several floors above, in the retired and historical building. The passengers in the seats, the directions and paths of the nearest roads and the wind in the air were all factors in her mind. It strengthened her resolve; to know that this was the same man who would aid the destruction of an entire race. The President's limousine passed into the centre view, through the milling crowds of people and beyond. She had wasted too much time, focussing on her determination, and now it was out of plausible range. Cursing herself mentally, she ran through to the room opposite in the worn out building and blew open the boarded window with a colossal sounding shatter. There was a split-second of hesitation outside as the bodyguards registered the explosion, and then they reacted, jumping atop the limo as the president was thrust under cover. Atkins looked to the sound of the explosion, and pulled his Glock 17 from under his blazer.
The woman concentrated from the window, pulling power from deep within her soul. She pulled the splinters from the window up, off the ground, and forced them down towards the limo. They peppered the back of the car liberally, sticking cruelly from the back of the bodyguard protecting the President. Registering the casualty, the driver in the vehicle speed it up. Screams and cries of terror radiated throughout the streets, as the woman used more of the wreckage, and flung it towards the President himself. Shots were fired, but ricocheted ineffectively off the side of building, as she retracted and hid behind the walls. Atkins swivelled about to the sound of a new threat from the other side of the street.
From behind a picket fence, another attacker stood and unleashed a bolt from his hands straight through the limousine bonnet, shattering it in a cloud of sparks. The driver's body slumped lifelessly against the wheel as it skidded slowly into the curb. Supporters screeched and scattered, the rest of the bodyguards spinning around to combat the new threat. The new attacker flung several more bolts of energy towards them, skewering each against the far wall in a shower of blood and dust. Atkins pulled off several shots at the grassy knoll, dotting the fence, before a sharp pain seared over his left shoulder, and he crumpled pathetically to the floor, a large splinter embedded in his flesh. The attacker on the grassy knoll leapt over the picketed fence, and shot a few more bolts at the limousine, igniting it with a spectacular plume of flame. He staggered and spun as the bullets hit home, and finally lay on the ground, bleeding out.
From within the Book Depository, the woman was surprised abruptly when Atkins rushed into the room, his shoulder leaking viciously. She stopped, and watched him. He pulled out his pistol once more, and she flashed the metal pipe, knocking the gun out of his hands. She grappled with him momentarily, and then used her mind to throw him further into the room. She dashed out, but was hit in the back by the last shot from Atkins' gun. The bodyguard slumped in the direction of her escape, and he holstered his gun, crawling down the steps of the crumbling depository. Sharp jolts of fire burned up and down his back, the wooden splinter caught in his shoulder.
She burst out of the back door, staggering blindly in her panic. Smoke billowed from over the wreckage of the limousine. She dashed out into the main street to confirm her target's destruction, but attracted too much attention from the President's men, bleeding over her jacket. They surrounded her, pulling guns and screaming threats in their wrath. She pulled the parts and pieces of debris and waste into the air, and spun them around her, orbiting the area. The pieces smashed into the sides of each guard knocking and stabbing as they circled her body. She lifted the ambulance opposite them onto the burnt-out limo, crushing it. The last few bystanders fled while the emergency vehicle went up in flames. She flung the remaining bodyguards out of her way, and ran down the street, the debris orbiting her closely.