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

#02

"tell me you're a politik"

Remy walked the hallways of Magneto's home looking for Rogue.  On one side lay the reflecting silvery walls of the fortress and on the other were the huge glass windows looking out onto the wild beauty of the Savage land, and its eerie jungle vistas.  The sun was peeking over the horizon, radiating pink pre-dawn light into the air.  Remy skulked quietly until he came to her room.  She sat on her bed, downhearted, reading a tattered book.  There was a knock at her door, and she looked up. 

'Can I come in?'  He asked, tying the dressing gown tighter around his waist.

'Sure.'

'You've made this place look nice - homely.'  He remarked.  'You see my room, s'all bare an' cold.'

She placed the book back onto a table and sat on the side of the bed, next to him.  'I didn't mean to blow you off like that, before.  It's not something I like to talk about.  My past is troubled, and I'm not ready to reveal it to anyone; not even Magneto, who was good enough to take me in without asking questions.'

'I didn't mean t' pry.'  He said, resting a hand on one shoulder.  He stroked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.  'I just wanna know the girl who was so good t' me when I got here.'  They stared at each other momentarily, but were interrupted as Pietro leaned in the door.

'Father wants to call a little gathering, you two, so you better meet him out in the gardens in five minutes.  Don't be late, or he'll blame me.'  As quick as he arrived, he speed off, leaving them alone once more. 

'I guess we better go, then.'  Rogue said, separating the two of them.  She pulled a jumper over her head, and left the room.  Remy sat still, and gazed out of the huge windows by himself.

                                                *        *        *

The war room in the X Mansion's basement was animated early in the morning, with live feed from cameras and news broadcasts all busy publicising the recent incident in the centre of Dallas.  The President of the United States had been assassinated along with his wife and several bodyguards while driving through the city.  One of the attackers was shot dead at the scene, but the other fled, and managed to evade the authorities.  The whir of machinery sparked up, blinking a three-dimensional vector graphic map of the street where the President was killed.  It flashed points over the area, highlighting the casualties and survivors, and then projected annotated boxes, as Hank typed in the commentary for the other X-Men to see.  'This is the start of something big – as long as the U.S has no President, there is no official confirmation on anything that gets run past the cabinet.'  Jean explained.  'That means that whoever comes up with any new projects, schemes, and personal assignments can have them simply signed off by someone who doesn't actually speak for the country.  Anything could be past by corrupt officials, people who are being influenced, or anyone with a personal vendetta to settle.  Now that the President has been killed, not to mention his wife and several others, by a mutant, you can bet that someone's got some plans in store for our minority.'

Addressing the people around him, Charles spoke.  'Although I considered myself not quite as cynical as Jean, there will be consequences for actions – cause and effect – I think something very bad is about to happen.'

Hank scratched his head, pulling up several photographs on the war room screens for the others to look at.  'These are some of the pictures taken from the crime scene afterwards – and one from the morgue of a security man stuck with hundreds of pin pricks over his back.  There's someone dangerous on the loose that could do this.  So far, the Professor and I have tracked the mutant's movements with Cerebro, all the way to Boston.  She seems to have telekinesis of sorts, capable of gravitating and asserting pressure on certain surfaces.'

'I want you, my X-Men to fly to Boston and capture this assassin.  Hold her until the authorities have been alerted, and wait for them to pick her up.'  He paused, observing his students acutely.  'This is a difficult decision for some of you to make, and what with the recent commotion over the tragedy in Dallas, there could well be resistance from human intervention.  I don't want to pressure any of you, but I'm sure there's no other way this mutant is going to be brought to justice for her crime.'

Hank curved around from the bank of computers.  'I'll go, but you knew I would, sir.'

Scott and Jean stepped forward, and finally Ororo.  Charles smiled, and spoke to Warren who was left sitting in a swivel chair.  'I'll need someone to come with me as I'm going too, but only to try to collect another new student.'  Warren nodded, understanding, and left the room to go with Charles. 

'So what's the deal here, then, we just gonna jump into Boston and start a fight with this woman?'  Ororo asked.

'We'll have to land near enough her present location, which I'll be monitoring with the computers, and then we confront and immobilise the target.'  Hank replied.  He brought up a map of Boston, which was on a much larger scale than the one before.  It zoomed in on a point – a chain of abandoned houses on a city block that relatively few people lived around.  A minute image of the Blackbird, the Mansion's private stealth jet blipped elegantly across the map, and landed behind the chain of houses, shielding itself from appearance outside.  'That's where we'll be going, so get any gear you want and make sure you're ready for this.'  Scott stated.  He tapped on the table and clicked the screen off. 

                                                *        *        *

The blonde bubble of a secretary popped in through the door of the Vice President's office, a stack of documents in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.  She laid the cup down on the desk.  'There's a Mr. Hawk Spaskyich here to speak with you, Sir, he says it's very important.'  Vice President Dwight Jackson leaned over to one side of his overly large wooden desk to see a familiar face that echoed back the enthusiasm he was presenting.  The secretary left the room, closing the door behind her.  An awkward silence ensued, but was finally broken as Jackson sipped at his black coffee.  The man opposite wore a finely cleaned suit, and a tie that didn't suit the way his face was structured.  It contrasted badly with the permanent leer etched across his face.  'Aren't you glad to see me once more, Dwight?  I should think after all these little visits we've had going on, you'd learn to love me, and just like the rest of this Government I've spoken too.'  He pulled up a chair without asking, and sat in it, placing his briefcase on the desk, on top of the papers.  'I heard about our leader,' he continued.  'What a cryin' shame that was – such a PC, straight-up guy he was – waving to all those people; unlucky way to go, being bumped off by a mutie too.  Still, there are worse things that coulda happened to him.'

Jackson folded his arms, observing the briefcase, and listening.  'What do you want now?'  He demanded.

'Well, in spite of all this trouble with them nowadays, you still can't keep a good mutant down, can ya?  I'm lookin' to start the go-ahead for enforced Mutant Registration, instead of letting the bastards volunteer to be tagged.  I've got people working for me already who have the equipment, the time and the money – all I need is your final word on the subject, so that I can green-light everything.'

The Vice President stayed quiet, while Spaskyich stared him in the eyes, confrontationally.  'Tell me you're still a politician, Jackson.  Tell me you still succumb to the needs of an everyday man?  Tell me you don't think this problem of ours is just gonna go away?'  He stood up, and strolled over to the window, glancing outside at the gardens, and buildings in the distance. 

'You're a sinister character, Spaskyich, and I think whatever you've got in mind for the future of America stinks.'

He interrupted the Vice President in mid-speech.  'So you're not going to say 'YES' to me, Dwight?'

'I don't think I'll be letting you 'force' mutants to register.  They already are required too – anyone who slips through the fence will have the police on him.'

'I'll be using special services called 'Sentinels' to provide the public with safety, Dwight, nothing menacing.  You are concerned with safety, aren't you, Dwight?  Public Safety?  I think once I've got these people out on the streets, you'll be thankin' my efforts.'  He sat back in the leather chair.  'Look in the briefcase, for God's sake.'  Jackson took hold and opened it, leafing through the papers to the prize underneath.  'I've already got more than half the Presidential cabinet on my side, Jackson – people I know, and can trust.  They're with me, and you better be with me as well.'

'What are you going to do?'

Hawk Spaskyich grabbed the briefcase from out of his hands, and closed it.  'Nothing that hasn't been considered before – only with the backing of the public, due to this 'saint's' attack on the President, the whole project will come to life, finally.  If you want this,' he tapped the case.  'Come to the usual place tonight, at ten thirty.  Someone will be there to give it to you.'

He was about to open the door, when Jackson shouted back.  'Just because they did something wrong, doesn't make what you're about to do that much the righter!'

'Keep your voice down, for chrissakes – someone might hear that.'  He left the room, grinning to himself.

The secretary bounded in through the door again, another stack of files and folders under her arm.  'Are you okay, Mr Jackson, sir; hopefully nothing another coffee won't cure?'

'Yes I'm alright, just a bit stressed over this whole ordeal.  I wonder if we'll ever reach the other side without resorting to killing each other in the process.'

'Are you talking about the mutant and human situation, sir?  I don't really know anything about it…'

He stared up at her, as if plucked out of a daydream.  'That will be all, thanks.  Perhaps I just need a rest.'

She closed the thick door behind her.

The buzz of an insect suddenly aggravated him intensely, and Jackson looked at the window, unsure of how to react.  He registered a miniature incision in one of the panes, but he became incredibly woozy, and couldn't resist the urge to sit down.  Wondering, hazily, what had stung him, his fingers came away with a trickle of crimson, and the stark truth hit him.  Jackson struggled slightly, and then he died. 

                                                *        *        *

The Blackbird flew over the Boston skyline relatively quietly, at early in the morning.  Its sleek design prevented detection from air bases and control towers piloting planes in the city.  Having already dropped Xavier and Warren off at a point in the city's residential areas, they were on a course to locate the mutant assassin, who currently hid out in a chain of several abandoned houses on the other side of the city.  On board the jet, Hank sat at the controls once more, directing the aircraft with ease.  Behind him sat Ororo, who was staring out the windows, alone in her thoughts.  Scott sat behind, talking to Jean.  He leaned across the space between their two seats. 

'I'm sorry I haven't had much of chance to talk to you recently.'  He said.  'There's just been a lot to do; and these new kids are going to make it that much harder to have any free time at the Mansion.  Sometimes I just need a time out.'

'It's all right, Scott – we've been under strain.  Besides, we can always talk about stuff.  It's us, you know?'

'Yeah – I just thought I might have been neglecting you.  I wouldn't want that.'

'Don't worry.'  She replied.  They paused for a moment, feeling the inertia of the craft as it slowed all of a sudden.  Hank shouted down the cabin.  'We've got her location on the map.  Seems like we came at just the right time – she's on the go.'

Scott leaned over to her once more.  'You ready for this, Jean?'

She nodded, and unstrapped the belt buckle. 

The Blackbird hovered briefly over the crumbling houses, and then landed in the gardens, crushing several fence lines.  The ramp descended, and all four of them came out.  'What now?  We gonna go on a bug hunt for this girl?'  Ororo asked.  She walked over to the back door of the house in front, and pulled it open.  'I don't think anyone lives here – she's probably escaped on foot through some tunnels, or something.'

Jean reached out with her mind, trying to locate the presence of the individual telepathically.  Something blocked her thoughts, and she recoiled.  In doing so, the assassin revealed herself, and Jean yelled to them.  'She's out in the open – go through the house and she'll be running down the road!'  Hank burst through the rooms with the others in pursuit.  The front door splintered open, and they saw the assassin hurtling down the street.  Ororo jumped down the flight of steps and summoned a lightening bolt, which struck the concrete just in front of the woman.  She screamed and was tossed away onto her back.  Hank rushed over to her, but she threw him out of her way.  She formed a shield of sorts around her body, and Scott's blast from his eyes bounced harmlessly off it.  He ran toward the assassin, firing from the visor as he went.  'Jean!'  He shouted, while pursuing the woman.  'Break down her barrier!' 

Concentrating, Jean dissolved the shield, as Ororo took control of the wind, and sent the woman flying into the side of a parked truck.  She crumpled against the metal, and tried to stand.  Scott took out his cell phone and started to dial for the police to collect their target.  Hank grappled with her for a second, but was thrown off again with a strike from her mind.

From behind the row of abandoned houses, a colossal metal construct stamped toward the skirmishing mutants.  It raised its hand, opening an eye in its palm.  The assassin caught sight of the Sentinel, and stunned, she stood petrified.  In the same instant, a bright orange beam struck her body, and she screamed as her flesh was consumed in fire.  Horrified, the X-Men turned to watch as this giant machine moved its arm toward them.  The remains of the assassin perished into dust.  No blood or guts were left, only grain to feed the insects and soil.  'Jesus, Scott, what is this?'  Jean cried; but she barely had time to react before the same orange beam engulfed her.  She erected a psionic barrier to protect herself, but the force drained her to the point of exhaustion.  Scott panicked, and ran forward to let loose the beam from his visor.  It careered over the shoulder of the metal beast, blowing away the outer layer, and sawing the arm in two.  A thundering crash echoed down the street as a forearm, the size of a car, smashed into the concrete road.  Jean collapsed under the strain, and fell back into the arms of Ororo. 

The Sentinel, as if waiting for a response, raised its remaining arm to the creatures on the ground.  Waked from a trance, Hank leapt toward the construct's leg.  It tried to stamp on him, but with an enormous effort, he took hold of the foot, and toppled it.  The Sentinel registered other mutant presences in the area before it dropped backwards onto the roof of another house.  Its fire beam was thrown into the air, and coursed over to the other side of houses, blowing holes in each.  A companion Sentinel staggered from the other direction, as big as a three story building.  Its voice bellowed out, but they were too frightened to register its call.  'Look, there's another one!'  Scott shouted.  'Lets get the hell out of here – we can't afford to fight once more!'  Ororo called down a thick fog from the atmosphere, which separated them from the threat.  The shifting fog revealed parts of the construct in disturbing accuracy as its shadow fell upon them.  Like a robot, it paused, and then raised the hands to sky to fire off the orange flares.  The ground rumbled and shook, as it stepped through the dispersing fog.  Retreating, Scott fired off several more shots which struck the Sentinel in the breastplate.  'It's too heavily armoured for my blasts – we can't take this on again.'  As they were fleeing the scene, a helicopter came into view, landing in the middle of the street, opposite the collapsed construct.  Magneto walked out, followed by his Acolytes.  They ran down the road, and started to attack the new threat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jean saw the new arrivals, and twisted out of Ororo's grasp to observe.  'Scott, Hank – who's that?'

Cortez pulled out his weapon, and fired at the head of the Sentinel while Delgado grabbed hold of the legs.  His body mass almost doubled in front of them, and he heaved them up with an almighty strength.  The other two ran to the side and waited for the machine to fall. 

'They're mutants, like us!'  Jean exclaimed.  She ran over to Magneto, who was waiting for her. 

'Who are you?  Scott asked.  An explosion sounded, and the Sentinel burst open in a shower of sparks.  They cheered mightily, and Magneto looked at the X-Men in distaste.  'You're Charles' lackeys, aren't you?  Trying to combat human aggression devices with peace – how readily do you think humans understand us?  Not very, it seems.'

'You're saying this was an act from mutant haters?  How would anyone gain enough money to create such a monstrosity and why would they go to such lengths to do so?'  Hank asked.  He watched as Magneto's face corroded into a cruel leer.  'This is an act of congress and the Government – exactly like the Mutant Registration Act!  No wonder you children don't understand how the world works.  You're too full of hope and good intensions.'

'Sir,' Anne Marie asked.  'You better see this for yourself.  We're too late – she must have been killed by the Sentinels.  Perhaps she might not have wanted to team up with us, sir.'

Magneto surveyed the ashes of the assassin, scattering in the wind into a black dust.  Police sirens sounded off in the distance. 

'That's the woman we tracked – she killed the President.'  Ororo stated.  'I guess she got what she deserved.'

Magneto motioned his four Acolytes back to the Helicopter.  'That woman was a sinner and a saint – she struck a blow for Mutantkind, but in doing so, has caused the eradication of half of its population.  I find your lack of sympathy for her disturbing.'

Hank stepped in front of the others, protecting them.  'She was a casualty of war?  Who are you to judge such things?  We don't even know whether these mechanical monsters are the product of a Government project or not.  I sincerely doubt that they are – who would have a scheme supervised that allows the destruction of a country's population?'

'The same people that allow for wars to be waged in other countries all over the world,' He answered 'that are based primarily on discrimination and hatred!  You should understand that a new age of war and democracy is coming, and to withstand the tidal wave, you'll have to rise above the petty ambitions of a few twisted human individuals that would rather have us swept away by the flood.  We're not a minority that will succumb to this discrimination any longer.  These Sentinels are the last effort to contain us.  And they haven't worked.'  He turned his back on them, and made for the helicopter.  Its rotor blades whirred into life. 

'How can you say that about the world you live in?  Those wars were waged to benefit people who had been oppressed.  Discrimination was never a part of it.'  Jean replied, angrily.

'The time has come for the governments of the world to wage a war on the people in their own boundaries.  We are those people, and if you're not prepared to accept that, then you will soon be forced too.'

They watched him enter the helicopter, and he left them standing in the street, alone, amid the wreckage.

As the police cars pulled up alongside the broken hollows of the Sentinels, the four students departed. 

                                                *        *        *

Waiting out in the middle of the street at nine o'clock in the morning, Warren wondered whether this was the best place for him to be seen.  He resembled a rather shady character, wearing a large leather jacket to conceal his wings underneath.  A thought struck him as he heard police sirens blaring in the distance, but was quickly quelled by Charles, who talked to him telepathically.  * Don't worry about the others, Warren – they can take care of themselves.  Right now, we are here to find the Drake boy, and bring him back with us.  You won't seem suspicious unless you think that you're trying to hide something – stay with me. *

The front door opened, and a mother stood with her mail in hand. 

'My name is Professor Charles Xavier, Mrs Drake, and I'm here to talk to you about your son, Robert.'

                                                *        *        *

The father, mother and son sat around the dining room table, listening to the visitor explain Robert's situation to them.  Warren stood by the door, acting as the Professor's bodyguard. 

'I hope I would not be talking out of line if I was to say that your son's grades are suffering slightly this year, and you don't know why exactly.  Is that right?'

Mr Drake replied.  'Yes, I suppose it is – how do you know?  You say that you're not from the school, or even from the board of education, so…'

'And would I be right in saying that your son has seemed slightly despondent and detached from you for a while now, almost the same amount of time?  Charles asked them.

'Yes – he had a rather unfortunate incident a while back where he said that the pressure of work had gotten to be too much.'  Mrs Drake replied.  She was about to continue, but Mr Drake interrupted her.

'Listen, what is this about?  What exactly do you want with Bobby?'  He pointed to Warren.  'Who are you?'

'My name is Warren Worthington – I work at the Professor's school.  I'm an Economics and Business Studies teacher.'  He replied.

'My school is located in the North of New York, in Salem Center, Westchester Country.  It's Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and there we give a rather thorough and well-rounded education to every person that attends.'  Charles considered using his mind on the parents to help his cause, but he resisted for the moment.  'We have extremely useful facilities, and help to steer whatever course of education the pupils want to pursue; here's a brochure.'

'Wait a second – look, this is ridiculous, we don't even live within travelling distance of Salem, Bobby's got friends at school, and besides, I bet the cost is through the roof.  I don't think so, Professor Xavier.  Whatever you're selling, I don't think we want it.'  Mr Drake stood up, and prepared to show them the door.  Charles concentrated on Bobby, though, and said: 'would it be alright, if I were to have a chat with your son, first, Mr and Mrs Drake?'

'No, now come on – he's got work to do.'

'Dad, give me a break – I'd like to make my own decision about this.'  Bobby said.  Mr Drake sighed.  'How long?'  He asked bluntly.

'Not long – I just want Bobby to understand what we're offering for his benefit.'

                                                *        *        *

'Do you know there are two kinds of people in the world Bobby?'  Charles asked, sipping at his coffee.

'Whaddya mean?'

'There are people who are special in one way or another, and then there are people who are just regular, like your parents.'

'My parents aren't very regular – they don't understand me at all.  They think I can't work properly because I never set my mind to it.  The only reason I've stayed afloat at school is because I work my ass off.'

'Then why were you receiving below average grades all last year?'

'I had problems with stuff, you know.'  His head sank slightly, and his voice lowered.

'Troubles which only teenagers know about?'  Xavier asked, even though he knew the answer.  He was trying to ease Bobby into the conversation, without scaring the boy. 

'Yeah – girls, work, that sort of thing.'

'Could it also have been because you were different in some way?  Changes in the body came on a little too much in you, unlike everyone else.  Does that sound familiar, Bobby?'

'I don't know what you mean – listen, I'm okay at school, and I ain't doing too bad, so maybe this was a mistake…'

'Mutants.  You know about them, don't you?'  Bobby didn't say anything, but his face lit up slightly.  'Mutants are the product of key environmental and physiological changes in your genetic heritage.  A sequence of DNA has been constructed on a chromosome, creating the X Gene, which accounts for the results of whatever mutation occurs in a person.  A lot of time and money has been spent on trying to determine why mutants are the way they are.  Scientists in those fields can only determine that the mutation is determined by the brain, because nearly everything else in the human body is understood.  I don't pretend to understand the biology of it all; Bobby, but I understand mutants themselves.  I'm pretty sure you have something you might want to say to me now.'

'I'm a mutant.  I've known for a while now.  It started about a year ago, and has gotten a lot more intense since then.'

'Are you ashamed of it, Bobby?'  Charles asked, staring into the boy's eyes.

'I was at first – but there's nothing I can do about it.  What can you tell me?'

'I can tell you that no matter what kind of ability you have, you are always welcome to my school as long as you have an interest in developing those skills.'

'I hear about these mutants on television – like the ones that are supposed to have killed the President – aren't you all hated?'

'Many mutants are, but there are also mutants who would use their powers for good, the way the police force does.  Some might hide, whereas some would come out into the light and be recognised.  Do you want to be one of the mutants that would use his powers for good?'  Charles asked him.

'Yes.'

'Make me believe you.'  He replied.

Bobby stared at him for a while, considering his options.  He looked out the dining room door, where his parents had gone.  'You want me to move into your school?  But my family don't even know about me.'

'I'll leave you with this telephone number – contact me personally on this one to talk.  I'll be giving your parents a different one so that they can think you'd be going to an ordinary school.  The brochure they have – everything in that is real.  You'll be with people like you, Bobby.'

'Warren – you like it there?'  He asked.

'It's worth a look just to make sure.  I'm glad I decided on it.'  Warren replied, smiling proudly to him.

'Are you a mutant too then?' 

'Yes – I can fly.'

'Just… like that?'

'I have two large feathered wings, Bobby.  They can be a hassle, but I've learned to accept that fact.'  Warren took off his large leather jacket, revealing his wings sticking out of his back.  They stretched out, but he put the jacket back on before anyone should see.

'You sure are persuasive, Professor.  I'll give you a call.'  Bobby said.  They walked out of his house, and he closed the door and rushed to talk to his parents.

                                                *        *        *

Cortez strutted angrily around the floor of Magneto's chamber.  He was busy healing the cuts and scrapes on his body before his lord entered.  Cortez stopped and came over to where he sat, tiredly.  'The children you spoke to were arrogant, my lord – let it not bother you.  They don't understand the way the world works.  They see it through rose coloured glasses – let it be their mistake to believe in the promises of empty, hateful politicians and leaders.'  Magneto looked at his servant wearily.  His conviction and loyalty was boundless.  He was a true believer in the cause.  The lord stared out of the windows at his domain, the moon settling early in the evening sky.  Whistles and clicks from nature sifted through the fortress, and blew the silken blinds lazily across the entrance to his chamber.  'We shall deal with them in our own way, lord?'  Cortez suggested. 

'I don't want the students gotten rid of.  If they could only be taught the truth, instead of all that political nonsense that Charles has injected them with.' 

Cortez kneeled by his master's side.  'They don't realise, lord, that there is only room for one vision for our future in this world – your vision.  The two ideals cannot coexist; one can only prevail through the total elimination of the other.  They need to know that you are our lord, Magneto, and you must inherit our race.  The changes you speak of are resumption of your true destiny as the leader of mutantkind.  That, Xavier and his students will never allow.'

'They'll understand soon enough, Fabian.  I've sent someone to deal with Charles in their own way.'

                                                *        *        *

Once back at the Mansion safely, Jean was in the recovery room in the basement, tending to a rather large cut in her side.  She peeled away the gauze, and touched at the scraped flesh.  Her instinct was to leave it alone, but she picked up a small syringe, and gingerly stuck the point just above the cut, injecting the contents.  Biting her lip, she drew a drop of blood.  Scott came in to see her.  He caught site of her without her shirt, and watched as she took the needle out, and reattached the small bandages.  She placed it back down on the medical tray, and then straightened her back, putting her shirt back on.  He saw her profile, and smiled to himself.  'Hi Scott' she said, without turning 'what's up?  Speak with the Professor yet?'

'No… just wanted to check you were okay.  I didn't realise you were hurt – you seemed to be okay when you were talking with that guy.  Who is he, I wonder?'

'Beats me, but there was something bizarre about him – however hard I tried, I couldn't read anything from the surface of his mind.  It was the strangest thing.  Guess we'll have to ask Xavier about it.  What did you want?'  She smiled to him innocently.

'You know, just to catch up on things.  That was some trouble we came across today.  I've never seen anything like it before; what happened to that woman, Jesus, but that was scary.'

She frowned, putting the needle in the waste bin, and placing the tray back among the stacks.  'We're living in some real times now, Scott.  We're going to have to be careful if we want to come out on top.  Government project or not, the whole thing's sick, and I'm scared for our kind.'

He put his arms around her, comfortingly.

They were broken from their reverie by a red alarm in the corner of the ceiling blinking, brightly.  'What now?'

Jumping over the high brick wall, a shadow blended in perfectly with the surrounding vegetation, all bathed in the perennial twilight darkness of the night.  He held his nose to the night air, sniffing slightly, and then descended to the earth, crawling, as a turret shot out of the ground behind a bush, and shot several slugs in his direction.  He dodged one way, then another, and halved the turret in two perfectly.  He grunted in disapproval, and continued toward the large Mansion, parallel to the stony path.  Cameras high in the branches of the trees lining the brick wall picked up his movement before he had a chance to hide.  A claxon sounded somewhere behind him, and the stranger dashed ahead, slicing a wire-thin electric fence as he went.  Several more turrets jumped out of the ground, and fired at him, but he was out of sight before the bullets could hit.  He leapt over more bushes, and finally came up to the front of the Mansion.  An Ultra Violet lamp illuminated the whites in his attire, but he didn't run.  A red beam shot across his bow, and he bounded out of the way, only to find that he couldn't move properly.  He stopped struggling, and Jean placed his body under his will once more.  The stranger retracted his claws into his hands and stood still.

Charles came out and stood between Jean and Scott, both guarding their prisoner.  'State your name and business, stranger.  I'm not a fan of people breaking in and entering my property.'

The stranger spoke up.  'Don't get angry, pal, I was jus' wondering whether there was any room at the inn for me.'

'What's your name and why did you break in?'

'I jumped over the fence, 'cos nobody was answering at the gate.  Intercom must be broken, or somethin'.  My name's Logan and I want in on your little thing you got going here, Charlie.'