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
#05
"complication"
Logan stood before his reflection in his small bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth carefully. He eyed himself, scrutinising every little contour and line etched across his calloused skin. Spitting the contents of his mouth out, he closed the cabinet door, no longer showing his reflection, but that of a young red-headed girl in the bed opposite. She sat reading the newspaper, gazing at the main article. His apartment was situated in uptown Washington D.C, and the motorcycle used to get them there was in the garage below the block. It overlooked the main streets, and other giant apartment buildings in the city. He stepped back into the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, and opened the curtains slightly, allowing the smoke from his cigarette earlier to waft out the gaping window. 'There's some information on the Sentinel problem here.' Jean said her brow furrowing as she read the paper. 'It looks like the Professor got through to the President. The Government's recalling all the Sentinel units and recycling the metal. I think humanity is finally starting to come around to our way of thinking.' She laughed.
Logan said nothing, and sat on the side of the bed, his back to her.
'Perhaps the dream hasn't been a waste of time. Still, we have to keep up the premise that the school resembles a collective housing estate for Jehovah's witnesses. Do you think this will affect us in the long run?' She asked, tapping the paper against his bare back.
'I don't know, Jeannie. At least we don't have to fight 'em anymore.' He mumbled.
She nodded, wondering what the matter was, but left it, deciding not to dig further with her extra senses.
He stood up, and emptied the ashtray out of the window, padding around in his bare feet. He stood opposite, watching her every beautiful movement. Jean threw the paper to the end of the bed. 'I wonder how Scott's getting on… last we heard of him, he'd gone into the Savage land. What a place for a guy like him. Somehow I feel responsible for his leaving, Logan. I can't help thinking he left because of something I did. If anything happened to him, I could never forgive myself.'
'I'm sure the kid's all right, Red, he's a tough bastard, and I've only just met him, so it shows on the outside. Whatever he's up to, you can bet he'll still be making some good decisions.'
She was a little taken aback, at his apparent concern. 'I'm surprised you actually care, Logan, you've never rubbed along with Scott properly. Why do you worry now?'
'Perhaps,' Logan started, kneeling on the bed sheets 'because I think he means something to the whole idea of the X-Men, and I don't want to see the kid get wasted for some stupid reason. Now how about we take care of something a little closer to home, Red?' He picked the paper off the end, and chucked it across the room. Jean grinned, taking off her loose nightshirt, and they both dived under the covers.
* * *
Canary Wharf, one of the tallest skyscrapers situated in uptown London, was used primarily as a giant business centre, available for all kinds of foreign and local workers to commune and gather there. The Docklands, the area surrounding the giant building was linked to the Thames River, which ran through the middle of the huge city. The early morning atmosphere was cold and sterile, people bustling in and out of the area, ready for work. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries from street sellers wafted through the locale, creating a uniquely cultural and serene ambience.
At roughly half-past ten in the morning, the top few floors of Canary Wharf exploded. The debris shattered the street below with concrete slabs, giant metal girders and shards of glass. People fled in shock, the noise almost too loud to comprehend. The surrounding buildings trembled mightily, and the roads vibrated under the bystander's feet. Screams of terror and fright went up into the early atmosphere, dispelling the cold fog of the night before. Only debris and rubble, surfacing from impact marks on the ground below showed through the noise, the people having scattered. Immediately, police and fire brigade sirens issued from all around London, the services racing to rescue the trapped people inside the remaining floors of the huge skyscraper.
Two policemen stood opposite the tower, watching in awe as the splinters fell from the sky, implanting into the concrete of the road and pavement. They were soon joined by a third, who appeared rather suddenly by their side, his hat tipped low, covering the familiar silvery streaks in his slicked back hair. As the emergency sirens came nearer and louder, the small group ran away from the streets, and toward the river, eventually coming to the warehouses, away from the damage. They entered the biggest building, and climbed aboard the concealed Blackbird Scott was piloting. He was looking on in disbelief at the terror outside. Pietro threw his hat into a corner, and sat at the controls. 'I can't believe you just did that!' Scott exclaimed. 'Did you even give them a warning or a threat first? How many people do you think died in that explosion?' Remy and Wanda sat down behind them in the passenger seats, while Pietro initiated take-off amid the confusion, only a few blocks ahead. 'Our father told us not to give a warning sign – he was very strict about it, but from what I saw, hardly anybody was even in those top floors when I set the bomb down. Mind you, I did leave down the fire escape stairs, so perhaps there were more people there than we thought.'
'My god, you'll have every mutant in Britain eradicated and for what, publicity? How could Magneto be so stupid?' Scott asked, slamming his fist down on the silver dashboard.
'Search me, I just do what he tells us – if I questioned everything he said, he'd hate me even more for being rebellious.' Pietro answered.
'It's not for the kill, Scott – it's the principal. Even with the apparent dissolution of the Sentinels, the world still needs to come to terms with our power, and they therefore have to respect us.' Wanda assured him. Her arm wrapped round his shoulder from behind, almost in serpentine fashion. She caressed it ever so slightly. 'We've got to fight for our right to survival.'
He swivelled on her, angrily. 'That wasn't any fight I've ever seen – for all you know, you just butchered those people – Magneto will never get me to kill for him, no matter what he does.'
Pietro turned to him sourly. 'It's your grave, Cyclops – just remember that it was you who came to us for help.'
* * *
Hawk Spaskyich marched through the Whitehouse corridors, in the mid-afternoon. The production factories and main organisation leaders had all pulled out from his Sentinel programme, each explaining that they were required to by the US Government. He brushed past the security guards, and was searched as he stepped into the main body of the building. He wearily collected his belongings, and walked into the Oval office, where the President was busy with his Chief of Staff. The two men looked at him, and the President pressed the button on his intercom. 'Hold my calls, please.'
Spaskyich sat down irritably, waiting for the Chief to leave. 'I need to talk to you, Mr President.' He said.
The other man left awkwardly through the side door. 'Haven't seen you for a while now, Hawk; what's the problem?'
'The Sentinel contingency – what were ya tryin' to do? You realise there was mutant terrorist action on a skyscraper in London this morning. They blew up a British mutant containment meeting, and knocked four floors off the tallest high-rise in the skyline. I recognize the Sentinels hadn't been issued yet in England, but that's my point exactly. Stopping the programme is just plain wrong, Mr President, and I think you might be inclined to start the whole thing off again.' Spaskyich crossed his legs confidently, toying with a lighter in his breast pocket.
The President stood in front of the defiant Texan, and sat on the edge of the desk, bearing down upon him. 'Perhaps the decision isn't up to you, Hawk.' He got up, and ambled slowly around the room. 'Since the Sentinels were engaged, I've had nothing from the mutant community but threats, insults, hate campaigns from people who refuse to understand, and a lot of bad press. I had my daughter kidnapped. Do you remember that?'
'These are all reasons to initiate them again. Why the hell are you backin' down to these racist, overbearing bastards? If you ask me, they're sub humans, who don't see the way our world functions. They think it's just black and white, and nothing's gonna come at them for all they've done.'
'I'm confused, here – it sounds almost like you're being racist toward mutants. Don't think I haven't thought this through. The only way for us to live in harmony, without everybody killing everyone else, is if we lay off them. It's unethical and immoral! There's no way I'll condone a course of action which will lead us into war!'
Spaskyich stood, thrusting his chair back, to face the President. 'There won't be a war if we can take every mutant out before they have a chance to rally to Magneto's side and destroy us! I can't believe you're being so obtuse.'
'I'm quite sure I don't want to annihilate a fifth of the world's population on whim, because I want to treat all mutants the same way I treat terrorists, and those people that threaten the very nature of our government.'
'Every mutant is a terrorist deep down.'
The President opened the door to his office, and with a sweeping hand, showed him the exit. 'Get out, Spaskyich – your motives are outdated, and corrupt. I'm not reactivating the contingency, so you can leave your prejudices with all your buddies in Texas.' Hawk was out the door before the President spoke for the last time to him. 'If I find any source of Sentinel action anywhere in the world, then I'm coming straight to you, and we'll march every reporter and mutant sympathiser, every left-wing, right-to-life college student and the very same mutants you despise right onto your front doorstep to bring everything you stand for down to the ground. Have I made myself clear, Spaskyich? I_wouldn't_want_you to take it the wrong way.'
The President closed his door, and buried his face in his hands, exhausted.
* * *
The Mansion was quite desolate at this time of night, most of the students being asleep. Logan, though, did not always sleep so well. A lot of things had overcome him during his long life, and he still dreamt about it all. It haunted him, like a long knife sticking out of his back, ready to rise again once he let his guard down. He had suffered injustices and many losses all those years ago, but now he no longer wished to dwell on any of them. He stood in the lobby of the Mansion, close to one in the morning. The full moon bore a whole in the velvety black sky, shining through the windows and illuminating his form ethereally. Ahead, the glow of burning wood flickered and spat light into the otherwise darkened office of his new mentor. Shadows crept along the wall as the flames licked out, and slowly died to embers. Deciding not to waste time, Logan crept along the carpeted floor, his footfalls absorbed by the springy material. He reached the office door, wide open to friends and visitors. He could hear the slow, relaxed pace of breathing flowing from the room, knowing that the Professor was in there, alone. Logan held himself to the wall, and unsheathed his six claws, all untarnished even from years of abuse. Several times, his muscles flexed, just set to spring into the room, and at each critical moment, his will failed. The body shivered with anticipation, the sweat just trickling down the inside of the arms, and the brow almost becoming too hot. Logan raised his hands, the sparkling knives of metal shining in the moonlight. His feet raised him up, and he narrowed his mind, converting it into pure instinct; into a machine, capable of reproducing the same task over and over – the simple action of taking. What he was prepared to take, however, was the crux of the problem. The end of the institution was not really what he wanted. Every one of the students would then be abandoned, and without a leader to guide and defend them, the terrors of the world could consume each of them once more.
Shaking his head in dismay, he thought for a moment that he had finally gone sour, and lost his will, but he breathed deep, focussing his talents. He exhaled, and breathed in once more – the scent of the Mansion, a place he had stayed with people for the longest time in memory. The familiar odours of the glowing embers, the cold coffee, the fresh laundry and a thousand other memorable smells that saturated his senses and cleansed his system. He stood straight, paying attention, and crept into the office. The details of the room laced his senses, and Logan stopped to look at the Professor, his head down in a book, his back facing the door. The claws popped silently out again, and Logan walked up to the back of the man, his mind focussed on one thing only.
Charles stirred, and raised his head, immediately sensing the other presence. He relaxed, and shuffled the book out of his lap. 'Why are you up at this time?' He asked.
* * *
Jean lay asleep, under the covers of her bed in the Mansion, her clothes littering the floor. Logan was sitting next to her, reading from a tattered book that he had found. The wet weather outside allowed only small glimpses of early morning light into the room, eventually disturbing her rest. She rose from the mattress, rubbing her head, and looking over at Logan who nodded at her. She went into the bathroom, leaving him alone. The tap turned in the sink, water dribbling out slowly, and Jean splashed some on her face, still feeling slightly groggy. Coming back in the room, she slipped out of her t-shirt, which had three distinct slashes in the side, and put on white vest. While she busied herself around the room, Logan peered over the top of the book, finally placing it on the nightstand. She smiled to him a couple of times, drawing the curtains, and picking her things off he carpet.
'I gotta talk to you about something, Jean.' He said, forcing himself to speak. She stood up from the floor, staring into his eyes with remarkable intensity. Although she could, she refused to search his thoughts for a clue to the impending conversation. 'This is awkward.' He mumbled, crossing his legs while sitting on the mattress. 'When I came to New York, off the plane, I met up with this guy at the airport, and we started talkin'. At first, I didn't really think him anymore than some sort of salesman, with a pitch for activism, but he started to tell me about mutants, an' I got interested.'
'Logan, you're worried about something, I can feel it, what's wrong?' She asked, leaning on the end of the bed.
'Basically, I was approached by the same people we've been up against since the beginning; the Brotherhood mutants.' There was a slight crackle in his voice, and he was about to speak when the telephone on the nightstand burst into life. Jean remained unblinking, and telepathically lifted the phone to her hand, her eyes locked on Logan, who was very on-edge. 'Yeah.' She said into the receiver.
'Jean, this is Hank – I'm downstairs in medical.' He answered back.
'Oh, I haven't checked on you in ages!' She rebuked herself. 'How do you feel? You've been out for about four days now, slipping in and out of consciousness. Who's with you at the moment?'
'Ororo's been really good to stay here all this time, but she's just getting some tea at the moment. I feel like I was hit by a ton of bricks! Is everyone else ok?'
Logan sat on the side of the bed, staring despondently out the window.
'Everyone's fine, though we haven't seen Bobby for a while; he was quite cut up about the whole thing. I just woke up, though. Does your head feel in good shape? We've put in a morphine line if you need it, the button should be there.' She replied.
'Everything's alright, Jean, it's just, I've looked in a mirror, and my hair… its gone blue. Why?'
'We had to use an experimental procedure on your body – it was only tested on animals for the best part of its development. There wasn't anything else we could try; Hank… I'm sorry.'
'Right; never mind, its not that bad – anyway, I will speak to you later, Ororo's got some tea on the way. Take care, my girl.'
Jean placed the phone back, and put a hand on Logan's shoulder. 'What were you saying?'
'It doesn't matter.' He brushed her off, and walked into the bathroom.
'I think it does – you said you were approached by the Brotherhood. That is serious information, how come you never told us before, Logan?'
He stepped into the doorframe, head bowed somewhat.
'I wasn't just approached, Jean, they recruited me.'
She was going to look past that, to what he had become. She was determined to see him that way, just as she expected others to see her that way.
He continued. 'Magneto called for me, 'cos I was involved in some serious stuff back in the day. I used to work for the army divisions, dangerous stuff that only I could carry out because of my abilities. I guess he must have known 'bout all that.' He struggled getting the rest out. 'After Mags had had some run-ins with Charlie X that he didn't approve of, I was asked to go out and take care of the situation.'
Jean stared, dumbfounded, and her face started to mould into a despicable leer. 'What do you mean by "taking care", Logan?'
'My objective… was to_kill_the_Professor. That's what Magneto wanted.'
'What? Did he even say why he wanted Charles dead?' She asked, defeated.
Logan scratched himself, wondering what to do. 'No.' He replied, after a while.
'Is that why you were out of bed last night? I thought you were in the bathroom! Oh my god…'
'I couldn't do it… I didn't want to.'
'Jesus Christ, Logan, you're just an old bastard, aren't you. I can't believe you've told me this, after we had sex the same bloody night! What the hell did you think you were doing?' She shouted, punching him around the jaw. He recoiled, and grabbed her wrist, pushing her lithe form against the wall. Tears started to well in her green eyes. 'What're you going to do now, kill me instead?'
'You listen, ya stupid girl – I didn't hurt the old man! He's alive an' well downstairs – I couldn't kill him! I left it alone 'cos I'm with you now!' He threw her against the side of wardrobe door, but she pushed past him in a fit of rage, and ripped open the bedroom door. 'Well aren't you the saint!' She screamed in anger.
'What was I supposed to do, Jean?' He yelled at her retreating form. 'It's in my blood!'
* * *
The mist rolled over the mountains that shielded the Savage land from the heavy ocean breeze. It blanketed the lush jungle vista, covering the whole Island in its milky haze. The spires of Magneto's fortress, Avalon, poked out from the mist like discarded children's toys sticking out of a toy box. The clouds covered the sunshine, and the trees and lakes below remained in perpetual twilight while all the animals shuffled underneath the foliage. The pre-dawn light reflected off the mist, creating the most serene atmosphere anyone of the people living there could wish for.
Somewhere, in the centre of the Texan outback, the numerous missile silos that decorated the area around the factories opened up, and smoke billowed out. The remaining Sentinels spewed forth from the gaps, their engines full, and their weapons primed. The sky was swiftly filled with their forms, issuing from the ground in clouds of vapour and dust. They thundered towards the Islands off the coast of Australia.
Waterfalls cascaded into the lakes below the rolling mist, the liquid spraying along the rocky sides. The Blackbird stayed under the hanger, concealed from the prehistoric world above. Noises came and went in the early light, and all around them was peaceful, exotic and idyllic; a world stuck in time, while everything else advanced. The high walls of Avalon stretched onwards and upwards, the clean, unmarked stone ascending in the cloudy mist above. The windows looked out onto the treetops and grassland, through the vale and valley and through the structures of the fortress. The landscape was devoid of life and movement in the early morning, save for wind rustling the edges of tents strapped to the earth, or the grass-reed coverings used for roofs. They swayed gently, then energetically as the breeze rolled and spilt over the locale. The light was abruptly shut out, cooling the area, but shadows loomed overhead. The Sentinels silhouettes wafted across the jungle vistas, coming past the shores to the small structures and houses in the village. The calmness and serenity of it all was broken, as each of the constructs touched down on the ground, crushing houses and the parts of Avalon alike. Arms raised, the bright orange flares blossomed into life, blazing wrecked paths of torn earth and bush along the lines of houses. A mighty thundering crash sounded across the Island as explosions burst into the air, and screams of fright and terror echoed toward Magneto's lair. Avalon stood proud amid the destruction, the many Sentinels careering through the woods and grass to exterminate every last mutant they found. Hundreds of people ran onto the polished grounds of the standing fortress, calling for their lord and master. The Acolytes, now numbering as many as there were Sentinels ran to protect Magneto's flock, taking each down as best they could. Bodies littered the frayed jungle paths, incinerated and crushed, burnt and bloody. The Sentinels swept, kicked and thrashed each mutant out of their way, intent on finally bringing Magneto to his knees after such a drawn-out struggle for power. The master of magnetism came into their view, atop the highest spire of his glorious domain. He surveyed the genocide below, and fought back. While the Sentinels were devoted to eliminating each survivor resisting their assault, Magneto called upon his most focussed of talents. Explosions went up around him, Sentinels toppling and bursting. In his final hour, he caused the programming and wiring of each remaining monstrosity to reverse and rewrite, bending their supremacy to his unceasing will. He stood on the shoulders of the giants, riding his new warhorses into the heart of the enemy territory.
The destruction left behind was phenomenal, the entire land decimated from the attack. The people from Avalon helped the remaining survivors into the fortress grounds, and they prepped the Blackbird for take-off.
Scott ran for the control station where the Brotherhood monitored every part of their initiative. He jumped through the door, and sat down at one of the workstations, desperately trying to get online. Wanda and Pietro came in after him, almost as terrified and distraught as he was. Scott stabbed at the keyboard, calling up the coms. He patched in the frequency for the X Mansion, hoping to call his friends there. 'He's finally gone mad, if we don't contact Washington, he'll collapse the entire city. My god, we're never going to survive this! What can we do, Wanda?' Pietro cried.
'Scott, call up your friends – they're the only ones who'll be quick enough to do anything!' Wanda shouted in his ear, she shook him, as he focussed on the computers.
'I know, dammit, there's nothing I can do, right now – the transmitter tower has been put down. It needs someone to go up there and fix the aerial. Otherwise, I can't send any messages!' Pietro was gone in a flash, and the two were left to worry by themselves.
He reached the tower, frailly blowing in the wind. The clouds above brewed with intensity as the storm rumbled and quaked. Steam and smoke fluttered past his head, and he stared blindly at it, unsure of how to work. Suddenly the control box sparked, and he went over, breaking it open to then splice the cut wires. They fizzed and glimmered in his gaunt hands, and it sprang back into life. 'That's it!' He shouted, triumphantly.
The computer flicked the message on the screen, and Scott clicked it off, finally grabbing the microphone. The time was quickly going; Magneto would be in Washington in under an hour. He barked viciously into it, Wanda by his side, trembling with anxiety. '…if anyone's home, you've got Magneto coming to the US with as many Sentinels as I could count. This is Scott Summers calling the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters – come in if you can hear this, Magneto is on his way to the Government headquarters – please, pick this up!' Wanda looked at him, her face a collage of broken emotions. 'Hank, Tessa, anyone – just come in – you have to get a move on…'
Magneto crossed over the many miles and leagues of water, the Sentinels intent on killing every human they encountered. His cause was adamant, and he would not stop now; nor would he ever stop showing the world how it worked.