(Standard disclaimer - The following characters are trademark Marvel Comics, used here without intent of profit.)

Issue one:



(Three days ago)

Winchester, New York. The quieter side, for lack of a better term. The institution now known as "Xavier's" has been isolated from the rest of the town far longer than anyone here could remember. This large estate could serve home to several: for now, it was nary abandoned.

A shot of a bald man, obviously intelligent, seated behind a wooden desk. Something about the seriousness on his face, the lack of hair, and the aura of the man seemed to defy age.

Charles Xavier. A one time freedom fighter. Once, he'd dedicated his life to defending those who many would persecute for the sin of being born different. That was some time ago . . .

For now, his attention was focused on the device hooked up to what most looked like a helmet, attached to a nearby computer, via several lines of various thickness. As we join, however, a young teen, sixteen at best. Long, red hair hung past her shoulders, almost to her back.

Xavier: (not needing to look up) Leave it on the desk, Jean.

Jean: (Light heartedly) How'd you guess?

Xavier: Hm? (Looks up) My apologies, Jean. I trust all is well, otherwise?

Jean: (not sure how to go about expressing herself) I'm ok, I suppose. (starts to turn to leave) Just . . . a feeling I can't explain.

Xavier: (contemplative voice) Yes, I've felt it too. I'd been dismissing it as being overworked, but if you feel it, I begin to wonder if it might not be something more. (Xavier tries shaking the grim feeling off) I suppose if there is anything to it, we'll find about it in due t*

(He stops. Jean puts the books down on Xavier's desk, concerned)

Jean: Professor?

(She walks towards him, slowly. It was a look she'd seen before, of course, but not one to be taken lightly. His finger stayed as if propped against his forehead; a closer look would have revealed ever the smallest space between his finger and his forehead. A space that almost seemed aglow.)

(She let him concentrate. After a minute, he looked up at her.)

Jean: (trying to be cheerful) I take it the long wait's over?

Xavier: (unsure) It may very well be.



Elsewhere, 30 minutes ago



(It wasn't even so much the fact his hands and feet were the size of small concrete blocks that set him apart, so much as his biting, and on occasion bitter sarcasm. Hank McCoy flexed a little of both, stopping in front of a mirror, to admire himself. A half length laboratory coat covered most of his massive, overly muscled frame. He spoke, in an almost deliberate tone.)

"Why, Henry McCoy, or should I call you professor now?"

(He paused, almost as if to assume his own role in this conversation.)

McCoy: Please, call me whatever you see fit, as long as it's something I can legally sign to a paycheck. Or illegally, with with dependable connections.

(He paused again, then allowed himself something of a laugh.)

McCoy as someone else: You certainly didn't turn out to be the miserable, pathetic little toadie I predicted you would be, in all my elderly, self hating pitiful waste- arrogance!

(Another pause, as he stood a little less mock-arrogantly.)

McCoy as McCoy: I humbly accept your apologies for your existance, sir, and would be most glad to take over your duties as professor of Harvard first thing in the morning.

(One last pause, then . . .)

McCoy as someone else: Most excellent. Harvard will no doubt enjoy endless success once free of my wretched, backwards policies, Simply allow to to clear my desk of my underage pornography, and I'll be gone in the morning.

(McCoy was too distracted in his self amusement to notice a figure approach from behind.)

"Having fun, Doc?"

(Hank turned to see a slightly taller man, with a much thinner build. Whereas Hank's hair was somewhat unkempt, his was tied back, perfectly, in something of a ponytail. He wore a business suit as well. He's got a lab coat on as well, but for slightly different reasons.)

McCoy: (a toothy [in this case, more of a fangy] smile) I can honestly say, I've earned the accolades tonight, Warren, or are you going by Mr. Worthington these days?

Warren: Warren's fine. I take it this is good news, then.

McCoy: Only a breakthrough of astonishing proportions in the field of communications relay. (Warren showed a bit of a smile; this conversation was already promising) We're developing the audio sensors to almost frightening abilities. What I'm most proud of is the developments in the gene detecting field of study. We've had a little success, although right now, it only seems capable of detecting you and I.

Warren: Must be a "most eligable bachelors" detector.

(They both laugh.)

McCoy: Of course. (The fangy smile again) Actually, (lowering his voice, out of habit) it seems more attuned to the X gene, as you so auspiciously dubbed it.

Warren: Ah. (He realizes someone's coming about now) Interesting.

(A pair of guards, even younger than McCoy and Warren, pass them. Neither could be more than teenagers, especially the blond. The brunette might be twenty one, although it was unlikely, but the odds were against the blond being able to buy alcohol legally for some years . . . or tobacco for that matter.

(No loss. It would just ruin your all American apple pie image, anyway, McCoy figured.)

Brunette: Evening, boss. (He tipped his head towards McCoy) Sir. Pleasant day, wasn't it?

Warren: Certainly is, Scott. (To the blond) Feeling more comfortable with the job, Bobby?

Bobby: Yup! I'd say the first day jitters are just about history.

(Bobby flashes a smile of his. Hank had no doubt it worked it's wonder much better on someone of the opposite age, closer to his age or younger)

Scott: We're just taking one last run around the place before we head out. (Scott forces a smile, peering out behind those ruby red glasses) Can't be keeping the youngster up too late, huh?

(Bobby laughed, only a little offended.)

Warren: Then we won't keep you. Enjoy your weekend, gentlemen.

Hank: Alas, we upper echelon of the working society find our work is never done. (a mock sigh) What would the world do without me to raise the efficiency of their technological gadgets, three point zero two percent at a time?

(Bobby laughs. Not totally convincing.)

Bobby: Night!

Warren: Night.

(While the guards depart down the hallway, Hank eyes his boss warily.)

Warren: Uh ho. That's not the good, loving look.

(Hanks holds his oversized finger to his mouth, waiting until the two younger men are out of sight)

Warren: Something up?

Hank: Possibly. For instance, did you notice Bobby seemed somewhat . . . nervous?

Warren: No more so than usual. Don't tell me you're getting paranoid.

Hank: Possible. Except one thing.

Warren: And that is?

Hank: They seemed rather eager to leave.

Warren: So? I can understand it. As long as they do their job when there here, they might as well get out on time.

Hank: That's my problem with it. Their shifts were supposed to have ended approximately twenty minutes ago.

(This time, the worried look on Warren's face matched Hank's own.)





(Scene change again. Present)



(It wouldn't be until a bit later Xavier would figure out the full reasons he took this trip. In a way, though, he already knew the story. He could sense something big going on . . .

(Jean knew it, too. Officially they were in the big town to let Jean do some shopping, and pick up some supplies for the school. Even if it was somewhat more out of the way than ordinary. Jean stared into the miniature gadget in her hand, trying to focus on it. Xavier, of course, drove. His wheelchair lay folded in the back seat, along with a pair of suitcases, one noticeably larger than the other. Guess who's?)

Xavier: Nothing yet, I presume?

Jean: Nope. Like I said, I'm not sure what to look for.

Xavier: We'll keep scanning. If we're unable to find anything in the hour, we'll stop by the mall, as you requested, and . . . (he pauses, sensing Jean's about to talk)

Jean: Hold that thought, professor. I think we have something. Cerebro's picking up some news on a disturbance. (She has a look of surprise on her face) The power is massive. Two separate sources. (She seems frustrated, as she messes with the dials on the device) I can't get a lock on the more powerful one, but the other one seems to be within half a mile, due south!

Xavier: I suppose this is what we're looking for. (The car slides to the side of the road, then turns around, as we cut to the next scene.)



(Warrington research labs, fifteen minutes ago. And Scott and Bobby are indeed up to something, just as you suspected. Scott is standing in front of a computer. Bobby is keeping an eye out for anyone coming down the hallway. The room seems a tad chilly.)

Scott: Relax, Bobby, before you freeze the computer systems.

Bobby: So sue me. I don't feel right about this. Can we just get it over with?

Scott: Yeah, in and out, no problem. (He turns his head towards Bobby for a moment) I've always been able to count on Demi Viz in the past. Or did you forget she's the one who gave me these? (points to his ruby glasses)

Bobby: (Agitated) Ok, ok, let's just get whatever information they have on your brother, and get out of here, before . . . uhho, we got trouble.

(A split second before Hank bursts through the window on the other side of the room.

(Those monstrous feet of his, in those oversized boots, break not only the window off, but much of the wall around it. Not a second later, Warren flies in. Yes, flies, using a pair of angelic white wings, spouted from his shoulders, and obviously hidden earlier by the lab coat.

(Both have something akin to uniforms on, although neither are masked.)

Warren: You couldn't have been more subtle?

Hank: I suppose. For example, I could have forgone the bothersome task of changing into blue spandex.

Warren: Point. (He turns his attention to the "security guards," who are frozen in fear) Care to explain yourself, boys?

Bobby: It's not what it looks like. We're just after some information on . . .

Scott: (Frustrated) Bobby, just hold them off while I finish, please.

Bobby: Aw, fine!

Warren: (in disbelief) Did he just say, hold us off?

Hank: Mayhalps his attention is too much on our computer database, and too little on my little demonstration of superhuman strength, amazing agility, and inhuman dexterity, and your, er, well groomed wings.

Warren: Hmph.

Bobby: (putting his hands up in a sign of surrender) Ok, you're right, Scott, I think . . . (Without warning, at least, to those unfamiliar with Bobby Drake, the very air around the flying Warren, and the crotched over, ready to attack Hank, begins to take a deep chill. Within a handful of seconds, that chilled air turns into a very frosty, very thick ice covering) I think they won't be a problem for a while!

Hank: Egads. I do . . (Struggling to break free) believe . . . *grunt* he's right!

(Warren barely managed to get inside the confines of the building before his wings were too stiff from the ice to move)

Warren: Whatever you're doing, you won't get away with!

Bobby: Funny, I thought we already were.

Scott: (Pounds the computer) Dammit!

Bobby: That doesn't sound good.

Warren: You didn't really think you could get past the security system, did you?

Scott: (Not even bothering to look up at Warren) I already did. Now it's just a matter of finding what I need to know.

Warren: Exactly what would that be?

Bobby: Scott, maybe we should level with them. They've been cool to us so far.

Warren: Honestly would be a refreshing change about now.

Bobby: We're just trying to get information on Scott's bro-

Scott: (shouting) Bobby, listen! We can't afford to take any chances. Either we find it on our own, or we look elsewhere.

Hank: (teeth bared, voice strained) Then it would seem . . . (struggling) regretfully, we shall be doing things the hard way. (With a physical effort no mere mortal could approach, the oversized scientist finally bursts free of the confinements of the ice, sending shards flying everywhere. As intended, a large chunk nails both Scott and Bobby, with the latter taking the brunt of the hit)

Scott: (frustrated) Unless we simply beat it out of them. Come on, Bobby, this's my last lead, we've got NO choice!

Bobby: (holding his hands up, as he focuses his power to control and chill the very air around him) Yeah, ok, but save the melodramatics for a Shakespeare play.

(The air around Hank again swirls. However, before it can again freeze the scientist, he show agility to match if not beat his previous display of strength, jumping towards the ceiling, and literally bouncing off it, sending himself smashing into Bobby. The ice wielder manages to erect a hastily assembled ice shield, but with his suprising mass, McCoy simply plows through it, sending Bobby flying backwards. Bobby hits the wall, and slumps to the ground, as the wind rushes from his body in a loud, agonized gasp.

(Amazing, Scott thought to himself, as he prepared to unleash a little surprise. He looks to be at least three hundred pounds, but the way he smashed through that ice shield, and sent Bobby flying makes me think he's indeed weighs far more.

(No time to worry now, he's a little stunned, so I have a "Slim" chance, he thought. Without warning, even as McCoy's eyes spotted the lean teen, Scott pulled those ruby quartz sunglasses off. McCoy realized instantly he had never seen Scott without his glasses. For a split second he saw a bright amber flash from behind the glasses, and realized there might be a reason.

(Mid thought, the flash became a very focused beam. A very focused, forceful beam that struck the gargantuan genius mid chest, lifting him up off the feet, and sending him flying into the wall. McCoy hit hard, but managed to stay on his feet.)

Hank: (Clearly stunned and amazed) Impressive pitch, but your followup needs work.

(Scott couldn't believe his eyes. For a moment, he considered surrendering. After all, if the scientist could stand up to one blast . . .

(No. It was too late to try to talk things out, and there was no way Scott would give up his last hope on finding his brother. Too long, too much effort. Making up for a high school degree was tough enough. Scott cut himself from thinking any further, and fired another optic blast at McCoy.

(If not so physically worn from the previous blast, McCoy would have probably easily avoided it. As it were, he'd made the foolish mistake of turning his attention to figuring out a way to free his employer, who looked like he might break an arm - or wing - off trying to escape the icy prison.

Scott: (Pouring it on, wondering what's holding him up) Fall already! You're just making it hard on yourself.

(Hank realized the disloyal employee could be right. Hank had at least shielded himself with a large, if somewhat hairy, forearm. He tried physically forcing his way against the beam, but to no avail. Apparently, Bobby wasn't as out of it as he first seemed; water drops were forming, and condensing into ice under Hank's very feet. Ice was forming over Hank's almost fur like arms.

(And mayhalps, he thought in a last ditch effort, therein lies the solution. The beams were starting to refract from the ice. Almost casually, although with great effort, McCoy stood still as long as he could, his forearm out, away from the beam.)

Scott: Come on, Bobby, pour it on. He's almost out, but I don't know how long I can last.

(Long enough for me to play one last card, McCoy thought to himself, but only if he played it now.)

Hank: (Barely able to manage a yell, and hope Warren heard it over the sickening sound of a very hot optic beam digging into Hank's own chest) Brace yourself, "old chap."

(A long forgotten nickname he'd once endowed Warren with. Without warning, Hank McCoy brought those two huge arms together in something of a clap. It took every bit of his effort to do so through the beam. The was barely starting to weaken. McCoy couldn't risk staying in the beam's power another second in the hopes of it dying out before McCoy did.

(The monstrous clap did a number of things. It protected Hank temporarily from the beam. The sound startled both Bobby and Scott. And, most importantly, his arms now formed a triangle in front of the beam. The hot beam refracted off of the now-thick ice on McCoy's arms before totally melting it away, causing a small amount of it to be redirected . . .

(Towards Warren! It surprised the millionaire, but Warren was ready. The beam melted off just enough ice for him to break free with a primal scream. Scott looked towards him, and fired off a strong optic blast. Despite the frost on his wings, and the confined space, Warren deftly drifted up into the air, thanks to those wings of his, and avoided the beam. He avoided a half dozen hastily fired optic blasts from the ever more frustrated brown haired youngster as he cut the space between them, then cut down Scott with a stray wing. Scott fell backwards, losing his glasses in the process.

(Afraid of what damage he might do, Scott covered his eyes.)

Scott: Bobby! Get me my ruby quartz glasses!

(Bobby was now on his knees, still holding his head. He opened his eyes, to see the blurry vision of the beast like McCoy and the almost angelic like figure of Warren, closing in on Scott. McCoy stood near Scott's glasses.)

Bobby: They're right in front of you! Just blast them, full power, we'll worry about the rest later!

(A few feet away . . . Jean pushed Xavier through the hallway. Xavier was mentally monitoring the situation. A look of worry came over his face.)

Xavier: Jean, go without me. If the young one known as Scott Summers unleashes his full power in this environment . . . the results could be quite deadly.

Jean: I can't leave -

Xavier: (harshly) Concern yourself with the task at hand, Jean! (A bit softer) I'll be fine, but you must hurry.

(With that, and with all her still developing skills, Jean floated forwards, carrying herself through telekinesis and the power of thought alone. Xavier called out mentally to the four combatants to stop fighting.)

"Enough!" the voice in their heads sententiously called out. "This must not continue! While we sit here, battling our own kind, an evil unlike any seen before on this planet for countless millenium comes forth!"

(All four looked around, trying to discerner where the voice was coming from. Bobby and Hank wondered if it might be concussion induced. Seconds later, a female floated into the room.

(A young, very attractive female. She floated in the sky, without the aid of wings, Warren noted. Beast recognized a strong glint of intellegence in her eyes, while Bobby realized she might be his age, if not younger. Scott's eyes were closed. Obeying Xavier's telepathic command, she took the glasses from the floor, and returned them to Scott.

(He muttered a "thank you," and quickly put them on. He felt half breathless from Warren's attack, but far moreso when he opened his eyes to see the younger redhead before him.

(Forget Warren. This's what an angle looks like. Hank's mind, however, quickly returned to the task at hand.)

Hank: I'm assuming that voice was you?

Jean: No, but he's right. Something's clearly headed this way. Something . . . with amazing power. It's . . . (she shudders, as if Bobby had just froze her soul) Ohmygod, I can feel it.

Scott: (holding out an arm to help steady her) Feel what? Who are you? What's going on?

(Just then, Xavier pushes his wheelchair through the door)

Xaiver: I'm Professor Charles Xavier, and this is my stead, Jean Grey. I apologize for being so brisque, but if you turn your attention outside the . . . (noting the large hole in the wall which Hank and Warren had used for their entrance) window . . . you'll see why.

(Indeed. Scott and Warren both made their way to get a better vantage . . .

(He stood taller than the building himself. A body of blue, it seemed, giant gloved hands, an absurdly large, circular mouth. He spoke in a chilling voice, sounding like a death scream coming up from the grave.)

"PREPARE YOURSELF FOR . . . THE TEST OF APOCALYPSE!!"

(A cruel laugh echoed for blocks around, as the young mutants and Xavier began to wonder what they'd gotten themselves into . . . or if they would survive.)



End issue #1

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Old Note: "Admittedly, I've changed things around a little for the story, including the fact that Jean will probably actually be about a year younger than Bobby. Of course, the origin story's not quite the same as anything that I've seen. I hope it's well received, because I'm really looking forward to introducing some of the classic stories and characters, my way. I wouldn't dare suggest that I could do better than the originals, and creator Stan Lee, one of my heroes.

"I just want to see what I can do, creatively, and have fun getting good practice writing comics!"

Edit- There's no site anymore, and there's no point in rambling about covers since the versions archived on fanfiction.net don't *use* covers, obviously. PS is anyone reading these?



-Joshua