Supreme X-Men #1:
.The Untouchables.
The shrill ringside bell sounded as if it were a baby trying to convince his mother to give him what he wants by way of crying. The wrestlers inside the ring were quick to move from their corners and flimsy elastic boundaries running along the outside of the ring. The crowd began wailing at the height of their lungs, hooting, hollering, and jeering while the contenders clashed and pounded one another for sport.
At the moment when the rotund competitor with the Mohawk impaled his elbow into his opponent's stomach, the announcers came alive with excitement into their microphones. "Oh, my! What a beautiful hit!" Exclaimed one of the announcers into his microphone, the booming sound hardly heard over the din of the crowd.
The other announcer spoke up with a witty tone in his voice. "Yeah, lets hope he didn't eat dinner before this one!" He cackled into the microphone enthusiastically.
The match raged on between the rotund wrestler and his opponent, a slimmer, more built man with long hazel hair pulled back into a ponytail. His face was contorted and it hardly looked human. His brow was bursting from his forehead much like a Neanderthal and his nose was flat against his face. His lips curled up, looking as if they were constantly puckered. He wore a pair of black spandex shorts and taped his knuckles up with black tape. He was menacing, but appeared to be no match for the obese wrestler before him.
The Neanderthal-looking man jogged in place while the fat man circled around him. The odd thing about the Neanderthal was that he wasn't following his competitor's move, almost handing him the win.
The announcers began to yell into the microphone frantically. "What is Unus thinking?!"
"I dunno, Ted. You think his title, 'the Untouchable', is getting to his head?!"
The obese man clasped the other wrestler, Unus the Untouchable, on his shoulders and chucked him to the hard mat floor. Pain shot threw what seemed to be his every bone, especially his back, which was roused, putting his rear end in the air. The fat man circled around to either of Unus' sides and kicked him in with every ounce of energy he could gather in his foot. Now his entire side searing with pain, Unus curled up into what looked like the fetal position to protect himself from any future blow. Unus flipped onto his stomach again and even managed to get on all fours, though that didn't mean that his opponent wouldn't move either. He circled around behind him and attempted to reach for his waist, but Unus mustered his strength and kicked him in the groin area. The fat man went beat red in the face and fell to his knees, giving Unus an opportunity to get on his feet. He circled around his foe, smiling at the odd twist of fates.
"Amazing!" spat one of the announcers, bursting with joy, with a smile that reached from ear to ear. "Unus just took out the Garbage Man in a single blow!"
Unus stood as still as a statue, congregating his strength and breathing heavily to relieve himself of the pain in his one side. He clicked his head to one side, and then again to the other and stood there with a glaring smile on his face. Unus enjoyed seeing his fallen opponent struggle. It was a relief to him that he could finally see a competitor like the one he was up against fall, and, to top it off, he was reluctant to see him toil while he was pressed against the mat.
"The Untouchable looks intense," Explained one of the announcers to anyone that may not have been paying attention to the match. "So much that, if I were the Garbage Man, I wouldn't get up!"
The crowd bellowed over the microphones as they saw that the obese wrestler was getting to his feet. He peered into the Untouchable's eyes with such a passion that Unus couldn't help but return it with his own evil stare. The obese wrestler then amassed a wad of saliva and spat it on one of Unus' boots. Unus simply chuckled and stepped back from his opponent a little. He crossed his cut arms over his chest and watched as his fat opponent swell with anger.
"You aint playin' fair, Unuscione," Gurgled the fat wrestler loud enough for his opponent to hear. "Today was gonna be my pay day, remember?"
Unus chuckled under his breath. "Look at the fans, my brotha!" He hollered, still keeping the smile on his face. He flung his hands in the air as the crowd chanted his name. Signs that revealed their admiration for the Untouchable danced in the stands and the Garbage Man's support deteriorated. "They want me."
Smog could have shot out of his nostrils, as the obese wrestler, Garbage Man, grew more and more infuriated. He threw a fist at the Untouchable, Unus still standing there not caring. Amazingly, the blow was deflected, where the Garbage Man had hit a rippling blue energy wave dispersed. The Garbage man took back his hand and supported it with his palm, cringing in pain. He took another blow with his other hand, though his attempt failed when another blue wave of energy spat his hit in his direction.
Unus laughed a little and said, "The Untouchable." and raised his one hand in the air and clenched it into a fist. He brought it behind his head at eye level and stood in a stance that allowed him to have a strong punch if he were to do so. Before he did hit the Garbage Man, though, he reached over with his other hand and, with one dainty finger, and touched the area around his fist. Blue waves shot out. He smirked evilly and threw his fist into the Garbage Man's temple.
The Garbage Man slapped against the mat hard. Now bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth, the obese wrestler didn't seem capable of getting up, but Unus urged him to. He would kick his side every now and then, toying with him while he was trying to avoid the hits by slipping out of the ring.
"Man, the Untouchable really did a number on Garbage." One of the announcers said.
The Garbage Man had hit the cement floor right next to the steel stares. Just when he had given up and all the wailing of the crowd supported Unus, firecrackers and pyrotechnics were set off and the stereo erupted with sound over the crowd. Out of the stage entry, a new figure emerged and strutted down the ramp towards the ring.
The figure was of a man. He wasn't tall at all, but burly and built with muscles and fat that looked intimidating, no matter the height. When he emerged from the shadows and the stage lights caught up to him, it revealed a very attractive man, though, goofy-looking due to the fact that he wore a black silk shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his masculine chest, and jeans that road around his knees. He had short, spiked, black hair and a chiseled face. He almost looked as if he were Arnold Schwarzenegger, but with side burns and a broader lower jaw.
The announcers looked shocked, in fact, for a moment, you could only hear their voices squeaking a bit due to lack of thought. Finally, though, one roared into the microphone, "It's the Beast, ladies and gents! The Beast!"
He strutted down the ramp, clasping fan's hands with his own massive hands, and waving to all that were sitting higher up. Finally ending his period where he absorbed his large following, the Beast entered the ring. Before doing so, however, he boasted his remarkable strength and carried the obese Garbage Man in the ring and dropped him at his feet. He stared at Unus coldly.
"Whatduyu want, McCoy?" Unus shot at him immediately after the Beast's cold eyes met with his.
"Everyone's havin' a cow backstage, man! What the hell are ya doing? It was his win tonight, not yours!"
Unus chuckled, his upper body vibrating as he did so. A large smile that reached from ear to ear grew on Unus' face. He said, "Listen to the crowd." The arena was filled with roars of "the Untouchable". If any louder, it seemed, that the entire complex would have exploded. "Why would we want to upset the fans?" He laughed again.
"So, you're willin' to hang up your career for them?!" Beast exclaimed, almost in shock, looking at the population of people. The first couple of people he saw were balding and missing various front teeth.
Unus chuckled a little more and began pacing the ring. "No, no, Hank my friend. Oh, no!" He sounded as if he had lost his sanity. "I have bigger and better things to attend to now." He smirked at the sight of Beast's lost expression. "Being a superior and all."
"What in the hell is the matter with you?!" Beast finally asked, looking as if he were losing his mind as well. The fans roared at the sight of Beast moving closer and closer to Unus with his hands flailing as he spoke. They suspected that the verbal fight between the two standing in the ring would amount to something.
Unus pushed Beast, Hank McCoy, with a tremendous amount of force to the corner of the ring just as quickly as he touched him. Beast smacked against the corner and fell off, and lay there in pain. Unus bent down to the lifeless Garbage Man and wrapped his arms around him in a way that pressed his shoulders to the mat. After the count of three the bell sounded and the match was through.
"What just happened here?!" Shouted an announcer in all his glory. He was giddy as a child on Christmas morning, watching Unus interact with the Beast. "Here's hopin' this will amount to something for next week's Pay-Per-View special, folks!"
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Beast was struggling to get up, still watching Unus, who was standing above him. "Well, McCoy." He said with a dark tone, yet exaggerated to sound as if he were royalty. "Let's just say I've gotten a few job offers that I refuse to pass up." He gave Beast a toothy grin and walked out of the ring.
Brooklyn, New York City.
The sun pried into Hank McCoy's eyes early the next morning. It was as if he were being poked and prodded by a pesky younger sibling who's objective was to start their older siblings off on the wrong foot. As if the annoyance of the light wasn't enough for the middle-aged Hank, his alarm clock did him in. His ears already ringing for the din of the crowd the night before, the alarm clock pierced his ears and, as if he were slapped in the face with a constant stream of blistering cold water, sat bolt upright. Using his enlarged hand, he smacked the clock of his nightstand and it fell to the ground, shutting off the shrill alarm. He slipped out of his covers and got to his feet, which were also larger than that of a normal man.
Putting on his red and black, silk robe, Hank walked to his 12th floor apartment door and opened it. There sat his morning paper, ready for his reading pleasure. Though, when he first looked at it, he was a little taken aback. The bold headline read "Mutant Menaces Among Us?" Now very skittish, Hank picked up the paper, put it under his arm and walked inside.
Hank McCoy was dubbed a mutant. He had been haunted with that word since his childhood, and, wherever he went, the word was his proverbial shadow.
He slapped the newspaper down on his kitchen table, rubbing his head and ridding his vision of blurriness and morning-time confusion. It's too early to be reminded that people hate me, he thought to himself. Just like it was too late at night for me to be when I was watching the eleven o' clock news. He shoved it off one of the sides of the table, not being able to even look at it while he was preparing his bowl of cereal.
He had gotten his 1% milk and Wheaties from the refrigerator and cabinet and a bowl to hold it in, and kicking the newspaper out of his peripheral vision. He poured the two in and put the milk and cereal to the side as he shoveled his soggy bowl of cereal into his mouth. He reached across the table for the television remote, hoping that something on television would erase the thoughts about the newspaper headline, and went back for his cereal. He clicked the power on and watched as the screen showed up.
A newscaster appeared in front of a large estate. "Good morning, America, I am Sam Hampton with Action News 6." He said in as jovial voice as he could. Where he was, it seemed incredibly cold. "I'm here in front of the Xavier Estate and, with me here, is Charles Xavier the current owner.Charles?"
The camera zoomed out, then in again on another man. He was a man that appeared to be in his mid-forties and, though any normal person would be sulking by the time they were his age, he was surprisingly lively and carried himself with a unique confidence. Charles Xavier, though bald and carried few scars, was a handsome man.
"Ah, yes, good morning, Sam," He said in a thick English accent. He seemed to be cheerful despite the fact it was cold and early in the morning. "Thank you for having me."
"Oh, it's a pleasure." The newscaster said smiling. "Now. Am I to understand that you are opening your estate as a private school for mutants?"
At that comment, Hank had shuttered, his broad jaw dropping, the contents of his mouth doing the same on to the table. A school for mutants, he pondered.
Xavier actually looked unharmed from the question. Hank, if asked the same question, would either avoid it or flee the area. On the contrary, Xavier smiled into the camera very nonchalantly and said, "Indeed. 'The Xavier School for Gifted Individuals'."
The reporter seemed to be entertained by Xavier's confidence and gave a slight smile. "Now," he said. "On to the second question. Are you admitting just anyone?"
"The purpose," Xavier said. "Is to bring fledgling mutants in, teach them how to properly use their abilities, and make sure that they are in an environment that accepts them. I hardly feel as if the human populace will be very welcoming to such mutants when they become more and more apparent. Such mutants will not be tolerated in public and private schools nation- wide."
"What about the growing population of mutants over seas?" The reporter said.
"Well, once my ideals for a peaceful coexistence between man and mutant gain a certain amount of momentum, I would imagine that schools world-wide could be feasible."
"A peaceful coexistence between man and mutants". The words sounded like music to Beast's ears. He yearned to, one day, walk the streets without being bothered by a passerby that felt he should walk elsewhere and he dreamt that he would one day be recognized by people without them thinking that he was scum first. Hearing Xavier preach what he was thinking, and what he had been thinking for some time, meant a great deal to Hank.
The interview had came and went, but Hank wouldn't forget Charles Xavier or what he had spoken about.
* * *
A violent, bitter cold wind swept through the streets of New York City. They were relentless, flying at a consistent speed and a consistent temperature to annoy the hustle bustle of the city streets and pushing along discarded papers and other weightless objects.
Hank McCoy was among the crowds of the city, and, attempting to keep a low profile, wore grey beanie, aviator sunglasses, and a trench coat. He walked in the midst of his fans, his people, and, with such a disguise, he could walk through unnoticed; however, there were still dodging glances and awkward stares in his direction because people would naturally pick up that he wasn't normal. Hank disregarded such disrespect.
He looked down at his watched and noticed the time. 12:31 it read, Hank becoming more urgent now that he knew it was such a time. With his brute strength, he jostled the people in the street, and with surprisingly little complaint he got to the street corner and halted due to the fact that the light was red.
Hank's massive feet stepped into the street and started to walk across, seeing that his path was clear. But as he took more and more steps across the busy street, the traffic and pedestrians slowed until the seized in place spontaneously. He looked around and, as far as his eyes could see, everything had stopped. Cars people, streetlights, clocks, even the message scrolling across the top of buildings had all stopped.
Hank's jaw dropped. A cold feeling shot through his back and goose bumps sprouted all over his body. An entire city suddenly halted in its track, all except for Hank McCoy. He strutted up to a person in the streets, a woman, slowly, yet surely, to see if he had any affect on her. He gingerly ran his hand across her face. There was no reaction from the lady. He grew more and more feverish as he discovered that mostly everyone in his proximity was frozen in place.
"Alright Ashton Kutcher, you can come out now!" Hank yelled throwing his hands up in the air to reclaim his masculinity. The last thing he wanted to do was show anyone else that may have been moving that he was afraid. "I've been 'punked'! Not cool anymore, man!" He said in a very nervous, yet witty voice. Then a voice suddenly jumped into Hank's head. Henry McCoy. It echoed through his ears as if he were in a dank cave and made a boisterous noise. It wasn't painful to hear such a voice, yet it made him feel uneasy because he didn't know where the voice was came from.
After a moment of "silence", Hank noticed movement in his direction. He saw a bald man weaving around the statue-like people. "Henry Peter McCoy. Also known as Hank, among friends, and the Beast to your fans."
Hank attempted to look over the people's heads and shoulders, but his attempts failed because they failed to move. "Who are you?" He shot, growing a little more nervous than his present state.
The man emerged from the crowd of statue people and showed himself. It was the same man as Hank had seen on the television hours earlier on television. Charles Xavier. "I am Charles Francis Xavier. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Hank looked at him as if he were a ghost, but didn't find that to be a good enough excuse to befriend a person that he had so swiftly admired. He had seen him on the television and, in that amount of time, digested the meaning of his publicity. Hank extended his hand to Xavier. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Xavier!"
Charles chuckled a little bit and extended his arm, firmly shaking Hank's large hand.
Hank began to smile as if he were a school child on the first day of school glimpsing at a girl he thought was attractive. He was awestruck that he got to see someone whom he had admired. "I, uh, saw you on television this morning."
"Ahh, yes," Xavier said, lightening up the mood with a bit of a high spirits. "My ideals to live with such people," He continued, motioning to the mass of people. "Require me to make sacrifices. One being going public with something I believe in. A peaceful coexistence."
"Oh, I think that's great." Hank said. "It takes a great amount of courage to actually pursue something you believe in. I would have liked to do what you are doing, help with this mutant thing, but I'm not exactly a great leader." He said, hinting to Xavier that his appearance was the one obstacle that was holding him back.
"Being a telepath, I can most certainly tell you that you have much more defining qualities than your over-sized hands and feet." Xavier said putting his hands behind his back, and beginning to carry a conversation with Hank. "It was Bill Hyvale who said 'character is who you are when no one else is watching'. I'm sure you have certain characteristics that can overshadow your physical appearance."
"Not to them," Hank said, looking at the people around him in bitterness. "They've poked fun of me ever since my hands grew to their unusual shape. Sometimes, you just feel kinda hopeless."
"Hopeless? Or you forfeiting?" Xavier said, looking into Hank's eyes. Xavier made himself comfortable by sitting on the street's curb. "To combat ostracism, you have to be optimistic, and, to do so, it does not include giving up, Mr. McCoy."
Hank took a seat next to Xavier and looked at him very profoundly. "What can I do? I'm a wrestler for Christ's sake. The scum of the Earth and you expect me to do something?"
"Exactly." Xavier said, getting to his feet. He reached into his suit's pocket and pulled out what seemed to be a business card. "Here. This is if you want to make a difference." He handed him the car, and walked out quickly from Hank's sight.
Immediately, the people in the city began to move again as if nothing had happened and as if Xavier or Hank had ever met. But, even though the knowledge of Xavier's appearance on the street wasn't recognized, it was certainly remembered by Hank McCoy. He sat there, still, on the street's curb, looking at the business card.
.The Untouchables.
The shrill ringside bell sounded as if it were a baby trying to convince his mother to give him what he wants by way of crying. The wrestlers inside the ring were quick to move from their corners and flimsy elastic boundaries running along the outside of the ring. The crowd began wailing at the height of their lungs, hooting, hollering, and jeering while the contenders clashed and pounded one another for sport.
At the moment when the rotund competitor with the Mohawk impaled his elbow into his opponent's stomach, the announcers came alive with excitement into their microphones. "Oh, my! What a beautiful hit!" Exclaimed one of the announcers into his microphone, the booming sound hardly heard over the din of the crowd.
The other announcer spoke up with a witty tone in his voice. "Yeah, lets hope he didn't eat dinner before this one!" He cackled into the microphone enthusiastically.
The match raged on between the rotund wrestler and his opponent, a slimmer, more built man with long hazel hair pulled back into a ponytail. His face was contorted and it hardly looked human. His brow was bursting from his forehead much like a Neanderthal and his nose was flat against his face. His lips curled up, looking as if they were constantly puckered. He wore a pair of black spandex shorts and taped his knuckles up with black tape. He was menacing, but appeared to be no match for the obese wrestler before him.
The Neanderthal-looking man jogged in place while the fat man circled around him. The odd thing about the Neanderthal was that he wasn't following his competitor's move, almost handing him the win.
The announcers began to yell into the microphone frantically. "What is Unus thinking?!"
"I dunno, Ted. You think his title, 'the Untouchable', is getting to his head?!"
The obese man clasped the other wrestler, Unus the Untouchable, on his shoulders and chucked him to the hard mat floor. Pain shot threw what seemed to be his every bone, especially his back, which was roused, putting his rear end in the air. The fat man circled around to either of Unus' sides and kicked him in with every ounce of energy he could gather in his foot. Now his entire side searing with pain, Unus curled up into what looked like the fetal position to protect himself from any future blow. Unus flipped onto his stomach again and even managed to get on all fours, though that didn't mean that his opponent wouldn't move either. He circled around behind him and attempted to reach for his waist, but Unus mustered his strength and kicked him in the groin area. The fat man went beat red in the face and fell to his knees, giving Unus an opportunity to get on his feet. He circled around his foe, smiling at the odd twist of fates.
"Amazing!" spat one of the announcers, bursting with joy, with a smile that reached from ear to ear. "Unus just took out the Garbage Man in a single blow!"
Unus stood as still as a statue, congregating his strength and breathing heavily to relieve himself of the pain in his one side. He clicked his head to one side, and then again to the other and stood there with a glaring smile on his face. Unus enjoyed seeing his fallen opponent struggle. It was a relief to him that he could finally see a competitor like the one he was up against fall, and, to top it off, he was reluctant to see him toil while he was pressed against the mat.
"The Untouchable looks intense," Explained one of the announcers to anyone that may not have been paying attention to the match. "So much that, if I were the Garbage Man, I wouldn't get up!"
The crowd bellowed over the microphones as they saw that the obese wrestler was getting to his feet. He peered into the Untouchable's eyes with such a passion that Unus couldn't help but return it with his own evil stare. The obese wrestler then amassed a wad of saliva and spat it on one of Unus' boots. Unus simply chuckled and stepped back from his opponent a little. He crossed his cut arms over his chest and watched as his fat opponent swell with anger.
"You aint playin' fair, Unuscione," Gurgled the fat wrestler loud enough for his opponent to hear. "Today was gonna be my pay day, remember?"
Unus chuckled under his breath. "Look at the fans, my brotha!" He hollered, still keeping the smile on his face. He flung his hands in the air as the crowd chanted his name. Signs that revealed their admiration for the Untouchable danced in the stands and the Garbage Man's support deteriorated. "They want me."
Smog could have shot out of his nostrils, as the obese wrestler, Garbage Man, grew more and more infuriated. He threw a fist at the Untouchable, Unus still standing there not caring. Amazingly, the blow was deflected, where the Garbage Man had hit a rippling blue energy wave dispersed. The Garbage man took back his hand and supported it with his palm, cringing in pain. He took another blow with his other hand, though his attempt failed when another blue wave of energy spat his hit in his direction.
Unus laughed a little and said, "The Untouchable." and raised his one hand in the air and clenched it into a fist. He brought it behind his head at eye level and stood in a stance that allowed him to have a strong punch if he were to do so. Before he did hit the Garbage Man, though, he reached over with his other hand and, with one dainty finger, and touched the area around his fist. Blue waves shot out. He smirked evilly and threw his fist into the Garbage Man's temple.
The Garbage Man slapped against the mat hard. Now bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth, the obese wrestler didn't seem capable of getting up, but Unus urged him to. He would kick his side every now and then, toying with him while he was trying to avoid the hits by slipping out of the ring.
"Man, the Untouchable really did a number on Garbage." One of the announcers said.
The Garbage Man had hit the cement floor right next to the steel stares. Just when he had given up and all the wailing of the crowd supported Unus, firecrackers and pyrotechnics were set off and the stereo erupted with sound over the crowd. Out of the stage entry, a new figure emerged and strutted down the ramp towards the ring.
The figure was of a man. He wasn't tall at all, but burly and built with muscles and fat that looked intimidating, no matter the height. When he emerged from the shadows and the stage lights caught up to him, it revealed a very attractive man, though, goofy-looking due to the fact that he wore a black silk shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his masculine chest, and jeans that road around his knees. He had short, spiked, black hair and a chiseled face. He almost looked as if he were Arnold Schwarzenegger, but with side burns and a broader lower jaw.
The announcers looked shocked, in fact, for a moment, you could only hear their voices squeaking a bit due to lack of thought. Finally, though, one roared into the microphone, "It's the Beast, ladies and gents! The Beast!"
He strutted down the ramp, clasping fan's hands with his own massive hands, and waving to all that were sitting higher up. Finally ending his period where he absorbed his large following, the Beast entered the ring. Before doing so, however, he boasted his remarkable strength and carried the obese Garbage Man in the ring and dropped him at his feet. He stared at Unus coldly.
"Whatduyu want, McCoy?" Unus shot at him immediately after the Beast's cold eyes met with his.
"Everyone's havin' a cow backstage, man! What the hell are ya doing? It was his win tonight, not yours!"
Unus chuckled, his upper body vibrating as he did so. A large smile that reached from ear to ear grew on Unus' face. He said, "Listen to the crowd." The arena was filled with roars of "the Untouchable". If any louder, it seemed, that the entire complex would have exploded. "Why would we want to upset the fans?" He laughed again.
"So, you're willin' to hang up your career for them?!" Beast exclaimed, almost in shock, looking at the population of people. The first couple of people he saw were balding and missing various front teeth.
Unus chuckled a little more and began pacing the ring. "No, no, Hank my friend. Oh, no!" He sounded as if he had lost his sanity. "I have bigger and better things to attend to now." He smirked at the sight of Beast's lost expression. "Being a superior and all."
"What in the hell is the matter with you?!" Beast finally asked, looking as if he were losing his mind as well. The fans roared at the sight of Beast moving closer and closer to Unus with his hands flailing as he spoke. They suspected that the verbal fight between the two standing in the ring would amount to something.
Unus pushed Beast, Hank McCoy, with a tremendous amount of force to the corner of the ring just as quickly as he touched him. Beast smacked against the corner and fell off, and lay there in pain. Unus bent down to the lifeless Garbage Man and wrapped his arms around him in a way that pressed his shoulders to the mat. After the count of three the bell sounded and the match was through.
"What just happened here?!" Shouted an announcer in all his glory. He was giddy as a child on Christmas morning, watching Unus interact with the Beast. "Here's hopin' this will amount to something for next week's Pay-Per-View special, folks!"
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Beast was struggling to get up, still watching Unus, who was standing above him. "Well, McCoy." He said with a dark tone, yet exaggerated to sound as if he were royalty. "Let's just say I've gotten a few job offers that I refuse to pass up." He gave Beast a toothy grin and walked out of the ring.
Brooklyn, New York City.
The sun pried into Hank McCoy's eyes early the next morning. It was as if he were being poked and prodded by a pesky younger sibling who's objective was to start their older siblings off on the wrong foot. As if the annoyance of the light wasn't enough for the middle-aged Hank, his alarm clock did him in. His ears already ringing for the din of the crowd the night before, the alarm clock pierced his ears and, as if he were slapped in the face with a constant stream of blistering cold water, sat bolt upright. Using his enlarged hand, he smacked the clock of his nightstand and it fell to the ground, shutting off the shrill alarm. He slipped out of his covers and got to his feet, which were also larger than that of a normal man.
Putting on his red and black, silk robe, Hank walked to his 12th floor apartment door and opened it. There sat his morning paper, ready for his reading pleasure. Though, when he first looked at it, he was a little taken aback. The bold headline read "Mutant Menaces Among Us?" Now very skittish, Hank picked up the paper, put it under his arm and walked inside.
Hank McCoy was dubbed a mutant. He had been haunted with that word since his childhood, and, wherever he went, the word was his proverbial shadow.
He slapped the newspaper down on his kitchen table, rubbing his head and ridding his vision of blurriness and morning-time confusion. It's too early to be reminded that people hate me, he thought to himself. Just like it was too late at night for me to be when I was watching the eleven o' clock news. He shoved it off one of the sides of the table, not being able to even look at it while he was preparing his bowl of cereal.
He had gotten his 1% milk and Wheaties from the refrigerator and cabinet and a bowl to hold it in, and kicking the newspaper out of his peripheral vision. He poured the two in and put the milk and cereal to the side as he shoveled his soggy bowl of cereal into his mouth. He reached across the table for the television remote, hoping that something on television would erase the thoughts about the newspaper headline, and went back for his cereal. He clicked the power on and watched as the screen showed up.
A newscaster appeared in front of a large estate. "Good morning, America, I am Sam Hampton with Action News 6." He said in as jovial voice as he could. Where he was, it seemed incredibly cold. "I'm here in front of the Xavier Estate and, with me here, is Charles Xavier the current owner.Charles?"
The camera zoomed out, then in again on another man. He was a man that appeared to be in his mid-forties and, though any normal person would be sulking by the time they were his age, he was surprisingly lively and carried himself with a unique confidence. Charles Xavier, though bald and carried few scars, was a handsome man.
"Ah, yes, good morning, Sam," He said in a thick English accent. He seemed to be cheerful despite the fact it was cold and early in the morning. "Thank you for having me."
"Oh, it's a pleasure." The newscaster said smiling. "Now. Am I to understand that you are opening your estate as a private school for mutants?"
At that comment, Hank had shuttered, his broad jaw dropping, the contents of his mouth doing the same on to the table. A school for mutants, he pondered.
Xavier actually looked unharmed from the question. Hank, if asked the same question, would either avoid it or flee the area. On the contrary, Xavier smiled into the camera very nonchalantly and said, "Indeed. 'The Xavier School for Gifted Individuals'."
The reporter seemed to be entertained by Xavier's confidence and gave a slight smile. "Now," he said. "On to the second question. Are you admitting just anyone?"
"The purpose," Xavier said. "Is to bring fledgling mutants in, teach them how to properly use their abilities, and make sure that they are in an environment that accepts them. I hardly feel as if the human populace will be very welcoming to such mutants when they become more and more apparent. Such mutants will not be tolerated in public and private schools nation- wide."
"What about the growing population of mutants over seas?" The reporter said.
"Well, once my ideals for a peaceful coexistence between man and mutant gain a certain amount of momentum, I would imagine that schools world-wide could be feasible."
"A peaceful coexistence between man and mutants". The words sounded like music to Beast's ears. He yearned to, one day, walk the streets without being bothered by a passerby that felt he should walk elsewhere and he dreamt that he would one day be recognized by people without them thinking that he was scum first. Hearing Xavier preach what he was thinking, and what he had been thinking for some time, meant a great deal to Hank.
The interview had came and went, but Hank wouldn't forget Charles Xavier or what he had spoken about.
* * *
A violent, bitter cold wind swept through the streets of New York City. They were relentless, flying at a consistent speed and a consistent temperature to annoy the hustle bustle of the city streets and pushing along discarded papers and other weightless objects.
Hank McCoy was among the crowds of the city, and, attempting to keep a low profile, wore grey beanie, aviator sunglasses, and a trench coat. He walked in the midst of his fans, his people, and, with such a disguise, he could walk through unnoticed; however, there were still dodging glances and awkward stares in his direction because people would naturally pick up that he wasn't normal. Hank disregarded such disrespect.
He looked down at his watched and noticed the time. 12:31 it read, Hank becoming more urgent now that he knew it was such a time. With his brute strength, he jostled the people in the street, and with surprisingly little complaint he got to the street corner and halted due to the fact that the light was red.
Hank's massive feet stepped into the street and started to walk across, seeing that his path was clear. But as he took more and more steps across the busy street, the traffic and pedestrians slowed until the seized in place spontaneously. He looked around and, as far as his eyes could see, everything had stopped. Cars people, streetlights, clocks, even the message scrolling across the top of buildings had all stopped.
Hank's jaw dropped. A cold feeling shot through his back and goose bumps sprouted all over his body. An entire city suddenly halted in its track, all except for Hank McCoy. He strutted up to a person in the streets, a woman, slowly, yet surely, to see if he had any affect on her. He gingerly ran his hand across her face. There was no reaction from the lady. He grew more and more feverish as he discovered that mostly everyone in his proximity was frozen in place.
"Alright Ashton Kutcher, you can come out now!" Hank yelled throwing his hands up in the air to reclaim his masculinity. The last thing he wanted to do was show anyone else that may have been moving that he was afraid. "I've been 'punked'! Not cool anymore, man!" He said in a very nervous, yet witty voice. Then a voice suddenly jumped into Hank's head. Henry McCoy. It echoed through his ears as if he were in a dank cave and made a boisterous noise. It wasn't painful to hear such a voice, yet it made him feel uneasy because he didn't know where the voice was came from.
After a moment of "silence", Hank noticed movement in his direction. He saw a bald man weaving around the statue-like people. "Henry Peter McCoy. Also known as Hank, among friends, and the Beast to your fans."
Hank attempted to look over the people's heads and shoulders, but his attempts failed because they failed to move. "Who are you?" He shot, growing a little more nervous than his present state.
The man emerged from the crowd of statue people and showed himself. It was the same man as Hank had seen on the television hours earlier on television. Charles Xavier. "I am Charles Francis Xavier. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Hank looked at him as if he were a ghost, but didn't find that to be a good enough excuse to befriend a person that he had so swiftly admired. He had seen him on the television and, in that amount of time, digested the meaning of his publicity. Hank extended his hand to Xavier. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Xavier!"
Charles chuckled a little bit and extended his arm, firmly shaking Hank's large hand.
Hank began to smile as if he were a school child on the first day of school glimpsing at a girl he thought was attractive. He was awestruck that he got to see someone whom he had admired. "I, uh, saw you on television this morning."
"Ahh, yes," Xavier said, lightening up the mood with a bit of a high spirits. "My ideals to live with such people," He continued, motioning to the mass of people. "Require me to make sacrifices. One being going public with something I believe in. A peaceful coexistence."
"Oh, I think that's great." Hank said. "It takes a great amount of courage to actually pursue something you believe in. I would have liked to do what you are doing, help with this mutant thing, but I'm not exactly a great leader." He said, hinting to Xavier that his appearance was the one obstacle that was holding him back.
"Being a telepath, I can most certainly tell you that you have much more defining qualities than your over-sized hands and feet." Xavier said putting his hands behind his back, and beginning to carry a conversation with Hank. "It was Bill Hyvale who said 'character is who you are when no one else is watching'. I'm sure you have certain characteristics that can overshadow your physical appearance."
"Not to them," Hank said, looking at the people around him in bitterness. "They've poked fun of me ever since my hands grew to their unusual shape. Sometimes, you just feel kinda hopeless."
"Hopeless? Or you forfeiting?" Xavier said, looking into Hank's eyes. Xavier made himself comfortable by sitting on the street's curb. "To combat ostracism, you have to be optimistic, and, to do so, it does not include giving up, Mr. McCoy."
Hank took a seat next to Xavier and looked at him very profoundly. "What can I do? I'm a wrestler for Christ's sake. The scum of the Earth and you expect me to do something?"
"Exactly." Xavier said, getting to his feet. He reached into his suit's pocket and pulled out what seemed to be a business card. "Here. This is if you want to make a difference." He handed him the car, and walked out quickly from Hank's sight.
Immediately, the people in the city began to move again as if nothing had happened and as if Xavier or Hank had ever met. But, even though the knowledge of Xavier's appearance on the street wasn't recognized, it was certainly remembered by Hank McCoy. He sat there, still, on the street's curb, looking at the business card.