Whoa, what happened to me updating this thing frequently? One word: Romy. Oh well, I'm writing for me, not the Romyans, not even y'all (weird, I know). So here's some new stuff for here.
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Stoic by Eternity's Voice
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Touch a button, stuff goes boom. Why did that make feel like a walking nuclear weapon? The big bio-hazard X over my chest didn't exactly relieve the thought. A whirring machine came out of a wall, aiming some sort of oversized gun at me. It made some sounds that said it was preparing to fire, and I pressed a button at my temple. The visor made a clicking noise. I nuked it. I looked around, ready, but the machine had been the last one.
"Excellent work, Scott, though I believe I must add more funds to the budget for training equipment." Xavier's amused voice spoke to me from speakers hidden somewhere in the vast underground room. Though it would have been simpler for him to use telepathy, we had a tacit understanding about that: Talk in my head and I think the D-word. Not that thoughts about my Demon didn't invade my mind every four minutes, but thinking about it on purpose was only asking for trouble.
I looked around the aptly named Danger Room and started to walk to the door, swerving around enormous hunks of debris and shrapnel. The huge training area was choked with it. Bending stiffly, I plucked one of thousands of warped screws from the metal floor. It was all my doing; the holocaust about me had come out of my own two eyes. If I did this in the real world, there would be blood strewn about as well, gallons of it. I didn't want my vision redder than it was.
I studied the little crooked screw. The distortion wasn't from heat, not any more. I remembered the ceiling of my room darkening and curling, like a piece of paper when you put a flame under it. Now there was only power behind my eyes.
The old great power, greater responsibility line played in my head. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't ask for it, any of it. Who would? Who would ask to be an orphan, be responsible for his own brother's death, to have ruby death in his eyes; who would ask for whatever the Hell had happened in my mind for over ten years? I didn't care if it had been a telepath or if Hell was exactly the right word for it; I just wanted to forget. Every time I opened my eyes and saw red, I remembered.
I stared down at the misshapen screw, a tiny example of the large-scale destruction I had caused. In a way, I felt connected to it. It had been just a small piece of a grand machine, not knowing its purpose or that of the machine. I closed my hand around it. Whatever had been done to me, there had been some reason for it. Someone just didn't waste over a decade torturing a kid without some reason. Why me, or what he was trying to accomplish, I didn't know. Though now it didn't really matter. Now I had been torn away from the machine, whole but warped.
The device that the screw had come from, a laser, lay shattered in pieces. I wasn't so lucky; my monster was still around. Out there somewhere -in Hell or maybe just Kentucky, there was someone planning something that I had been a part of. The question was: had I been a replaceable part or would he come back for me?
When I walked out of the elevator onto the mansion's main level, the screw was in my jeans' pocket. Minutes later, I lay on my bed, forcing my way through summer reading. I really should have known better than to think I was done with schooling. The Professor had originally mentioned home schooling, but now he was up to something that I wasn't sure I liked. I was preparing for Bayville high's next year of school. Jean already attended; she had been since that lost look in her eyes disappeared. From what I heard, she had blended into the mix seamlessly. Soccer star, honors classes, dozens of new friends; she just fit -something I doubted I could ever do.
I put down the heavy book -unfortunately Moby Dick- and breathed dejectedly. My track record wasn't all that good. With a lack a parents, a former sibling, a lifetime of mental rape, and the ability to kill anyone I had a staring contest with -no, I didn't think I would ever get that lucky. Jean had gone from lethal experience to coma to most popular girl in school without a hitch. With my luck, I'd still be in the coma. I hefted the whale of a tale of a Whale back up again and opened it up. I started reading about the uses of whale blubber.
Half an hour and about four pages later, a knock on my door saved me from the White Whale. "Scott? The Professor has some guests. Dinner's ready, if you would join us." Jean's words confused me slightly. It couldn't be dinner time already. My eyes checked the alarm clock and blinked. "All right," I grumbled, "make that two and a half hours and four pages." I schlepped off my wrinkled shirt and pulled on a sweater. It was green, but Kara had bought it for me last winter, just before the accident. Digging, a finger under my collar, I tugged it away from my neck. I hadn't really been able to go shopping for clothes, so most of my things were for winter. At least Xavier kept the thermostat down.
I smiled, knowing the reason why. The Professor wore a lot of sweaters and thick clothing too. Though he didn't exert himself physically much, there were times when he could overheat himself. Xavier was of the school that thought bald men should not sweat rivers down their bare heads.
In the front hall, a wild looking man leaned against the wall, smoking a cigar while a beautiful woman irritably told him to stop, several times. They both paused when I came down the stairs. The pair looked at me, a little pity mixed in with whatever emotions they were feeling. I noticed the woman's neatness and her regal posture. The man moved efficiently, like a soldier; even a kid could see that. They had control, and they fought hard to keep it. I had no control and they knew it, so they pitied me. That was something I just didn't want to deal with. Somehow, my legs got moving on the stairwell again. I said hello and blew past them towards the dining room.
Then the cigar smoke found its way into my lungs and I coughed uncontrollably. I never had a good tolerance for stuff like that. At the edge of my vision, I saw the man put out his cigar by rubbing the burning part into his palm. I winced and walked through the kitchen into the dining room. For once, I remembered that damn step. After a bit of deductive reasoning, I figured they were the people Xavier wanted to hire for watching the Incoming. I called the threat of Xavier's new kids that: Incoming. They seemed like this missile shooting straight towards the first happy life I had ever known.
It wasn't hard to tell they were both mutants, or that the man was trying to protect me -from tobacco smoke of all things. I wasn't a baby; I didn't want pity. As they followed behind, I didn't look back.
Dinner was quiet. If I ever had wanted to know about the torture that was a job interview, I just had to look at the two mutants' faces. No one said a word, though. I knew they were talking telepathically; the man tended to use gestures to talk. Jean seemed intent on her dinner, but she had that expression on that said her mind was elsewhere. That place wasn't deep in thought or daydreaming either; she was putting in her own two cents in a discussion I couldn't even hear.
I ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. It was like being in a conversation, and then everyone around you suddenly started to speak in Chinese. Not quite finished, I cleared my plate anyway. I wandered off, not thinking of where I was going. If I didn't have a place in mind, it seemed more likely that neither of the telepaths would find me.
After a time, I found myself in the library. The clock struck the time and I stared at it. It was the second time that day a few hours had gone by in what felt like minutes. I went to a shelf and pull out a book at random. Moby Dick. I frowned and replaced it, not liking the coincidence.
"You should finish that book, Scott."
I whirled around and saw the woman from dinner. She leaned against the door frame, watching me. She smiled, "It's rather important to your education; I should know." I didn't know whether to dislike her or instantly fall in love.
The woman laughed, instantly looking younger, almost my age. "Pick the love, Mr. Summers. It would make things much more enjoyable." She walked over and held out a hand. "Emma."
I didn't take the handshake. Emma shrugged and replied for me, "Scott, but I know that already."
I walked away. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Emma, but I don't like people in my head. Please stay out of it."
"This from a boy who lives with two telepaths: one who can't control herself, and one who defined the word nosey? You're too suspicious, Scott. I only hear what you project loud and clear. I'd never looked inside your mind." The woman reached out towards my face, an eerily wistful look growing on hers. "Though I want to. You're so interesting. Someone's been playing God in there," she smiled wickedly, "and successfully. Look at it logically and there is only a few more changes to make before-"
Emma snatched her hand away suddenly, as if she had been burned. She stared at it wildly, and I did too. Large, bulbous blisters formed on her skin. It looked like she had been cooked to the bone. The blonde glared at me -or rather, through me, and then disappeared. I had just blinked, but she was gone.
I blinked again, and I was outside the mansion's gates, griping the door handle of a limousine. The tinted window was down and I looked in to see Emma. For some odd reason, the first thing I noticed was that she was very scantily dressed, all white lingerie. Her jacket and long skirt lay discarded on the floor by her feet. Okay, perhaps it wasn't so odd for a guy to see that first, but under the circumstances there was something far more interesting about her. She clutched her hand like before, but it was completely unburned. Tears of pain rolled through her make-up. For some uncontrollable reason, I smiled, and her eyes widened in fear. My hand let go of the door all of its own, and the limo tore off into the night, leaving me alone in the middle of the road as a cold wind suddenly picked up.
It grew stronger, and I shivered, glad for the sweater. A shadow blotted the moon. A woman dropped down from the sky as I stared. The expression on her face was murderous. It immediately softened when she noticed me. "What are you doing out here on the road, Child?"
Her dark, motherly face clouded with worry as I looked around, wondering that exact same question. "I...I don't know. I was in the library, and then..." She stroked my hair softly, making me feel like a little kid. The feeling was welcome.
"Do you live with Xavier?" she asked and I nodded. The woman gently put a hand on my shoulder and led me back home.
Jean opened the door and stared out at us. "Scott? Wha...what are you..." Her gaze fixed on the white haired woman beside me and she switched questions. "Who are you?"
"Ororo Monroe," the woman replied and Jean's mouth popped open in disbelief.
"Ororo? Bu..." she looked back inside the house, towards the dining room. I looked at her, confused. Jean never spoke like that. She never stuttered or broke off mid-word. Xavier wheeled into view and the girl stared blankly at him for a moment. Then she asked slowly, "Professor?"
He smiled at her, his eyes a little less sharp than usual. Carefully, he said "Jean, you should go lie down. I'll explain this to you when you feel better."
She nodded and walked to the stairs. She got about halfway before staggering. The man from dinner caught her inches from the floor. Unlike them, he seemed absolutely fine. "Just point me to yer room, Red," he said softly. He led her away up the stairs.
"...Logan?"
"Shush, kid. Try not to think so hard. If Chuck's right, that's what's makin' you feel bad.
Ororo asked the Professor, "What has been going on here?"
Xavier looked at her, and smiled dully. "Ororo Monroe, I presume? We talked on the phone earlier, didn't we?"
She nodded regally, like Emma had, but it fit better with the brown skinned woman. "We were going to discuss a job opportunity over dinner. Unfortunately, I was..." she shuddered and hugged herself, "detained."
Very confused, I asked, "What happened, Professor?"
He looked at me sadly. "The woman here was an imposter, a telepath who specializes in deception. Apparently, she is also a good druggist." He shook his head gingerly and continued, "I have no idea who she is, though."
"Emma, she said her name was Emma," I said.
Xavier looked at me, startled. "She talked with you."
I replied, "I...I think so." I described what had happened in the library, what I now thought had been a scene played out inside my head. "And she stumbled back, holding her hand. It was burned real bad, third degree. She disappeared, and then I was out on the road, getting ready to get in her car. She looked at me through the window, but kinda through or behind me, not at me for real. I let go of the car door and she couldn't get out of there fast enough."
The Professor leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "You said this Emma was talking about the changes in your head before she was...attacked?" I nodded, and then a thought came to me. He saw the fright, and said softly, "Scott, please get some rest. You've had a trying night." He wheeled away and Ororo followed. They were engaged in a silent conversation, again pointedly leaving me out.
I stared after him, watching his receding bald head. 'Get some rest' wasn't what I needed to hear. Emma had been attacked when she tried to tell me about what was going on in my head. Someone hadn't wanted her to, and I knew exactly who: the monster who had lived in my head. I shivered, despite the sweater. That meant my Demon was still watching, that he wasn't done with me.
I went up to my room, but couldn't sleep. I finished Moby Dick around four-thirty in the morning. Then I watched the sun rise out on the front porch. I felt a lump in a jeans pocket and pulled out the screw. It lay in my palm, useless, forever free of the monstrous machine it had been an unwilling part of. "What I wouldn't give to be you," I whispered to the screw, then hurled it into the bushes where no one would ever find it. Then I took off the visor because I couldn't cry with it on. Later, someone comforted me in their arms. I never knew who; I jut hoped it wasn't Him.
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Done, and we're getting angsty. If you're only exposure to X-men is Evo or the movies, then you've got no clue who Emma Frost is, but if the shoe fits...
Note: Okay, I know this is nothing like the X-Men plot. Because of that, it makes it harder for them to sue me. Disclaimer: Marvel. Short, sweet, not to the point. I realize that my sequence of events is different, as in the plane crash didn't scramble the "off switch" of Scott's power in his brain. For future reference, I know that Red's eyes are green, but since when has anyone been true to Evo: Jean anyway?
