Keegan first noticed he was different in seventh grade. Well, his
mind was opened to the possibility anyway, and that was the important part.
Every human is different, it's a given – as constant as the mating habits
of atoms and the structuring of genes. But it's those humans with the
inconstant genes; the abnormal patterns of biological structuring that are
really different. The first step in their embracing that fact, is simply
knowing that it might be so.
But that is not as easy at it seems, especially to a good kid, in a good family, in a good upstanding neighborhood, going to a good expensive school. Conformity, uniformity, and all things pedestrian are the safeguards of such an existence; pillars for one to cling to, ones that will not be swept aside by reason or sense, but perhaps by time and trends. Mutants, an old "evil," were the trend when Keegan was a boy. They were all over the movie screen, the television screen- celebrated for the time where they were repressed; as any group in history inevitably is. Though, as history has also shown, those same problems exist under the happy surface of the changed world but a blind eye is turned towards them. The same entertainers that were playing the parts of a young Scott "Cyclops" Summers, would not be seen in public with one of the mutants he pretended to be. He would be hard pressed to share a table with them at a restaurant without feeling embarrassed, and would mutter stereotypical things about them as if no one knew what he meant by them.
It was in this environment that Keegan learned to appreciate mutants; as important and tragic players in the shaping of his country as he knew it, though not as real viable citizens in his world. He had never met one, well one that would admit his status as a mutant. His parents had known a few in school, before they had been segregated and then desegregated again, only to lead into an eventuality of no out of the closet mutants just about anywhere.
There were a few extremists groups, on either side, that clouded everyone's judgment on the issue. And theirs were the only views that ever got airtime, for they were the only interesting ones. The sad thing was the fact was that no one really had much of an opinion at all that wasn't extreme either way. Keegan, for example, knew his parents were wary of them, wary of him being too close to any. In truth most youth of the country and some young adults saw them through eyes clouded by ignorance induced by the media's representation. The first time his eyes actually caught sight of the advanced humans, all his perceptions changed.
Keegan didn't have many friends as a child. He was born without fully functional vocal chords, and could only make sounds enough to answer yes or no and have anyone understand. He amused himself in the hours after school climbing trees in the park between the city and the suburbs; it was on the way home. He was fearless then, and barely ever fell. He would fall asleep up there among the trees, with other creatures that could only say a couple syllables, like pigeons and squirrels. Keegan's parents never knew where he was then, nor did they care. His father was your typical Irish politician, an alcoholic and proud, a racist and proud. He was on the mutant's side in issues for work, but was an ardent anti-mutant in actuality. Keegan had seen the black ski mask and goggles in his father's bedside table, he had felt the cold heavy plastic of his black rain coat- stained with blood and alcohol. He didn't know what it meant at the time, but his father was a part of "The Redux." I guess one could call it the Ku Klux Klan of the mutant world, a stitch in the side of humanity's fight against mutant racism. But the Ku Klux Klan didn't have every conservative politician in the entire country on their side, they didn't have a standing militia comparable to any single branch of the US military. But, perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves on this one. That would come much later.
For right now the only thing Keegan knew about all that was to stay away from them, and not to be on the streets at night alone. That was when the mutants moved, and that was when The Redux rounded them up. His first encounter with both happened near midnight in the park. He had fallen asleep with his monosyllabic comrades, the pigeons in the quiet curfew hours of the evening. Footsteps brought his young eyes open with a start, not yet adjusted to the night. There was one set of fast footsteps then the sound of rustling leaves, then nothing. He edged- forward on his branch in the tree above the path, teetering on the edge. Not long after the first disruption of the night's silence came a second set of footsteps, and a third, following more slowly- methodically. Keegan craned his neck, the branch beginning to quiver with his own taunt nervousness. The footsteps slowed- whoever they belonged to was searching for something. The boy in the tree searched the ground below for something that would tell him what was going on. His eyes found another set, stark white inset with blue against the dark of the night. They were wide, quivering; they were scared.
"There you are, mutant!" It was a growl and a sneer, nothing like the way a human spoke to another. The only thing Keegan could think of was the way a man berates an animal in his presence that is unwanted. The mutant's eyes never left his, it was a girl; he had never thought of that before. She was pretty. "Why did you run, what were you running from, eh?" "Yeah, we aren't gonna hurt yah!" "Much." The eyes into which Keegan were staring closed slowly. He closed his. There was a rustling of leaves and more footsteps. More followed her. The three came into view right underneath his tree just off the edge of the path. "You'll be a message for your mutant friends. Redux owns the night here, you don't walk our streets or you die, you don't use our taxis or you die, you don't ride our subways or you die, and you ARE NOT welcome. So you die. And you are only the first."
Keegan could just make out what was going on. A black plastic something was pulled from beneath the wide, baggy raincoat that the man standing up was wearing. It was a gun, and he heard it make that sound that they did in movies before they were shot. The other man was holding the female mutant down; she was not much older than Keegan. Her eyes met his again and he closed his, not wanting to watch. "Say hello to your mutant God for me, beauty." "Say hello to 'im yourself, bub," Growled someone off to the side of the path, in the shadows. Keegan opened his eyes again to see all the players in the dismal scene's heads turn to his side of the path. He only saw their expression before everything was a blur. Snik.
And then he was on them before anyone was ready. Keegan covered his eyes, screaming with the female mutant. There was a gunshot, and a splatter of blood. More footsteps sounded growing very faint into the distance, and two heavy thuds could be heard on the paved path. Keegan chanced a look out from underneath his little fingers. There was a light in the dark, and the sound of a cigarette lighter. Snik.
he was there. The shock of catching his eye jostled the boy and he fell from his perch, landing softly in a pile of leaves underneath the tree. The man was gone. On the chests of each body was a big X torn into their shirts. On one there was the number 1, and on the other, 2. Keegan was not the same boy afterwards. The world was not the same after that, though it took 5 years on the anniversary of this night for the world to know it.
But that is not as easy at it seems, especially to a good kid, in a good family, in a good upstanding neighborhood, going to a good expensive school. Conformity, uniformity, and all things pedestrian are the safeguards of such an existence; pillars for one to cling to, ones that will not be swept aside by reason or sense, but perhaps by time and trends. Mutants, an old "evil," were the trend when Keegan was a boy. They were all over the movie screen, the television screen- celebrated for the time where they were repressed; as any group in history inevitably is. Though, as history has also shown, those same problems exist under the happy surface of the changed world but a blind eye is turned towards them. The same entertainers that were playing the parts of a young Scott "Cyclops" Summers, would not be seen in public with one of the mutants he pretended to be. He would be hard pressed to share a table with them at a restaurant without feeling embarrassed, and would mutter stereotypical things about them as if no one knew what he meant by them.
It was in this environment that Keegan learned to appreciate mutants; as important and tragic players in the shaping of his country as he knew it, though not as real viable citizens in his world. He had never met one, well one that would admit his status as a mutant. His parents had known a few in school, before they had been segregated and then desegregated again, only to lead into an eventuality of no out of the closet mutants just about anywhere.
There were a few extremists groups, on either side, that clouded everyone's judgment on the issue. And theirs were the only views that ever got airtime, for they were the only interesting ones. The sad thing was the fact was that no one really had much of an opinion at all that wasn't extreme either way. Keegan, for example, knew his parents were wary of them, wary of him being too close to any. In truth most youth of the country and some young adults saw them through eyes clouded by ignorance induced by the media's representation. The first time his eyes actually caught sight of the advanced humans, all his perceptions changed.
Keegan didn't have many friends as a child. He was born without fully functional vocal chords, and could only make sounds enough to answer yes or no and have anyone understand. He amused himself in the hours after school climbing trees in the park between the city and the suburbs; it was on the way home. He was fearless then, and barely ever fell. He would fall asleep up there among the trees, with other creatures that could only say a couple syllables, like pigeons and squirrels. Keegan's parents never knew where he was then, nor did they care. His father was your typical Irish politician, an alcoholic and proud, a racist and proud. He was on the mutant's side in issues for work, but was an ardent anti-mutant in actuality. Keegan had seen the black ski mask and goggles in his father's bedside table, he had felt the cold heavy plastic of his black rain coat- stained with blood and alcohol. He didn't know what it meant at the time, but his father was a part of "The Redux." I guess one could call it the Ku Klux Klan of the mutant world, a stitch in the side of humanity's fight against mutant racism. But the Ku Klux Klan didn't have every conservative politician in the entire country on their side, they didn't have a standing militia comparable to any single branch of the US military. But, perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves on this one. That would come much later.
For right now the only thing Keegan knew about all that was to stay away from them, and not to be on the streets at night alone. That was when the mutants moved, and that was when The Redux rounded them up. His first encounter with both happened near midnight in the park. He had fallen asleep with his monosyllabic comrades, the pigeons in the quiet curfew hours of the evening. Footsteps brought his young eyes open with a start, not yet adjusted to the night. There was one set of fast footsteps then the sound of rustling leaves, then nothing. He edged- forward on his branch in the tree above the path, teetering on the edge. Not long after the first disruption of the night's silence came a second set of footsteps, and a third, following more slowly- methodically. Keegan craned his neck, the branch beginning to quiver with his own taunt nervousness. The footsteps slowed- whoever they belonged to was searching for something. The boy in the tree searched the ground below for something that would tell him what was going on. His eyes found another set, stark white inset with blue against the dark of the night. They were wide, quivering; they were scared.
"There you are, mutant!" It was a growl and a sneer, nothing like the way a human spoke to another. The only thing Keegan could think of was the way a man berates an animal in his presence that is unwanted. The mutant's eyes never left his, it was a girl; he had never thought of that before. She was pretty. "Why did you run, what were you running from, eh?" "Yeah, we aren't gonna hurt yah!" "Much." The eyes into which Keegan were staring closed slowly. He closed his. There was a rustling of leaves and more footsteps. More followed her. The three came into view right underneath his tree just off the edge of the path. "You'll be a message for your mutant friends. Redux owns the night here, you don't walk our streets or you die, you don't use our taxis or you die, you don't ride our subways or you die, and you ARE NOT welcome. So you die. And you are only the first."
Keegan could just make out what was going on. A black plastic something was pulled from beneath the wide, baggy raincoat that the man standing up was wearing. It was a gun, and he heard it make that sound that they did in movies before they were shot. The other man was holding the female mutant down; she was not much older than Keegan. Her eyes met his again and he closed his, not wanting to watch. "Say hello to your mutant God for me, beauty." "Say hello to 'im yourself, bub," Growled someone off to the side of the path, in the shadows. Keegan opened his eyes again to see all the players in the dismal scene's heads turn to his side of the path. He only saw their expression before everything was a blur. Snik.
And then he was on them before anyone was ready. Keegan covered his eyes, screaming with the female mutant. There was a gunshot, and a splatter of blood. More footsteps sounded growing very faint into the distance, and two heavy thuds could be heard on the paved path. Keegan chanced a look out from underneath his little fingers. There was a light in the dark, and the sound of a cigarette lighter. Snik.
he was there. The shock of catching his eye jostled the boy and he fell from his perch, landing softly in a pile of leaves underneath the tree. The man was gone. On the chests of each body was a big X torn into their shirts. On one there was the number 1, and on the other, 2. Keegan was not the same boy afterwards. The world was not the same after that, though it took 5 years on the anniversary of this night for the world to know it.