Amir felt blood in his mouth. He could feel himself shaking, and his arms hurt like hell. Hid wrists were bound together and attached to the ceiling. He dangled about two feet off the floor. He could just barely wedge his legs against the walls to relieve the pressure on his arms. The bruises to his arms and legs were beginning to turn a deep lavender, speckled with a green-blue.

He cast a sideways glance towards were the rest of their small group sat. Logan was bound to a chair on the floor, head lolled back and forehead bloody. His knuckles were bound tightly on each side of his neck, pointing slightly upwards. Amir assumed this was so if by chance Logan survived the bullet, he'd slice his own neck and head open with his claws. But he couldn't see how anyone could have survived that shot.

On the other side of Logan, was John. They had hooked John up into a sort of isolation tank. Several feet deep, and just long enough for a person, it was similar to a cross between a coffin and a fancy aquarium. John lay submerged in the water, a breathing mask covering most of his face.

And on the other side of John, was Mystique. She, like Logan was bound tightly to a chair. Most of her right side was covered in blood. Her red hair looked singed, as did her ski in places. She caught Amir's eye and gave him a cold glare. Amir's eyes snapped back to their former position of blankly staring forward.

He wasn't exactly sure how they had all been captured. He had been trying to coax one of the traumatized mutants into getting up, when suddenly he had heard the sound of gunfire. He had tried to figure out where it was coming from, but almost instantaneously, heavily armed soldiers clad in bulletproof material had overtaken them. Finally, he heard one last shot and turned just in time to see Logan fall back. From there, he had blacked out and awoken here. That was probably about forty minutes ago, perhaps an hour.

His arms tingled, becoming numb. Amir adjusted his shoulders as he tried to push his legs out further, trying to keep from a clear out hanging position.

_________________

John forced his eyes open again. He got a flash of sight before the water attacked his eyes with a stinging fury. He quickly pressed his eyes closed again and took a deep breath into the mask that covered his nose and mouth. With each breath of metallic air, he feared the next might be his last. This had already resulted in him hyperventilating earlier. But now, he had sort of given up.

Water, or more specifically, drowning, had always been one of his hidden fears.

Mentally, John cursed himself for getting caught. He had been dodging through buildings and flames, trying to contact someone, anyone. He had finally reached Mystique and convinced her to leave with him. This had long ago grown too intense for his taste. But, somewhere between leaving the building and meeting Mystique, he had dropped his radio into the flames. As it burned, it let out a loud screech. John paused, turning back to look at it and he tripped into another pillar of flame. It hadn't burned him, but between the movement he caused trying to get it off by sending it away in little blasts and the noise of the dying radio, he had quickly been surrounded. They had dragged him into this large room and much to his protest, submerged him in this tank where he now lay.

His heart began to race as the memory of being blindly dropped into the tank. He knew his air supply wouldn't last more than several hours. It seemed like days he had been in here. Though the logical part of his mind told him it couldn't have been much more than an hour.

_________________________________________________________________________

"Sir, are you ready?" An aide questioned, poking his head in the door. "Everything is set up downstairs."

Brian let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples. In front of him on the desk sat the speech he had prepared, and a special letter or two he had also been working on for the last few hours. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly seven in the morning. Might as well get an early start, he though as he stood and with a fluent motion that went unnoticed by the aide, Brian slipped the gun into his jacked pocket.

He then took one last look around before following the aide.

Over the last few hours, he had been wondering how everything was going back in Arizona. It must be about four AM there. He prayed that this would actually work. If not, well… It had better work.

His chest felt tight and his breaths were shallow as he entered the large conference room. Half a dozen film crews as well as a throng of reporters were group around the raised stage and famous wooden podium.

Brian felt his hands begin to lightly shake as he was surrounded by both advisors and makeup artists. Then the rest of the room realized he had entered and a round of applause broke out as flashbulbs began going off. An aide gave a slight push towards the stage and whispered a quick good luck in his ear.

With slow steps, Brian scaled the stage and approached the podium. Once there, he took a moment to let his eyes fully take in the sight of the camera crews, reporters, and the occasional cabinet member hidden in the background. He then glanced down at the speech he had prepared and adjusted his dark blue tie while doing so.

He then looked up, a new sense of determination in his eyes. And then he began.

"Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm sure you are all quite anxious to hear what I have to say." Brian began with a slightly cynical opening statement. A polite laugh went through his audience.

"As I was saying, You are all here to listen to what I have to say. So shall we? Dim the lights please." He instructed. It was quickly done, as a screen began to lower behind him.

"I have something to show all of you," Brian said, flipping on the slide show with a remote kept in the podium. A navy blue screen flashed up, with the elaborate presidential seal underneath a bold white title. 'Base One, Arizona, USA' was written out clearly. He watched as a few nervous glances were cast amongst the government workers in the back while the reporters near the front began scribbling down notes rapidly.

Brian hit the button for the next slide, and this time it showed a black and white aerial view of the camp. Large blocky buildings were clearly visible along with the fences that seemed to stretch on and on. Wordlessly, Brian brought up the next slide. This was a closer up picture of the base's front gates.

'BASE ONE was etched into the metal sign next to the front gates. But, when Brian zoomed in, a smaller text appeared directly underneath the larger print. 'Facility for the containment and eradication of mutants', it read. A collective murmur went through the room.

"I am sharing this with you all because I, Peter McIntosh have committed a horrible act. Not just one act, but many. As you all shall soon see." Brian said tightly as he flipped to the next slide. This time, the screen was filled with a shot of one of the labs. Thankfully, prior to his escape, Brian had never visited one of the mutant labs. At least, not when he was conscious. Inside the room, various methods of torture could be seen, as well as shelves of drugs and liquids.

Brian cleared his throat. "I have a document, from only a mere few days ago to share with you all." He began, leafing through his stack of papers. Then he found it. It was the official document demanding the use of experimental Serum 128, no matter what circumstances. As he explained to the audience, he didn't care what happened to these people. Eventually, they would find a drug that would work and the rest…oh well. He made it clear that though he was unaware of the drug's results to date, he did know of some previous experimental drug usage amongst the camp's prisoners. And then he held up the several page long list of deaths do to consumption. Then, he flipped to the next slide. A tiny face from a day long ago filled the screen.

"And this, this is a young girl I had committed. She's five years old and a mutant. What was her crime against humanity that made her a serious threat? Her eyes were different. They had unusual patterns and she was noted to occasionally be able to see through things." Brian paused, and lifted up another paper from his messy stack. He held it up, though no one could read it.

"She died four months later, from a beating." He said, flipping up the next slide. It showed a plain cement sell, on the floor of which lay the tattered body of a small child. She lay facedown in the cement, large purple and green blotches splattered her pale skin. Parts were raw and bloody. But the thing that got to you was her neck, it was bent at a completely unnatural angle, obviously broken.

Brian cleared his throat. "I met Emily Sumner on an execution day at the camp. The first executions were done swiftly by guillotine or gunshot, but as you can see, they became quickly more and more brutal."

His eyes drifted across the audience. Reporters sat hunched over, hurrying to take notes while others sat in stunned silence, most likely carrying a tape recorder somewhere. And in the back, he could see the pale, confused faces of his officials talking concerned amongst themselves.

He continued to flip through slides similar to the last one, each showing a gruesome and quite unspeakable act made towards the prisoners. Then, after nearly an hour and a half, he realized he had to begin to draw this into a close.

Brian loudly cleared his through, and turned off the slideshow. He instructed for the lights to come back on and he paused for a moment to let everyone's eyes adjust to the blinding light.

"After what you all have seen, I have one statement to make: I am sorry. I know that is not enough, but I must say it. We must make strides to eliminate this scientific form of racism. As of today, I am officially closing Base One. I am also setting up an official group of advisers to ensure this never happens again. This group will be made up of mutants and Invalids, elected into office just like any normal human being." Brian stopped there to catch his breath.

"I must move to say, that if he is still living, I appoint the first head of the Mutant Commission to be Robert Drake, a young man I met at Base One. To him, I must say thanks." Brain genuinely smiled at the camera, hoping Ice would someday see a recording of this.

"We must eliminate prejudice. We must unite as one. Mutant, Human, InValid. This war over genes and mutations must come to an end or else I fear that it will destroy us all." With that statement, a lone member of the crowd stood up clapping, then a few more joined until most of the audience was on their feet, clapping. Brian forced a smile, gesturing for them all to sit. They promptly did so.

Brian's hands felt sweaty as he casually reached down into his pocket and brushed his warm skin up against the cool metal of the handgun. The sounds of the room began to blur, as did the images. Everything slowed and colors blurred, voices becoming a loud mix of ominous noise as he swept his panicked eyes across the audience.

"I…I'm sorry for what I did. I hope everyone can forgive me by keeping the words of my speech in memory and keeping my commission going for as long as possible. Thank you and, I'm sorry." Brain said, and at the end, he took an abrupt step back from the podium and pulled out the gun. Before anyone could realize what he was doing, he had it pointed to his temple. And with one last plead for forgiveness, He pulled the trigger.

Screams erupted throughout the conference hall as the spectators watched the President's body crumble, blood sprayed across the stage. Secret Service agents quickly rushed the stage, checking McIntosh's body for any sign of life. They found none. And at 8:37 am, Tuesday morning of late May 2009, Peter McIntosh was pronounced dead.

__________________________________

The water in John's tank quivered slightly and loud pangs rang out as someone approached. His heart raced once again as louder ticks and whirls could be heard coming from above and behind his head. Suddenly, the water began to flow away and he was able to open his eyes. A white ceiling filled his vision. Suddenly, a masked man filled his sights. John struggled to pull away as a pair of gloved hands reached down towards his face, but there was nowhere to go in the narrow cell. But, it turned out the hands merely were removing the mask. John took in a deep breath of real air as he sat up. The man removed his mask and gave him a half smile.

"Congratulations," The man said, extending his hand. John ignored him as he hoisted himself out of the tank. He stood, and suddenly felt overcome by dizziness. He reached out and involuntarily grabbed the man's shoulder to steady himself. The man gave a slight chuckle and helped direct John to an empty chair by the door. John sat down and watched the man tend to each of his friends. One by one, they joined him over at the door. Logan was the last. He was wiping burgundy, dried blood off his forehead and trying to scrape it out of his hair when he joined the other three, followed closely by the man.

"Apparently, you four have got friends in high places." The man said. When he got no reply from the dazed four, he continued. "Just this morning, our President, bless his soul, demanded as one of his dying wishes you bunch be set free in advance. Anyway, follow me and I will escort you outside." The man said, walking down the hall.