Thanks to:
Ishandahalf – Bit more like the bunny on crack this time! I'm quite enjoying writing repentant Mystique, trying to make up for her mess is something I've never tried before.
LadyEvils – I really enjoy writing Jean, she has so many fun dimensions to explore. Pietro and Wanda are both gonna play a huge part of the fic so watch this space! I've never really thought about how Jean and Todd would get on if they were thrown together but I can actually see them being friends.
Todd Fan – I know I've promised this before, but I really am gonna start being nicer to Sam soon!
Minnaloushe – Loved your fic as you probably gathered from the reviews! Jean using Cerebro will be coming up soon and she is gonna have some problems there, although not what you might expect…I always thought that if Todd lived at the mansion, Logan would make him take a shower! Accents, particularly Remy's, give me problems so it's good to know they don't sound weird. In the comics most of Irene's visions were set in stone but I don't like that idea – I prefer the thought that they can change what she sees if they can interpret it, so expect lots of panic while they try to work out what Rogue's visions mean and when they'll happen. Whenever I see Logan and Mystique talking in the comics (including a really bizarre 'What if?' when they were dating!) it makes me smile so I wanted some of that to be in the fic.
Sangofanatic – Hey, the fic was only up a day or so before you reviewed! A lot of the mutants will end up meeting up, although not necessarily at the mansion…and not everyone will get along, don't worry! I don't think that everyone would play happy families just because there aren't very many survivors. I decided to let Rogue keep the precognition because she held on to Irene for too long – that's how she got her flight/ super-strength after all so I thought I'd take advantage of that. Rogue has to learn the true nature of her powers sooner or later so there will be lots of angst there!
TheDreamerLady – Sam's mullet makes his hair kinda interesting! Glad you enjoyed the chapter!
Rogue14 – Loved the new chapter! And I looked more like Callisto than Cyclops sadly but now I have both eyes back, yay! Rogue and Gambit are safe from the disease but I'm not promising they'll be safe from anything else…
Furygrrl – Thanks for the recommendations and for the present:Grins at a nekkid and nervous Lance: Todd and Jean as friends seemed to be logical, I can just see Jean taking him under her wing as opposed to Logan or Mystique (there's a frightening thought!). Cerebro is gonna be a major plot device so right now I'm taking a crash course in how the damn thing works! And wait no more for the bad guys – here they are! Lots of foreshadowing, just what I like doing. I had forgotten about Irene's letter myself, I was looking for something in that chapter and spotted it – oops! I'm going to be nicer to Sam from now on (I know, I've said that before but this time I mean it). I doubt that Mystique can keep her secret forever but it won't be revealed any time soon. I do have plans for the others to find her out what she did…
Author Note: Only one of the characters in this chapter has been mentioned previously and one was never on Evo (although he is a canon character). I've never looked at any of these characters in any depth before and I'd like to know if you think they're realistic or not. It's a shorter chapter than the ones before which is why I was able to get it posted more quickly.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"Mutants."
Trask spat the word as he surveyed the SHIELD facility cameras. He saw nothing but the decaying corpses of his former colleagues on the screens, the flies alighting on their bodies, the now-empty room that held previously held Wolverine. It had pained him to let the man go but it was only a matter of time before he had tried the floor or ceiling and found them made of nothing more sturdy than concrete, no matter what the walls were coated with. Better to release him and quell his suspicions rather than have him on a rampage around the facility.
A mutant had caused the virus. A mutant had broken into a top-security facility and stolen the virus, then either deliberately set it loose on the population or else accidentally allowed it to escape. Either way, this was all the fault of the mutants.
Had anyone listened to him when he first put forward his proposal for taking care of the mutant population then there might be a lot more humans around. As it was, Fury had vetoed his suggestion and now it was too late. There was barely a world left worth saving. No point in taking any action at all.
Except…
Fury seemed to think that Logan would be able to cure the virus thanks to his healing factor. When Trask had taken over as Head of the facility due to everyone who outranked him being ill, he had taken the liberty of entering into the encrypted files on known mutants and had been very interested with what he had found. Wolverine wasn't the only mutant that SHIELD was aware of.
Professor Charles Francis Xavier. Telepath. Currently a resident of Bayville and running a school for gifted youngsters. Intriguing.
Ororo Munroe. Weather manipulator, sometime goddess, sometime thief. Also a teacher at the Institute.
Erik Magnus Lensherr. Power over metal objects and magnetic pulses. Current whereabouts unknown. Considered dangerous.
Identity unknown. Aliases include B. Byron Biggs, D. Raven, Leni Zauber. Shapeshifter. Current whereabouts unknown. Also considered dangerous.
Victor Creed. Accelerated healing factor and massive strength. Current whereabouts unknown. Wanted for questioning. Considered dangerous.
Irene Adler. Precognition. Current address in Caldecott County Mississippi.
Jean Grey. Telepath with evidence of telekinesis. Resident of the Xavier Institute.
Wanda Maximoff. Reality manipulation. Currently incarcerated in a hospital for the mentally ill.
There were others, pages of them. And these were only the mutants SHIELD knew about. What if there were more?
Trask wanted to tell himself that most if not all of them were dead but it seemed unlikely. If Wolverine was able to survive, didn't that suggest that mutants were in fact more resistant to the virus or even immune? That meant that these – people – were running around the country unchecked. It might even have been some big mutant conspiracy. Release the virus, kill the humans and leave the world for the freaks.
The only thing he had trouble reconciling was his own continued survival. If the virus affected humans, why not him? He wasn't a mutant. Was it some quirk of his genetics? But that would mean he had some link to the mutants and that he wouldn't accept. He could only assume that no virus, no matter how virulent, could kill off an entire species and that was why he was still alive. There had to be other humans around too.
That left him with a distasteful conclusion; although there were still humans alive, the mutants were now the majority. The next step would be to seek out the surviving humans and exterminate them. Then the mutants would have the world and the humans would be a footnote in history, like the dinosaurs.
Some one had to ensure the continued survival of the species.
Fortunately, Trask had a plan. There was no way the muties were killing off the humans without a fight. He could use a friendly face, some one the same species as him just so he knew he wasn't alone. But it wasn't essential. When the other humans realised that there was some one who could do something about the freaks, they would come out of hiding and join his crusade. For now, he had to work alone. Luckily for him the SHIELD facility was entirely self-contained, able to run for up to two years without using an outside power source with no noticeable loss of power in any department.
Lucky for him of course. Not for the muties.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Erik Lensherr floated over the ocean on a circle of metal. Usually he would employ a metal sphere for the journey but he had wanted to see for himself just how much of the country was decimated. He had been in Europe when the virus had hit, working in secret and only realising something was happening when he realised both Mystique and Django had been trying to get in touch with him. His attempts to contact them had failed and he had left the dreary castle he had been working in to find a world in turmoil. People had collapsed in the street, in their cars, in churches, dying where they fell and being left to rot.
The virus had brought new realisations to him. He had spent half of his life preparing for a war between humans and mutants, readying himself to champion homo superior against the humans who would see them enslaved, using their powers for their own benefit and treating them like cattle or worse. He firmly believed that for every human who learned to accept them, there would be a hundred more who feared and reviled them. It made sense that the day they were exposed was the day they would become targets. Except now everything was different. There were few people around, human or mutant. The war he had prepared for wouldn't happen.
The new world however was the perfect backdrop for Xavier's idea. With so few survivors it would be unlikely that the humans would shun them if they could make life better, more bearable with their gifts. By the time life was almost back to normal, mutants would just be another ethnic group, no more different than if they were separated by race or religion. He admired Charles but considered him a hopeless dreamer. Erik was a realist. He'd had no other choice. Much as he would have liked to envision peace between humans and mutants, he doubted such a thing would have been possible in the world before the virus.
But now…things were different. Maybe they could take their place in society, above the humans instead of subservient to them. Maybe these were the only circumstances in which such peace could be obtained.
He intended to go to the Xavier Institute soon, speak to Charles and decide how to play things from here. Not that he wanted to join the crusade that Charles had dedicated his life too any more than Xavier would want to join Erik's, but there might be some mutually beneficial conclusion. Which really depended on the survivors.
The survivors were the first thing he had to turn his attention to. He knew where his son and daughter had last been – Pietro in New York, Wanda in the asylum – and before he made any plans he had to find them. He had already lost one child and had distanced himself from the twins, becoming cold and calculating, partly thinking that if he didn't let himself care too much about them, if he saw them as pawns on a chessboard rather than his children, then losing them wouldn't hurt as much. Hell, he had already lost them in every way that counted – he hadn't seen either of them for years, Wanda hated him and Pietro's feelings were unknown. He had thought if one of them was to die, he would take it in his stride, angry and vengeful but not crippled with sorrow the way he had been when Anya had died. But now, not knowing their fate, he found himself feeling the familiar pain and loss that had accompanied his elder daughters demise. It had taken him so long to realise there was something going on, by now either of them might have contracted the virus and died in the same way as the unfortunates he had seen, choking on their own blood, their brains fried by their high temperatures. Or Wanda might have lived to be trapped in the asylum; starving to death in the four-by-eight cell he had put her in. Or Pietro might have done something reckless with no Django or Marya to pick up the pieces.
Not knowing was the worst part. Not knowing if they were dead, not knowing if he was too late. If in his quest to prepare for a war between the species he had inadvertently sacrificed his own children for a struggle that might never happen.
The coastline beckoned in the distance and he tried to force the doubts from his mind. He would find the children and make it up to them somehow. If there was no war then maybe they could become a family, a real family, at long last.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The forest was full of life, even if the towns weren't. Small game didn't really interest him but for the moment it was all there was. He crept noiselessly through the trees, tracking a deer. Venison tonight. Delicious. Then sleep. Then maybe he would think about bigger things.
He caught the scent again and grinned ferally. He had no idea what had felled the humans but it made no difference to him. Other people held little interest to him. The problems of the rest of the world were far from his mind as he continued tracking the animal, nothing worrying him save the hunt. He had all the time in the world to think of other things.
He spied the deer in a clearing and growled. The animal looked up, scenting the air with its delicate nose. Before it could flee he burst from the trees and was upon it, tearing at it with thick black fingernails that were almost claws, enjoying the animals shrieks and the coppery scent of its blood spilling. He got a hand onto its belly and casually unzipped its guts, the creature collapsing and dying beneath him.
The hunt could go easy or hard, but the result was always the same.
He could have started a fire and cooked the meat, but he chose not to. No point in attracting attention. Not that the thought of company worried him but why invite problems? Instead he used his nails to worry a chunk of meat from the deer's hindquarters and tore into it, chewing without finesse, letting blood trail down his chin. Leaning against a tree, he held the morsel in his hands and contemplated his next move.
He had to leave Canada, that much was certain. His old foe would be looking up old friends in the States and that was where he planned on going. Logan had always been more of a solo act before, a loner, leaving his friends far behind while he hit the open road. But now most of the population were worm-food that would change. The one thing that never seemed to vary about Logan was his never-ending search for redemption; to overcome the animal he was so afraid of becoming.
Pathetic.
Logan would be searching out his friends, making sure they were aright, getting them back on their feet, helping them out in any way he could. Maybe he would get roped into staying with them, lulled into a sense of security by surrounding himself with other mutants, start a community of some kind to stave off the loneliness that some people seemed to feel when they were on their own. Scared humans, frightened mutants, little piggies lined up in a row for him to go through before he reached his true objective.
One shall fall by the others hand…Sabretooth grinned and took another mouthful of raw meat. The hunt might be hard, but it was always fun. And the result was always the same.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Reproduction.
The usual method was through sex, messy, undignified and inaccurate. There was no certainty to reproduction through sex. No guarantee of a result, no way to ensure gender or ability. Evolution happened so slowly when left to sex. That was the real reason that mutants were still a tiny minority of the population – too much was left to chance.
The virus might increase the percentage of mutants being born from now on – survival of the fittest would mean that only the hardiest people were left and it stood to reason that many of them would be mutants, more likely to pass on their genetic wealth. But the population was so decimated it could take decades or longer to repopulate the world. That meant although the percentage of mutant births would be higher, the actual number would be lower.
And relying on childbirth was so chancy. Those who relied on chance would inevitably find only disappointment.
But there were other ways.
Genetic manipulation. Cloning. Cellular realignment. In vitro fertilisation. Just a few of the many options available to the scientist willing to push the boundaries, to refuse to be restrained by the norms of morality and so-called ethics. This new society was the perfect opportunity for such a man.
Nathaniel Essex was such a man.
He had been studying genetics his entire adult life, first in an ultimately futile and unwelcome attempt to save his wife's life and then because the process was fascinating. The possibilities were endless but the scope of his vision was frustrated by the lack of test subjects. The sudden surge in the mutant population had been most welcome and the unwilling assistants to his studies had given him some valuable insights as to how a mutant's power might be enhanced to the maximum but there was only so much he could do without attracting attention to himself. However, the virus had changed all that. Now he could continue his genetic experimentation without fear of reprisals, without any do-good types trying to stop him. Hell, the post-virus world needed what he had to offer. Without his expertise, how would homo superior be sure of the continued survival of the species?
But there was time for all that. There was always time, no need to rush into anything and overplay his hand. First he would give the survivors the chance to experience life without the luxuries they took for granted, heat, light, food. Let them get used to struggling for every little thing, raiding shops for tinned goods with the rancid smell of spoiled food in their nostrils, gradually coming to the realisation that sooner or later there would be nothing left and they would be forced to find another food source, growing their own vegetables and slaughtering animals just so they wouldn't starve. Wait until they realised that there were few other people out there and many of them wouldn't get along, the petty vendettas of society magnified in the minimalist culture that now existed, the rivalries for companionship amplified by the lack of choice.
Once they had suffered through that, Essex would make his move. Offering the survivors a better life, a chance to enlarge the population, to expand upon their own powers – there were those who wouldn't refuse. Every society has its outcast, regardless of its size or structure. Those would be the ones who agreed. And as for the others – he would be back for them. Refusing him was merely postponing the inevitable.
And his plans for those who declined his generous offer were somewhat more sinister.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Stoke Maximum Security Facility had lost power from the main supplier several days previously but all such institutions had a generator – the loss of power was used as an excuse to riot by the prisoners and no one wanted the type of people that were incarcerated here to get excited. The last riot had left one prison officer dead and another badly beaten. The prisoners in Stoke didn't expect to be released ever and anything to blow off some steam was welcome. It wasn't like any more time to their sentences would make a difference.
When the generator had been installed, no one had expected that a blackout would last longer than a few hours. The generator was for emergencies only, not designed to last for an extended amount of time. It lasted admirably but when the main power didn't come back on, eventually it failed.
When the facility was plunged into darkness for the final time, no one rioted. No one was left alive. The generator had allowed the prisoners to die in the stark fluorescent light and illuminated their lifeless corpses, none of them able to complain when the jail went black for good. The only light reaching the rooms was the weak sunlight barely penetrating the barred and bulletproof windows, casting the decaying bodies in shadow.
Deep in the bowels of the facility, there were no windows and no light. The darkness was total, no way for human eyes to see what was directly in front of their face let alone what obstacles were in their path. The main room was almost circular, the technology that had been the focus now useless. The centre of the room was metallic, hiding a tube, over eight feet long, submerged under the floor. The tube was made of a clear, tough plastic and was filled with a paralysis fluid that relied upon a constant electrical pulse to keep it functioning. This was where the most dangerous inmate of the facility was kept, never allowed to regain consciousness because if he did, there was no way that he could be stopped from breaking free of the jail.
With the generator failed, the electrical pulse that ensured the effectiveness of the paralysis fluid ceased. The fluid was sufficient for a short time, but eventually its operational function weakened. The prisoner trapped within regained motor functions first, twitching his fingers as he struggled toward consciousness. It was like waking from a long dreamless sleep, emerging from his static state and becoming aware of where he was.
Somewhere within the blackness of the facility incarcerating the dead, Cain Marko opened his eyes.