Dark Side of the Moon
By: InnerFathoms
Setting: A few months post-'Ascension'
Summary: The visions glimpsed in Apocalypse's mind by Professor Charles Xavier start to become a reality on the evening of Rogue's eighteenth birthday. Dear friends are lost, new allies are gained, dreams are betrayed, and the advent of darker days draws near. For Bayville's mutant population, everything is changing and the lines in the sand are fading. As they face the darker depths of what it means to be different, the idealist known as Professor X comes to realize the fragility of his dream. Even the "greatest mind in the world" is powerless to stop the oncoming trials witnessed from a bleak future where his pupils are no longer the individuals he once believed them to be.
Discretions: The Sound and the Fury is by William Faulkner. Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus is by Mary Shelley. Two new characters have minor roles in this chapter and will be explained in the Author's Note. There's also some backstory in the first half of this chapter, but the plot picks up for the second half and should leave you hanging at the end. So many questions arise, but please trust that they will be answered or explained. I apologize to anyone who gets lost, but feel free to ask any questions. Also, the chapter title is not a reference to either Victor or Graydon Creed, just to keep things clear.
Pairings: Nothing new here and zero couple interaction in this chapter.
Genre-Rating: Action, Adventure/Angst/Romance-Teen
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or their histories, as they are licensed to Marvel and I am not making any profits.
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Chapter III: Creed
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Charles Francis Xavier considered himself a man of patience, of sparse wisdom, and limitless understanding. He also considered himself a man of control and balance, but at a particular moment during his nightly reading habit in his bedroom, with The Sound and the Fury propped between his weathered hands, a shattering cacophony of voices poured into the domain of his mind like bursting dam, turning his world upside down.
With a grunt of surprise and strain, he realized that the world had literally turned upside down, having not remembered the plunge out of his wheelchair and onto an oriental rug, soft beneath his cheek. His eyes bulged and his vision failed for a moment, as the communicative noises assaulting his mind overpowered all his other senses.
Time was irrelevant as the voices-----too many to be sorted out, the fluctuation of their pitch growing unsteadily-----bounced around in his head like angry bears in a cage, clawing at the restraints of his mind and causing him to double over with a gut-clenching moan.
When his sight returned sometime later, the telepath touched his sweaty cranium lightly, acknowledging that the sudden boom inside his head had subsided. Faulkner lay atop his overturned wheelchair, as Charles straggled along the rug and reached his bed, hoisting himself up with much strain and collapsing onto the mattress.
Someone was toying with Charles Xavier.
It was the second disturbance this week, and for a man who prided himself on self-control and mental fortitude, even one failure of his mental structure would've aroused suspicions.
Regretfully, Apocalypse's mind control had left his mind fragile and disrupted, but the passing of time had healed the scars and allowed him to reclaim his psychic prowess and reestablish semblance.
Ever since he was a young man, Charles Xavier regarded the golden rule of telepathy as a simple one: to never invade another person's thoughts against their will.
Many years of training and developments had enabled the Professor to construct a formidable barrier around his mind-----both to keep his thoughts safe and keep others out. Few souls had ever taken a step inside the mind of the X-men's founder, and only one had ever manipulated his mind.
Falling victim to Apocalypse's mind control had left him quietly devastated. The man who sat on the high throne of telepaths, with the "greatest mind in the world", had his seat taken out from under him, allowing a plunge into self-doubts and hesitancy. The anger at being duped focused Charles's mind and motivated him to better protect himself from mental invasions. When an untouchable, a nonpareil, such as himself, gets beat at his own game, a craving for vengeance soon emerges.
But Charles was not a bitter or vengeful soul, and never planned to become one. Besides, Apocalypse was gone and there wasn't any point in pining over a lost cause.
Back to reality, Charles turned onto his back and rested his head on the pillow, feeling a nuisance fatigue settle into his weary bones. Whoever was tweaking his mental barriers and savagely opening his mind's vulnerability to others' constant thoughts was having their fun and still remaining anonymous.
Once again, Charles Xavier was being pulled along as the fool, no better than a marionette being dragged along in a twisted puppet show, his mind at the mercy of a sick puppeteer.
With an aggravated groan, Charles Xavier, man of patience, understanding, and self-control felt something totally foreign, something quite unexpected: he was pissed.
And there was nothing he could do to stop his unseen assailant except harden his mental defenses and hope that his assailant would make a slip-up and be caught.
Massaging his temples, Professor Xavier soon thereafter found comforting sleep, though his dreams were plagued by an unknown shadow taunting him from the edge of darkness.
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When Scott Summers awoke, he instinctively kept his eyes closed. It was natural habit, borne from his days as a wayward teenager who sought comfort in blindness for fear of seeing red. In Anchorage, surrounded by so many building structures and unaware citizens, one fatal glimpse of crimson would surely serve as someone's demise.
The crane had been his last sight ever in Alaska, the massive, rusted machine dangling haplessly and suspended over morning dwellers on the street below. The northern sky had been picturesque, serene and cerulean with a hint of faded purple, as the dawn commenced and brought much needed light and warmth to the freezing denizens of the northern territory.
His eyes had been burning for weeks, sometimes emitting tears that literally stung his cheeks as they descended his pale skin with a scarlet hue. That morning long ago, he had feared that something terrible was going to leave him blind, that whatever was burning behind his eyes was about to deteriorate his sight into nothing.
Then…everything went red.
The burning intensified but felt manageable at the same time, not helplessly afflicting. In the center of his line of sight, the all-crimson aurora converged into a white hot beam. The force thrust his head backwards, diverting his fatal gaze to that of the forgotten crane, nestled in an under-construction lot. The strange beam had pierced the rusted metal and severed the hanging mass. Like a deadly pendulum set free, the crane descended on unsuspecting people. Sixteen-year old Scott reacted with surprising quickness, bringing down the beam so that it dismantled the free falling crane into harmless pieces, saving the lives on the street that he had endangered a split second before.
Stunned silence had followed as all eyes turned on the tall, lanky boy with his eyes squeezed shut and his arms crossed over his face. Only his heavy breathing could be heard, as panic and adrenaline seeped through his body.
'Freak!'
There was always someone who threw the first stone. The word pierced Scott's heart, while a mist of confusion enshrouded it from his comprehension. His mind rejected it and his rationale reasoned that this naysayer was being overdramatic. Scott Summers was an orphan, a broken soul inside a growing carcass with an off-kilter heart. He was nobody's child anymore and sibling-less, cared for only by a selfless female social worker and a debonair man by the name of Nathaniel Essex. Scott Summers was lonely, feeble, and haunted, but certainly not a freak.
…Except…
Things were changing; the headaches, the eye irritation, the ruby-colored tears…they were not puberty-induced, but something much more mind-boggling.
'He almost killed those people!'
'He just destroyed that crane!'
'Somebody stop that boy!'
His legs were pumping without his mind's awareness, churning and carrying him away from the forming mob and the rattling accusations. More than once he stumbled and collided with something. But the alleyways were not a labyrinth, and in his mind's eye, with assistance from memories, Scott was able to flee through the crevices between the buildings of the business district.
Something slashed his leg before he made it to the orphanage, forcing him to stop running and hide. For hours he sat in the darkness, fearing for his life as tell tale footsteps boomed all around him. Night had set in before he made it back to the orphanage. His leg was cleaned out and bandaged and he was accosted by much concerned interrogation.
As he lay in bed nearing the advent of midnight, the witching hour, a mob straight out of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein had infiltrated the orphanage. Scott had immediately sought solace with Dr. Essex, a man who was often compassionate towards the young man, but there were also times when his presence was as intangible as the shadows, and no one ever tried to find him when his absence became apparent.
That night as well, Professor Charles Francis Xavier and two of his "students" greeted the terrified Summers boy after the mob mysteriously disbanded and retreated from the Anchorage orphanage.
The Professor had explained to Scott that he was a mutant, someone born with certain genes that made him different than normal humans and gave him special powers. It had all sounded like something out of a comic book, but the congenial man had told Scott that his uniqueness was important and should be valued as much as any other trait. They were gifts, the Professor had instructed, admitting that his gift had caused the mob hunting down young Scott to strangely separate and leave with blank faces.
In the wee hours of the morning, Scott received a pair of ruby quartz shades and experienced his first ever scarlet night. In the morning, he left Alaska for good. Dr. Essex promised that they would meet again, and left Scott with a simple handshake and wished him well.
"Hey, wake up." Someone whispered, interrupting Scott's recollection.
The voice was distant, far off like a wispy cloud in a bottomless sky, where the depths of blue are infinite and the serenity of the heavens is embraced magically.
Pain cut a scar in the sky. It bled crimson, and once more, everything turned red…and then darkness.
The backs of his eyelids, though there was a faint red glow behind them.
"Please, wake up!"
Scott's eyes stayed closed, trained from adolescence, so that he would never blast a concussive force-beam from his eyes upon awakening.
"Who…"
"The cops are coming!" A shrill voice cried, causing him to wince. A hand brushed back his dark bangs and caressed his sweaty forehead.
"Jean?"
A silence, and then, "I'm sorry."
The pain exploded in Scott's head as his upper body shot up and his head turned towards the voice. A sharper, deeper pain laced his chest and caused him to grunt, as the ache in his head proved to be a breeding ground for vertigo that swept through his stomach and liquefied the world around him, despite the absence of sight.
"Are you insane?" A female voice shrieked, and two hands tried to force him back down.
"Where's Jean?" The question escaped smoothly from his lips, its clarity and urgency contrasting his earlier mumbles. When anything ever concerned Jean, Scott never lost focus.
"Lie down or you're going to injure yourself worse!"
"Where's Jean?" he demanded with a fiercer tone. He hated to be kept in the dark, no pun intended.
The anxiety is his heart found its way to his concealed eyes, flushing them with a greater intensity of ruby-colored concussive force. Surprisingly, but not for the first time, Scott wondered how he was even able to close his eyes to thwart the devastating energy consuming his eyeballs. His eye lids were not decimated despite the simmering scarlet behind them. The Professor had once said that his powers were solar powered, and that opening his eyes to sunlight would activate their ferocity. For a man who usually had all the answers, the Professor was unable to answer Scott when he asked why he still had to wear shades at night, if the sun wasn't out.
Sensation slowly began to return to Scott's upper body, as a tell tale trickle started to pool near his belly button. Grimacing from the warmth, Scott concentrated on his missing loved one and not on his own predicament.
"The pretty redhead?"
"Yes," Scott hissed, his tone remorseful. It had been his fault in the first place that they had separated prior to the blast. If he hadn't gone all "macho man," then she might have ended up right next to him after the explosion. Right now, he would be with her, not a stranger he could not see.
"I…" the woman trailed off. "I don't know. But you must forget about her for the moment! The only way you can help her is by helping yourself first!"
"No, no," Scott repeated hurriedly, trying to kick his legs over the side of the makeshift gunnery. He swiped at the hands on his shoulders, pushing them away as he attempted to touch his feet to the ground.
Scott's knees buckled once he forced his way to the ground. Teetering forward, he brushed against the woman and almost knocked her down. The individual in question was strong, though, and managed to support his weakened body. Hanging his arm around slender shoulders, the mysterious woman-----he could tell by her voice-----kept him on his feet.
"There's a manhole not far from here. Can you walk with me?"
Meekly, Scott nodded, too tired to entertain the thought of escaping into the sewers. In his hazy state of mind, it took a few minutes for someone as logical as Scott to put two and two together, after a groan of annoyance for being so clueless.
"Callisto?"
He recalled the name from the last meeting the X-men and the Morlocks had engaged in, back when a brazen chain of mutant hate crimes had been perpetrated in Bayville and Spyke had taken it upon himself to be the town's mutant defender.
"Yes. You're going to be with the Morlocks now. We'll patch you and your friend up and lead you through the tunnels to your home. Then you can warn your friends about them."
"Who?" Scott inquired, stopping in accord with the Morlocks leader, as she removed a manhole from beside the sidewalk.
"The ones behind this destruction," Callisto said, dropping the heavy disc with minimal clatter and helping Scott into the hole. "Humans are behind it. They've come to take a toll on mutants. Maybe they think we scare easily."
Scott's consciousness was fading as they transcended into the subterranean level of Bayville. "Why…this place?"
"The restaurant?" Callisto snorted in disgust. "Because it's mutant-friendly. What better place to pick off a few mutants than somewhere that offers them a meal without harassment. The owner, an angel-man, has been kind enough to provide us with numerous meals when our methods of retrieval have…been below-average."
"Warren?" Scott questioned, more to himself than the woman next to him. "What…what about Remy?"
"The other man? Evan's reaching the surface world on a different route. He'll reach your friend before the cops investigate the alleyways. No doubt they'll arrest any mutants in the vicinity on the spot. Even the ones who are supposed to protect us think we're scum. Every mutant in this city walks around with "guilty" plastered on their forehead, no matter the offense."
"Scapegoats," Scott mumbled, his head dipping.
"Exactly," Callisto agreed, bitterness continuing to lace her tone. "It's not far. Hang with me, here. You need to be conscious to be healed, son."
They walked the underground labyrinth for countless minutes; more than once Scott thought he blacked out, only to hear his rescuer's quiet breaths or the flow of water nearby. Sewage smells assaulted his nostrils frequently, but the more he traveled in the town's underbelly, the more he became accustomed to the putrid odors.
Finally, when the faintest hints of voices reached Scott's ears, he stirred and tried to wake himself up, shaking his head to clear the steady fog encasing his conscious mind.
A door opened and Callisto helped Scott across the threshold and laid him against the wall. His feet slid out and Scott sank to the grimy floor, bowing his head and letting his arms hang limply at his sides.
"Healer," Callisto beckoned. "The boy needs help. Do what you must." Then she leaned in towards Scott, whispering in his ear. "I can't promise this isn't going to hurt, but you'll feel much better afterwards."
Shuffling footsteps drew near, and Scott sensed a presence kneeling next to him. A foul scent filled his nostrils, but he was too exhausted to react with repulsion. The odor washed over him and he reflexively gagged.
"Stay awake," a husky voice croaked. "And don't move too much."
Scott half-nodded, steeling himself against the onset of pain. At first, there was only warmth, a warmth different than that which emanated from his blood slicking his torso. This warmth was comforting, placid, like gentle sunshine spilling onto his skin. "Hold him, Callisto."
Strong hands pressed on his shoulders, pinning him to the wall. A different pair of hands touched his chest, and the sunshine warmth faded almost instantly, replaced by a sting of pain, intensifying into a cruel burning sensation that lit his chest on fire, as the hands touching his exposed flesh felt akin to acidic kisses. Callisto prevented him from withering, but his mouth was uncovered and he cried out helplessly. The fire spread from beneath the palms pressed to his chest, pouring through his trunk like a fiery deluge, setting his nerves aflame and banishing any remaining numbness.
The ordeal lasted nearly thirty seconds before Healer removed his hands from Scott's chest. Instantaneously, the flaring pain subsided and Scott was left quivering, his muscles still aching. Once the evanescence of all pain and discomfort was complete, Scott gave a weak smile and exhaled audibly.
"Thank you. It feels much better."
"Thank Healer," Callisto offered, but the shuffling footsteps indicated that the Morlock had already walked off. Scott didn't want to shout after him, but he did whisper a heartfelt thank-you beneath his breath.
"Can you stand?" The Morlock leader asked. With his head cleared from the intensive restoration, Scott climbed to his feet using the wall as support. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Does anything else hurt?"
"Not really. Is Evan back with Remy yet?"
Taking a step forward, intending to follow Callisto, Scott's acute hearing detected an unknown projectile cutting through the air like a boomerang. Tensing, he tilted his head and listened, ducking at the exact moment before the foreign object would've clobbered his face. It hit the wall behind him, shattering stone and cement that sprayed Scott's back.
"What is he doing here, Cal?" A girl's voice asked. Scott blocked out the voice and concentrated on the air, listening for anymore shifts that would indicate oncoming missiles. His lack of sight hardly prevented him from being able to retain his agility or evasiveness.
"He's in need of our help, Sarah!" Callisto shot back, her voice rising.
"Look at him, Cal! He's a pretty-boy, one of the surface dwellers! Non-Morlocks are not allowed down here!"
"The girl has a point, Callisto," the raspy voice of Healer added.
"Morlocks do not turn their backs on other mutants, no matter what they look like! We're all in the same boat here! Every mutant in Bayville has a sword hanging over their heads with only a horsehair thread keeping it from plunging into their skulls! No mutant is completely safe-----not here, not the surface world!"
All these voices and no faces to place on them. Scott had seen Callisto before, but he deduced that the Morlocks' ranks had grown; both Healer and Sarah were unknowns in his mind's eye. He had nothing to say on his own behalf, as his thoughts wander back to the marred restaurant, to his beloved Jean, lost. To Rogue, who he cared equally about. Scott wanted Evan to show up soon, someone he could talk to; someone he could trust.
"And when did his kind ever help us, huh?" Sarah continued with her slander. "When did anyone up there ever-----"
"Stop it, Sarah. You have no place to deface other mutants. The Morlocks have been helped more than once by surface dwellers, even before you came."
"But, Evan…" She pleaded, the ferocity in her tone lost to her whining.
"Enough. If you can't accept it, find somewhere else to live."
His voice had changed so much, beyond the obvious fact that it had grown deeper. Evan Daniels spoke with a maturity that Scott had never heard from someone his age; something that he had never expected would come to the cocky skateboarder from long ago. The mutations in his powers had influenced the mutant known as Spyke on so many levels. Scott baffled himself whenever he thought back to the kid he'd known a year ago, far different than the gruff, moral man standing across the room.
"Evan," Callisto said, probably directing his attention to his old teammate.
"Hey, Scott. The Cajun dude is in another room recovering. His wounds aren't as bad as yours were, but Healer will be with him soon."
"Thanks, Ev," Scott replied, purposely using the nickname to endear his old friend. Though he probably knew it, Scott still wondered if Evan ever thought about how much he was missed. Ororo had become a shade unhappier, but her strength and faith often times kept her from appearing downcast. Her nephew's indefinite absence from the team still left a mark, though, and she admitted to still worrying about him.
Even after he had temporarily united with the X-men to stop Apocalypse, the bone-armored mutant returned to the Morlocks the day following Apocalypse's fall, leaving soon after their group picture was taken by a professional photographer named Peter Parker for an exposé article in some big time New York newspaper.
"You'll have to forgive Sarah," Callisto told Scott. "She's not too fond of anyone from the surface world."
"Is that right?"
Evan gave a slight chuckle and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you're worried about her, Scott. We'll find some answers soon." He paused as he felt Scott's muscles tightening. "Just tell us everything you know and we'll go from there. Jean's tough, y'know."
Nodding absent-mindedly, Scott's thoughts went out to Jean, searching for a response on the other end of their telepathic link formed the night she had saved him from Mystique in Mexico.
Nothing more than emptiness greeted Scott's mind from the other end, an emptiness that mimicked the feeling burrowing into the confines of his heart.
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"This is not how I wanted it!"
"Hey, man, we didn't fail! Three mutants, just like you asked."
"Fool! The girl was not to be part of the trio! You were given specifics!"
"Yeah, well…the third one disappeared."
"What? You're saying he just got up and walked away? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"No, no, man. It's just…someone probably helped him, that's all. We got Jean, Bird-Boy, and-----"
"And you failed to capture Scott Summers! This is hit-or-miss, Mr. Matthews! Two out of three does not cut it!"
"Hey, we got you three muties! Rogue's just, uh…compensation. Yeah."
"You should've listened, Mr. Matthews. There were three targets and they were all present in the restaurant prior to the explosion. You recovered two of them. Rogue was not to be taken!"
"What do you care, huh? They're all muties. Why's everything so specific?"
Even in the hazy darkness; voices reached her through the pain. Loud, unbearable, each shout cracking down on her skull like an invisible mallet.
"You are not meant to know the reasons behind this operation, Mr. Matthews. All you needed to do was cause the diversion and incapacitate three mutant subjects. You were supposed to bring all three of them here. You failed to bring in the third target. And we do not reward failure. Your services are no longer needed."
"…Then maybe we'll just take these freaks and keep 'em ourselves. But you better pay up, Kelly. The boys and I…we don't play nice with cheats. Fork over the payments."
A comforting silence followed; Rogue cherished the brief interlude of peace, striving to collect her scattered thoughts and break through the prison of pain confining her semi-conscious mind.
Her eyes opened, but the darkness barely subsided. A small overhanging lamp lit the fronts of two figures facing each other, not more than ten feet from where she lay. Something bound her wrists and ankles together. Even without the binding, Rogue doubted she could stand. A dull ache in her skull forced her to shut her eyes, as she witnessed the scene all over again.
Scott and Remy. The arm wrestling match. Scott won. Guess who's buying everyone din-----
The explosion. Ripping through the building, casting her forward as the force of the detonation imploded the booth. Pain. Blood. Darkness.
Acknowledging the pain burrowing near her waist, Rogue let out a silent moan, parting her lips and rolling onto her back. The two half-lit, half-shadowed figures failed to notice her movement. Rogue turned toward them, using her remaining energy to focus on them and the words they were exchanging.
"The agreement was made and you failed to uphold your end, Mr. Matthews. There're no exceptions. I suggest you and your crew leave at once."
"Listen, mayor. We did what you asked. Summers disappeared so we brought you Rogue. Three mutants for ten thousand apiece. You could at least fork over the twenty K's, Kelly. We got you Jean and the winged-one."
As Rogue watched, harrowingly close to falling out of consciousness, the man she recognized as now-Mayor Kelly, Bayville High's previous principal, was eyeing the other man. She had trouble recognizing the blonde with dark roots wearing a leather jacket and crimson shirt. She strained her eyes, but the shadows playing across his face would not concede his identity.
What happened next, Rogue saw but could not comprehend, could only gawk and let out a wordless cry.
"Well, in that case, Mr. Matthews," Mayor Kelly began, taking a step closer towards the other man. A blur appeared between them, cloaked by shadows. The other man heaved, as it struck him in the stomach, his body quivering as he looked down at the five digits protruding into his flesh. He raised his head up to Kelly's masked face weakly. "I hope you've learned a lesson. A fool's arrogance will always be his downfall. You trust too easily…and you'll come to regret it. I advice you to remember that well."
With a sickening crunch, Mayor Edward Kelly removed his hand from within the other man's abdomen, allowing him to slump down to the floor, disappearing beneath the light of the lamp. Looking down at his wet hand, Kelly smiled with malicious satisfaction, and turned that horrid grin in Rogue's direction.
"Playtime's over," he whispered, walking towards her as a cold abyss washed over Rogue and swept her into the oblivion of unconsciousness.
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Author's Note: Ack, sorry for leaving it in another cliffhanger! I know, I know, enough is enough but this was how it flowed, I guess, and it keeps your interests flared up I hope! Xavier's section as well as Scott's backstory were both put in for a reason. A little foreshadowing, go figure. Hopefully the exchange between Duncan and "Kelly" cleared up some questions from the previous chapter. But it doesn't make any sense, you say? The explanations are right around the corner, so don't fret it too much.Cyclops, Jean Grey, and Angel were the targets, while Rogue ended up being compensation for Cyke missing out thanks to Callisto. But what about Remy? No one wanted to bother him? It should make more sense soon. Healer and Sarah are both from the comics, and for those of you who guessed it, yes, Sarah is also known as Marrow, in a way, Spyke's counterpart. Let's just say she's around his age, though in the comics she was originally one of the younger Morlocks. The Morlocks are key in some upcoming chapters, so keep your eyes peeled for them, and if you can figure out what's coming, you probably know your comic history. For this story, all the Morlocks who appeared in Evo are present, along with Healer, Marrow, and unnamed mutants as well. I do think it's interesting how the writers handled Callisto's character in the show, as she seemed much more compassionate and less aggressive than her comic counterpart, which lays reason to believe that she would be willing to help out someone like Scott. Also, hope you caught the Spider-Man nod. It kinda makes sense, since someone had to take that sweet picture at the end of 'Ascension'. I'm not saying crossover, but they do all live in the same area almost, and they do meet in the comics. Eh, anyways, thanks for reading and I hope y'all are enjoying it. Please remember to review! Feedback is appreciate and motivating! If anything's confusing, too, just ask and I will try to clear it up. And by the way, there's twenty-six chapters planned for this story. If you're wondering why, the chapter titles are a good hint. Thanks! Review!
Next Time: Chapter IV: Damocles
Carol may have escaped this chapter, but she'll be popping up at Xavier's in the next one. The captured trio of mutants begin to wonder what's in store for them, and news of the explosion reaches the X-men, as Scott and Remy recover with the Morlocks. "Kelly" shows his real face and the meaning behind his and Duncan's odd exchange is revealed.
-fathoms-