Doctor Charles Xavier, Headmaster of Xavier's Institute for the Gifted, mutant telepath, and leader of the X-men, had a pounding headache. This was normal for him; having all the voices of the one hundred occupants of his school chattering loudly in his head can do that to you. Jutting his jaw out in defiance of his pain, he rolled his wheelchair into the odd sphere of Cerebro, picking up the helmet and settling it firmly on his head.
Everyday he performed a periodic, worldwide sweep for new mutants; usually only two or three manifested their power per day, and if they were potentially harmful or uncontrolled, he would dispatch one of his teachers to invite them to come to the Institute. Most accepted, some didn't. It was the way of the world. Quickly performing a mental 'check-up' on the Morlocks and Brotherhood, he began to sweep the world for new mutants.
Africa, North America, South America, and Europe passed without incident. One young woman's mutation had just become active, but hers was harmless, simply the ability to create little colored orbs of light. Moving into Asia, he looked it over; finding no new mutants, he began to withdraw-
Only to be savagely blasted with unimaginable psychic power that tore through his brain, exploding past synapses and ripping through all the barriers he had so painstakingly built in his mind. Fighting his way through blinding pain, he managed to home in on the source of power, located in a small field outside Kyoto. Five mutants, all male, was all he had time to process before unseen hands ripped the helmet from his head.
Groaning, he opened his eyes, meeting Jean's worried emerald ones.
"Professor!" he heard her shout, Scott Summer hovering worriedly behind her.
Blinking hard, he managed to gasp, "I'm fine, Jean. Quickly, call the X-men together!"
The members of the elite fighting force of mutants, the X-men, sat silently around a conference table, their varicolored gazes fixed firmly on the Professor. Xavier looked around, gaze resting on each one of them, dressed in their fighting uniforms.
Logan, Ororo, Scott, Jean, Kurt, Kitty, Rogue, and Evan waited patiently for their instructions, Logan growling intensely under his breath. Ororo gave him a reproving look, returning her gaze to the Professor.
"X-men," he began, "I was performing my routine search for new mutants today, when an extremely powerful blast of psychic energy hit me, the source a small gathering of mutants. I managed to find their location: it's a small field, three miles north of the boundary of Kyoto in Japan. There's five of them, all male. I couldn't discover their power; Jean rescued me from Cerebro before I was killed." He smiled at her for a moment, continuing, "We're going to find them, investigate, and hopefully bring them back here. I'll be coming with you. Hank will watch the school while I'm gone."
The clatter of chairs filled the room as Jean, Scott, Kurt, Kitty, Rogue, and Evan bolted towards the hangar, squabbling loudly on the way over who got to sit shotgun. The adults listened indulgently before Charles turned to Logan and Ororo, cautioning, "I don't know their names or ages, but I know that each of them has great power, and great sorrow as well. We must be very cautious."
The Blackbird hovered in the sky, a loud roaring announcing its presence. It landed with a soft thump, the wheels sinking into the soft, loamy soil. Logan, dressed in his infernal orange Spandex, flicked several switches, powering the jet down. Rogue, sitting triumphantly in the shotgun seat, growled when she realized the ride was over, and so, therefore, was her privilege.
Professor Xavier, riding in a wheelchair specially designed by Hank to handle rough terrain, was first down the ramp, followed by the others. Ororo squinted sullenly at the sky, disliking the blood-red sunset and wanting to change it to a cloudless, indigo spectacle. "Don't use your powers, Storm," Xavier spoke, "We don't want to warn them that we're here."
Logan suddenly stiffened, growling lowly. "I smell blood, and lots of it. This way!" With the speed of- well, a wolverine- he plunged off into the woods, followed by the others. Kurt teleported from tree to tree, the forest quickly filling with the scent of sulfur. Ororo and Jean flew, Kitty phased through the trees, the Professor rode his motorized wheelchair, and Evan, Scott, and Rogue were reduced to tromping through the forest, following Logan's receding form.
Storm flew ahead, landing gracefully beside Logan. She looked out into the field and gasped, one hand flying to cover her mouth at the sad and macabre tableau. The five mutants all seemed to be teenagers, at best, maybe nineteen at the oldest.
The one closest to them was obviously Chinese, wearing a ceremonial white outfit, with a sword, obviously well-used and well-loved by the tattered condition of the hilt, hanging from his belt. His obsidian hair hung to his shoulders, ebony eyes sharp and flinty-hard as his gaze swept the area, passing over them as he guarded the other four boys faithfully.
A short, fragile-looking blonde, dressed in gray slacks and a white shirt- attire that rightfully belonged in a boardroom- sat beside the Chinese man, light blue eyes, filled with sorrow, turned downwards as his pale, feminine hands held the hand of a dying boy tightly.
The tallest was a lanky European, walnut-brown hair styled into an impossible, gravity-defying bang, covering closed, cool emerald eyes. He seemed to be the most muscular of the five, but somehow, he looked shrunken and tired, dressed in a green turtleneck and well-worn jeans. He was also holding the hand of the boy who seemed to be the center of it all.
An astonishingly feminine-looking man sat cradling the head of the failing young man, his long braid of luxurious chestnut, nearly hip-length, flipped idly over one shoulder. He was dressed- how odd, Ororo thought- in the clothing of a priest, his mobile mouth, seemingly suited to laughter, a sober line, amazing violet eyes damp.
The young man they were all holding had dark, chocolate-brown hair that had seemingly never been introduced to a brush. His eyes were closed; looking closely, Ororo could see the remnants of a deep, golden tan, but now his skin was so pale it rivaled Rogue's. His outflung hands were covered in drying, dark red blood, pumping slowly from his slit wrists with every beat of his heart. A metal feather rested gently on his chest, rising and falling as his lifeblood departed his body.
"I think they attacked him," Logan said softly, "But if they did, why do they all look so remorseful? Doesn't make sense. I don't like things that don't make sense." Muted gasps and groans reached their ears as the others saw the sad scene; dimly Logan heard Kitty throwing up against a tree, and the crackle of Kurt activating his holographic projector.
Slowly, the group of nine stepped forward from the trees. Jean and Scott flanked the Professor, Storm and Logan on the outskirts. The Chinese man's eyes snapped to them immediately, rage evident in every tight, tense line of his body. Jean stepped forward and began to say "Hello"-
Only to be stopped, as in the blink of an eye, four cold, unwavering gazes were fixed on her. The braided man was holding two throwing knives in his hands, and he had the competent steadiness of one who knew how to use them. The young man with green eyes was pointing a gun in their direction, the safety off and ready to fire. Even the seemingly peaceful-looking blonde had a pistol trained in their direction. The Chinese man's sword was out of the sheath, the red light of the sun washing down the blade in a poor imitation of blood.
Jean held up her hands and continued to speak, "I know you all must be very confused right now. I was, too, when my mutation manifested itself." At the word 'mutation,' the four teenagers looked at each other for a moment, seeming to communicate without words, before the one with the bang asked in a smooth baritone,
"What year is it?" Jean glanced, confused, at Scott, before saying,
"It's the year two-thousand-five." The young men's eyes narrowed, and their gazes once again turned to each other for a moment, before moving back to the X-men.
"Did you kill him?" Kurt said with an astonishing lack of tact, gesturing to the dying boy on the ground. The odd mutants stared at him for a moment, rage steadily building in their gazes as the braided boy spit out in a rough American accent,
"How dare you say that! Just who are you people anyway?" Professor Xavier rolled forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
"We're mutants, just like you. If you'll come with us, we will take you to a place where you won't be persecuted, and where you can learn to control your powers." With each word he spoke, tenseness and confusion grew in their gaze. "We can heal your companion, too," the Professor offered.
The Chinese boy laughed, a harsh bark of a sound that had no mirth in it. "How can you say that, you idiot? No one, and I mean no one, can help him." Logan bristled at the insult, stepping forward, only to freeze as a throwing knife whizzed past his face, cutting off a small square of his mask as a threat.
"May we know your names?" Ororo inquired gently. Again, they looked at each other for a moment before turning back.
"I'm Duo Maxwell," the braided boy introduced himself.
"I'm Quatre Winner," the blonde said coolly, assessing them.
"I am Chang Wufei, but you will call me Wufei," the Chinese boy said stiffly, condescension in his every word.
"You may call me Nanashi," the boy with startling emerald eyes said softly.
Logan snarled, "That's not a name. You said you want us to call you 'No-name.' Well, we're not going to, so tell us your real name!"
The boy gazed at him levelly, nearly freezing him with the coldness of his gaze. "Very well, then. You may call me Trowa Barton. And this-" he gestured to the boy sprawled out on the ground-
"-is Heero Yuy."
