"Billions of dollars worth of damage… historic sites desecrated… innocent civilians… hundreds of casualties… no bodies… many still at large"
The screen darkened. The lights in the conference room rose.
"That, ladies and gentlemen, is the report," said the speaker, addressing the twin rows of suits sitting at the table before him. The speaker continued confidently:
"Of course, I do not need to remind you that the 'Alcatraz incident' is merely the latest in a long line of similar, mutant-related incidents: Liberty Island, the White House attack, Alkali Lake. You all know the details."
Graydon Creed watched as his audience digested the information. He was a tall man, in good trim. He had a hungry, handsome face and a smile as perfect as it was empty. He radiated security, confidence, giving nothing away and taking everything in.
"It is a well-known fact that mutant-related crime is becoming more and more common" Creed continued "Mutants are becoming aware of the power they hold over normal humans and using it to their advantage…"
"Mr Creed" said a sharp woman in a grey suit "I afraid I must interject. Not all mutants are criminals. The incidents you refer to were carried out by a tiny minority of the mutant community."
"A perfectly valid objection, Signora Presidente" said Creed gracefully "But you must concede that this 'minority'" there was an almost imperceptible pause over the word "presents an extreme danger to the international community. A danger our security and defence forces have so-far proved ill-equipped to counter."
"Mr Creed, I must object!" cried an elderly man "Now, while I admit that America's forces have suffered… setbacks when confronting mutant terrorism, we have so far managed to avoid a major disaster…"
"Through the help of external forces" Creed finished smoothly "I'm afraid, Mr President, that your forces have consistently failed to capture or successfully contain these criminals. I refer you to the incidents of May third, 2003 and again on May twenty sixth, 2006…"
"Your point, Mr Creed" prompted the American President.
"My point, Mr President, is that new measures are needed to counter the threat that mutant terrorism poses"
The screen behind Creed lit up again.
"These plans were devised by the late Colonel Stryker…"
"Stryker?" a swarthy Englishman interjected "This would be William Stryker, the former commander at Alakali Lake?"
"The man who performed illegal experiments on mutants, including his own son?" added a bald African man near the American President. Creed's smile remained genial and confident.
"Gentlemen, I do not dispute that Colonel Stryker was… disturbed, even deranged and I wholeheartedly condemn his methods. But what I have here is one of the plans he rejected in favour of the… regrettable incident at Alkali Lake"
"In which you were one of his subordinates," added the swarthy Englishman. Creed did not even blink.
"I followed my orders," he said softly, but with great feeling "I did my duty to my country. It is not a soldier's place to question to orders of his superiors, is it Prime Minister?"
The Englishman looked ruffled at this and muttered something about 'commendable dedication to duty'.
"As I was saying," Creed continued, his easy confidence returning in an instance "these are the plans for Operation Nimue."
The screen behind him showed a map of the Caribbean.
"This is the island of Genosha. It lies about 100 miles south of Cienfuegos, Cuba and about the same distance north of George Town."
As Creed spoke, the map zoomed in on a small, roughly crescent shaped island in the middle of the Caribbean.
"It is sparsely populated, as it is mainly jungle and mountain. It's away from all major shipping and air lanes. Surrounded by water on all sides. In short, it is the perfect prison."
"Prison?" said a short, balding Australian "You're suggestin' we transport mutants there?"
"Exactly, Prime Minister" Creed said, "It is ideal"
"And how would you keep them there?" a shrewd Chinese delegate asked, his fingers steeped under his chin.
"As I recall" he continued "your country's past attempts to 'secure' mutant criminals ended were unmitigated disasters."
"All part of the process, Mr President, that has led us to today's proposial" Creed replied.
"In fact, the issue just raised was the primary reason why Colonel Stryker rejected Operation Nimue in favour of… the alternative. The problems of containing a large number of mutants, each with their own unique powers, was considered too difficult…"
"A 'large number of mutants?'" asked the sharp faced Italian President "As I recall, this plan was for the detention of only the most dangerous mutant terrorists?"
"You are correct, Signora Presidente, but Colonel Stryker realised that, in the event of a mass arrest, the system would need to expand to compensate. Holding one or two such mutants in specially designed cells was always possible, but mass camps were unfeasible, until now."
The screen changed to reveal the logo of Worthington Labs.
"Warren Worthington II, of Worthington Labs, had agreed to supply us with X-gene serum…"
"X-gene serum. This is the mutant 'cure' that caused all that trouble last month?" asked the bald African.
"Yes, Your Majesty" Creed nodded "Now, just before production of the serum was shut down after the destruction of Alcatraz, Worthington labs successfully created an entirely synthetic form of the serum, albeit in a much weaker form."
The screen changed again to show a diagram of a collar, fitted around a person's neck. Green nodules were built into it at regular stages. Creed pointed to the nodules with a laser pointer
"These nodules contain batches of the serum. The collar injects a steady dose of the serum into the mutant's bloodstream, suppressing their mutant powers for up to two weeks. Regular replacement will ensure the mutant is incapable of using their powers for as long as we chose."
The room sat in silent consideration.
"All of the plans are in place" continued Creed, sensing a kill was close at hand "It would be the work of months to set up the camps. Until then the mutants could be held in regular prisons, fitted with the collars. It would be…"
The American President held up his hand.
"Creed. Your proposal is to set up a detention centre on this island for mutant terrorists, am I right?"
"Yes, Mr President"
"And it is to be reserved for the most dangerous mutant criminals. Like those who attacked Alcatraz?"
"Absolutely, Mr President. Only the most dangerous mutants."
The meeting relaxed into silent thought again. Creed kept his face impassive, but inside he was grinning. He had them.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The jolt of the train drawing into the station shook Rogue awake. Picking up her bag, she got to her feet and stretched awkwardly. The carriage began to empty as the red-eyed commuters shuffled toward the door, briefcases and laptops under their arms. Rogue pulled the hood of her green coat low over her face, shouldered her bag and moved with the silent crowd onto the platform.
What are you doing here, she asked herself? You didn't have to run. Not this time. They would have understood. They had always understood. She had enough money left. She could catch the next train back to Salem and…
And then she remembered his face. The first boy she had ever loved. His pallid skin, the blue veins criss-crossing his throat. The death in his eyes. She couldn't face that. She could never face that. She could never return.
She didn't even know if he was alive. She had screamed and screamed, screamed until she was ill. And then Logan had been there, and Ororo and the others. They had taken him down to the basement. And she had run. Like she always did. Packed her bag and fled into the shadows, where she could be alone. Where she couldn't hurt anyone.
Rogue didn't have a plan. She didn't know where she could go or what she would do. Her family… her family would never accept her, not after what happened with Cody. There was no-one left for her now. But there was always work… if you wanted it bad enough.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Dr. Henry McCoy looked up from his desk as the door to the study opened. Ororo Munroe slipped in. There were new lines around her eyes and weariness in her every movement.
"How is he?" Dr. McCoy asked.
"Same" sighed Ororo, sinking into the opposite chair.
"Any news from Logan?"
"No. He radioed in half an hour ago to say he was going to check out the train station."
"He was not optimistic?"
"No, not even his nose can track her through big crowds."
"It would be easy, if we had Cerebro, but without Jean or the Professor…" Ororo trailed off. The past few weeks had taken their toll on everyone, but it had been Ororo, as the new headmistress of the Xavier Institute, who had shouldered most of the burden. Dr. McCoy's decision to fly in from Washington had been a great help, but the responsibility of leadership still weighed heavily on her.
Dr. McCoy took off his reading glasses and placed them in the top pocket of his jacket.
"This is deeply distressing," he said, pushing his chair back and resting his chin on his hand.
"You're not sure he'll live?" asked Storm anxiously.
"Oh no, he will live. Master Robert is a resilient young man, although it may take many weeks before he can be revived. Fortunately for him, Marie's powers had not returned to full strength at the time of the… encounter, saving him from almost certain death."
"I always knew that 'cure' was trouble…" Ororo growled, massaging her eyes with the palms of her hands.
"But you are sure it's wearing off?" she asked. Dr. McCoy nodded.
"Yes. I had been hearing rumours from the Department for Mutant Affairs that some of Worthington Lab's early volunteers were experiencing a resurgence of their powers, but we had no certain proof. This, I am sorry to say, will be it."
"If the 'cure' wears off, it's going to make a lot of people very angry" said Storm darkly.
"I am afraid that is not the worse of it," said Dr. McCoy "If you recall, Magneto was never recovered from Alcatraz, dead or alive. If we presume that he survived, then it leads us to a terrible conclusion…"
"That Magneto may return" Ororo concluded grimly.
"Has there been any news on the Brotherhood?" Dr McCoy asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with two blue furred fingers.
Ororo shook her head. "No one has seen or heard anything of them since the Alcatraz incident…"
Just as Ororo finished, the antique-style telephone sitting on Dr McCoy's desk began its metallic chime. With a sigh Dr McCoy picked up the receiver and dropped effortlessly into his 'affairs of state' act.
After a brief conversation with the person on the other end, he put the phone down and rested his chin on his fist.
"Gather the team" Dr McCoy said.
"Why? What's happened Hank?"
Dr McCoy raised his chin from his hand and said: "The Brotherhood have struck."