Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.
Note: Thank you to santiago. poncini20, So hard to choose usernames, paperairline, and Tiger outsider for Ansel, Kiara, Iola, and Joseph, respectively.
And no, the two Moores are not related. The last names are just a coincidence.
Wait
Dr. Hans Brenner, 75
08:32 CST
He would just have to wait a little longer.
Hans rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stepped out into the sunlight. He'd never much cared for big cities, and Chicago was about as big as they got. Technically, he wasn't in Chicago, but the traffic on the way from the airport to the smaller suburb of Evanston had been enough to remind him why he was glad they'd chosen Wyoming for this year's Games.
Of course, the location hadn't been chosen for his comfort. This year's location, much like the previous year's, had been chosen because of its distance from any significant population centers. It both minimized the possibility of casualties and the possibility that any of the contestants might escape.
He had been pleasantly surprised that none of last year's contestants had even tried. Sure, they'd been stuck on an island in Alaska, but a few of them could manipulate water, and one of them had been able to levitate. None of them had even tried to swim away from the island, and only one had tried to make a break for it before the Games. For the most part, they'd accepted the MAAB's word that they wouldn't be able to get away.
So this year, they'd decided that it would be safe to branch out a little. Their space for the Games wouldn't be nearly as contained this time, which had presented a whole new set of challenges when it had come to placing the cameras. Finally, they'd decided against trying to cover the whole area with cameras, and had instead mounted a few in key areas. The rest of the microscopic cameras would be mobile, and they could track the contestants through their collars. It would be much more efficient than last year.
And also much more exhausting.
Hans straightened his tie as he made his way down the street towards the nearest bus stop. One or two more years. Once the Games were on more solid footing, he could leave matters to the younger members of the board. Another year or two, and he would be done.
For now, though, he had a job to do, and the best thing was to just do it and get it over with. Nicholas had assigned him some of the easier contestants – or, at least, the contestants they assumed might be easier to collect. If last year was anything to go by, their guesses weren't always accurate. But he could always call in the Sentinels if something went wrong.
Not that anything was likely to go wrong here – at least, nothing he couldn't handle. Nothing worse than complicated bus schedules. Hans sighed as he got on the first of three buses. Okay. He could do this. Four cities. Four mutants. Then a short flight back to Wyoming. After that, the majority of the work would fall to the rest of the MAAB.
This wasn't his specialty, after all – not really. Public relations were Mack's, while the technological side of the Games fell mostly to Francine and Alvin. Judah was in charge of security, while Nicholas had the final say in important decisions. But for the most part during the Games last year, Hans and Lilian had simply been observers.
Hans was perfectly fine with that. He'd been recruited for the MAAB due to his work with genetics. As such, he'd had some say in identifying which of their contestants might have the most potential, while Lilian had some input in how they might interact. But now that the contestants had been chosen, their part was mostly over.
There was just one job left to do.
Ansel Moore, 21
Evanston, IL
08:55 CST
The rest could wait until later.
Ansel leaned back in his chair as he closed his laptop, satisfied. The paper wasn't due until tomorrow, but he'd wanted to get everything out of the way this morning. So he'd gotten up early, while his roommate Carlos was still in bed, and used a little of his power on himself. He had to be careful when he did that; it was always harder than using it on others. If he used it too long, he would get dizzy. Longer, and his nose would start bleeding. He didn't want to find out what might happen after that.
But in small doses, it was pretty harmless, and it was always good for getting papers done. Ansel stretched his arms and glanced over at Carlos, still sprawled out on his bed, snoring softly. As quietly as he could, he got up and headed for the closet. He'd been in such a rush to get started this morning, he hadn't even bothered to change his clothes. Silently, he pulled on a clean shirt and pants, tossing his dirty ones into the laundry bin.
Carlos never bothered with that. Dirty shirts and socks were strewn across his half of the room, and a few spilled over onto Ansel's side. Ansel picked one up and tossed it back onto the other side of the room. It hit an empty cup, which toppled over onto the floor with a gentle thump. Carlos rolled over. "You're up already? Don't you know it's Sunday?"
Ansel couldn't help a chuckle. "Of course. Weekend's almost over. Don't you want to do something with it rather than spend half of it sleeping?"
Carlos rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you do it."
"I don't know how you do it," Ansel admitted. Almost a whole year of rooming together, and he'd never once seen Carlos sit down and do an assignment. Yet he'd passed all of his classes in the fall, and didn't seem to be doing any worse with the ones he was taking now. It was as if he was using some sort of magic to get his work done.
Of course, some people would probably accuse Ansel of the same thing, if they knew. But the only person he'd told was Louis, and he'd always been able to trust Louis. There was a part of him that wanted to tell his family, or a few more of his friends, to let them know exactly what he could do. There was a part of him that even wanted to make it public, to offer to help students at the university who were struggling to find inspiration, to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives.
And in a different world, maybe he could. Maybe people would welcome his help. But he had no way of knowing who would appreciate his power and who might turn him in. It was better to be safe. Better to keep his abilities a secret for now.
For now. He would just have to hope that things would eventually get better. In the meantime, he would make the best of what he had, using his power as unobtrusively as he could to help himself, or to give a little nudge to a student who seemed to be struggling in the library, or who looked particularly flustered during an exam. He wanted to do more. He wanted to help.
But not yet.
It wasn't safe to help yet.
Ansel drummed his fingers on the table as he glanced over at Carlos, who was snoring soundly again. It wasn't fair. Everyone else was encouraged to use their talents. Musicians, artists, writers. They were all encouraged – expected even – to use their gifts to make the world a little better, a little brighter. But just because his gift came with a mutant gene, he was expected to keep it quiet, to hide what he could do.
It wasn't fair at all, but it was the way things were.
Sometimes he wished he could do something about it. That maybe he could use his abilities on the president or someone high up in the government, and inspire them to feel differently about mutants. But that wasn't how it worked. He couldn't control what a person was inspired to do. Maybe he could make it better, but he could also end up making things worse – inspire all sorts of new ways to control and contain mutants. No, sometimes it was better to simply do nothing.
He hated doing nothing.
A knock on the door shook him suddenly from his thoughts. Who would be here at nine in the morning on a Sunday? Ansel took a cautious step towards the door. Another knock. "You going to get that?" Carlos mumbled.
Ansel made his way towards the door and opened it a little. On the other side stood an elderly man in a suit and tie, looking entirely out of place in the dormitory hallway. "Can I help you?" Ansel asked.
"Ansel Moore?"
"Yes."
"My name is Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. You might want to step out into the hallway."
Ansel froze as Carlos sat up a little. He turned to his roommate and shrugged. "Probably just a misunderstanding. I'll be right back." He stepped out into the hallway and quickly shut the door. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Relax, kiddo. You're not in any trouble. We need your help."
"Help?" Ansel repeated, certain he'd heard the word wrong. "You want me to help you?"
"That's right, Ansel. You have a gift – a gift that you wish other people could see is a gift. Well, I can help you make that happen. We have a problem, Ansel – a problem we're trying to solve. We could use a little inspiration, if you know what I mean."
"I'm … I'm really not in trouble?"
"Not at all. You come with me, help us solve our little problem, and come right back here when you're done. And who knows? If you do a good job, we can put in a good word for you with some other groups that might be in need of help. We'll see to it that you're well-compensated, of course. How would you like a little help with next semester's tuition?"
"You mean it?"
"Of course. So what do you say?" He held out his hand expectantly.
Ansel hesitated. All of this sounded a little too good to be true, but how could he pass up the opportunity? It was exactly what he'd wanted. A chance to show the government that his power – that all mutants' powers – could be used for good, if only they were given the chance. "I'm in," he agreed, shaking Dr. Brenner's hand firmly.
"Where are we going?"
Kiara Moore, 15
Ponemah, MN
11:03 CST
They would just have to wait a little longer.
Kiara shook her head as she stared out at the lake, still frozen over from the night before. It was a little warmer today, but not much. It would take them a while to figure out that she'd come out here, and longer to decide whether it was worth bothering to come after her. She always came back eventually.
She thought about it sometimes – running off somewhere and never coming back. It was a large enough reservation, and she could make her way to another one if she thought they were getting too close. She knew how to fend for herself, how to live off the land. She could make it on her own, if it got to be too much someday.
But…
But she couldn't leave her mother. She didn't even want to – not really. She just wanted to leave the rest – the growing number of people who thought it was okay to come to her for help with anything from a hangnail to the common cold. People who assumed that she would be all to happy to heal them, and who, increasingly, didn't even bother to thank her afterwards. People who probably didn't even think of her as human – just as another tool to use to cure their illnesses.
It hadn't started that way. It had started with her mother, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer when Kiara was eight. Night after night, she had fallen asleep at her mother's side, hoping and praying for a miracle. When the miracle had finally come, she'd had no reason to think that she was the one who had caused it. She was just happy it had happened.
But it kept happening. Little things here and there, after that. Finally, she begun to test the idea that she might have done something. A rabbit's paw here. A dying plant there. All returned to perfect health at her touch. Soon, her garden was the most beautiful anyone had ever seen, but most people just figured she had a knack for it.
A little over a year ago, all of that had changed. Her second cousin's stepfather had been shot in a failed mugging, and she had healed him, right in front of everyone. She hadn't had a choice. Well, the choice had been to expose herself as a mutant or to let someone die. That wasn't much of a choice at all.
After that, people just figured she wouldn't have a choice at all, and started coming to her to be healed of anything that might be troubling them. A headache, a stomach bug, a few bumps and bruises. At first, she was happy to help, despite the time it took and how much the harder tasks left her exhausted. She'd figured they might be upset to learn that she was a mutant, and was simply relieved that they hadn't tried to burn her at the stake or something.
After a while, though, the relief wore off. Sure, she was still happy to help when it was really needed. When she'd heard about a boy her age who had been paralyzed in a hit-and-run that had killed his parents, she'd leapt at the opportunity to help. And Grayson had been grateful – both for the healing itself and for the fact that Kiara and her mother had taken him in afterwards. The two of them were close now, and Kiara was hoping to convince her mother to adopt him.
That was one thing. That wasn't the problem. Saving a life … that was all well and good. But the truth was that most of the people who came to see her didn't really need her. What they needed was an aspirin and a few hours' sleep. But coming to her was easier. It was quicker. And as often as she tried to put her foot down and refuse, she always gave in, in the end.
Because that was easier, too. Taking a few moments to cure their stupid common cold was easier than an hour of arguing the point, of getting offended by the way they treated her, by the way they felt entitled to treat her, just because of how they'd seen a few mutants on the news. They might see her as one of the 'good ones,' but most of them certainly didn't see her as human. In the end, it was easier not to argue, to try to convince them otherwise. It was easier to do her 'job' without complaining, then come out here if she still needed to blow off some steam.
It was easier than leaving.
Kiara settled down on the thin layer of snow, running her hand along a frozen tree root. Now that she'd had time to cool down, she didn't really want to run away. She didn't want to go somewhere else. She just wanted things back the way they were, before she'd known. Back when her mother's miraculous recovery had seemed like just that – a miracle – rather than a choice, a burden, a responsibility.
She just wanted to be a kid again. She wanted it back. She wanted all of it back.
No, not all of it. She was glad she had helped Grayson. And she was glad she had saved her cousin's stepfather. But she just wanted…
Kiara sighed. She wanted the good parts; it was that simple. She wanted the good parts of being a mutant, without the frustrations that came along with it. But she couldn't have it. No one could. And there were certainly mutants who had it worse. At least people around here had the sense to realize that her power wasn't a threat, and no one seemed frightened of her or what she could do. That was something.
But it wasn't enough.
Slowly, Kiara got up. She picked up a stick and tossed it out onto the frozen lake. Then another. It wasn't fair, but it was certainly better than what some other people had. And eventually, she would have to go back. To her mother. To Grayson. She couldn't just stay out here forever.
Not when she had a job to do.
Just as she was about to turn and head back towards her house, however, she heard a sound. A twig snapped somewhere behind her, then another. "They told me I'd find you out here!" called a voice. "You're a hard person to track down, Kiara!"
Great. Someone had figured out where she was. Kiara sighed. "All right, let's just get this over with. What do you want?"
"Your help, Kiara," the stranger answered, taking a few steps closer, shivering a little from the cold. He had not dressed for the weather. "I came here to ask for your help."
"Ask?" That was a little more than most people did. Most people simply showed up expecting help now, like it was something they owed her in return for the damage some of her fellow mutants have done.
"That's right. I'm here to ask you to come with me. When I told your mother about my offer, she told me where to find you. It's a bit of a trip, but we'll make it worth your while."
Kiara raised an eyebrow. She wasn't used to people offering her payment of any kind. "Where are we going?"
"Wyoming. I know it's a bit of a trip, but we wouldn't be asking if it weren't important."
Important. Kiara held back a sigh. He was probably telling the truth about that, at least; he wouldn't have bothered coming all the way from Wyoming for something like a headache or a stubbed toe. "All right, then," she agreed, shrugging.
"When do we leave?"
Iola Boman, 19
White Earth, ND
12:47 CST
Things would go better if they waited.
Iola took a deep breath as the small plane skidded to a stop on the runway just outside of town, flanked by three Sentinels. Iola glanced over at Compass and Ekon, standing beside her. Waiting to figure out what the newcomers wanted, whether they were a danger to the rest of their little group.
Little, but growing. There were almost twenty of them now, camped out at an RV park just outside of town. They'd been there almost three weeks now, but no one seemed to care, as long as they paid for their spot. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were just a group of teenagers looking for a quiet spot for their spring break.
And 'quiet' certainly applied. White Earth wasn't much of a town, but that was just as well. Anything bigger and they would have to deal with more humans. And that was something none of them wanted. If the humans in town found out that they were really a group of mutants, there was no telling what they might do.
No, that wasn't quite right. She knew exactly what they might do – exactly what her own mother had done, upon realizing that she could take the shape of her friends and classmates. Her mother, along with her church, had been convinced that she was possessed and tried to drive the demon out of her. She had spent her childhood starved, beaten, left to sleep out in the cold, all in the hopes that some new method might succeed in purifying her.
Nothing did, of course, because she wasn't possessed. She was just a mutant, but as far as her mother was concerned, all mutants were evil. They all needed to be cured – or if they couldn't be cured, then punished.
There was a part of her, still, that wanted to believe that her mother had been the exception. Just one bad apple among otherwise good-natured humans. But too many of the others had the same story. Maybe there were good humans out there, but they seemed perfectly willing to let the cruel ones call the shots, to sit back and watch while those in power 'protected' them from the mutant threat by any means necessary.
So when they'd heard the sound of an airplane, the whole group of them had grown a bit more restless. Now it had landed, along with the Sentinels. Someone was coming for them. Something had drawn their attention at last. Maybe they should have been more careful. They had been stealing what they'd needed for a while, until they had enough to make ends meet. But she had thought they would be safe here – for a little while, at least.
"Two mutants with them," Compass reported after only a moment. That was his gift – his ability to find others like them. It was how he had found her, a few years ago, and how most of the group had come together. Compass was the name he had chosen for himself, just as she had chosen Iola.
Rebirth. Renewal. That was what the name meant, and that was who she was now. The scared little girl who had believed her mother's lies about mutants, who had believed that she was evil and deserved to be punished – that girl was gone. She was dead, along with all ties to the life she had led. This was her family now – not the family she had been born into, but the family she had found. The family she deserved.
A family she meant to protect.
"Two mutants on the plane, or is one of them the one getting off?" Iola asked Compass as a figure climbed out of the plane and started moving towards them.
Compass shook his head. "Two still on the plane. This one's human."
So they were collecting mutants, then. She'd feared as much, when she'd seen the plane. It had been about a year ago now, when they'd aired that 'documentary' about mutants who had volunteered to live together on an island. Volunteered. Right. She had a group of almost twenty mutants living together in an old RV, and none of them had killed each other. The government was up to something. They were trying to prove a point.
And now they had come for one of her family. Who, she couldn't be sure. Maybe they wanted Compass for his ability to sense other mutants, or Ekon for his enhanced strength. She hoped they didn't want Willa. There had been a few twelve-year-olds on the island the year before, and one of them had even survived, but…
But it didn't matter. Because whoever they wanted, they weren't going to get. She would make sure of that.
She just wasn't sure how.
Slowly, the man drew closer, the Sentinels following at a distance. Maybe he was trying to appear less threatening, but it wasn't working. "Come on," Iola suggested, gesturing towards the man. "If he thinks it's just the three of us, he might leave the others alone." She had told the younger mutants to stay back, no matter what happened. She just hoped that would be enough to protect them.
Cautiously, the three of them approached the man. When they were close enough, she could see he was holding up his hands. "Easy. Easy there. I just want to talk."
Right. "You're not taking any of them, asshole," Iola growled.
"You haven't heard my offer. We only want one of you. Come along peacefully, Iola, and no harm will come to the rest of your friends."
What?
Her. They wanted her. Not Compass or Willa or even Ekon, but her. Before she could give an answer, however, Ekon lunged at the stranger, tackling him to the ground.
Immediately, the Sentinels were on top of them. Iola tried to dodge, but one of them clamped a large, metal hand around her waist. Compass was running back towards the others – probably to try to warn them – when one grabbed him, as well. It took a moment for them to pry Ekon off the stranger, and Iola used that moment to shift into his form. "Let us go!" she demanded in the stranger's voice. "Let all of us go!"
For a moment, the Sentinels sputtered to a stop, but the one holding her looked down. "Override code required."
Shit. Of course there would be a code required for any orders that might contradict their programming, and letting mutants go certainly qualified. Before she could take a guess at what the code might be, the stranger staggered to his feet, and something snapped around her neck. There was a soft whir as the collar activated, and she shifted back to her normal shape.
The stranger shook his head. "You made this more difficult than it had to be. What happens next … remember that it's because of you."
Iola wriggled in the Sentinel's grasp. "You bastard. What are you going to do? Kill them?"
"I won't have to." He turned to the Sentinels holding her friends. "Once we're safely on the plane, let the other two go." He turned his gaze on Iola. "I don't have to kill anyone. All I have to do is tell the humans in town exactly the sort of people you are." He shook his head.
"They'll take care of the rest."
Joseph Harris, 13
Fort Peck, MT
14:03 MST
He usually didn't have to wait this long for Ben to call.
Joseph drummed his fingers on the table. Ben had said he would call at two, and he usually called a little early. It was almost three minutes after two now. What was taking him so long?
Joseph shook his head, leaning back in his chair. It only seemed like a long time because there was nothing to do here, especially now that the weather made going outside a very unappealing option. Ben still lived in the city. Even when the weather was rotten, he could go to the mall, or the movies, or just invite a group of friends over to his house. Ever since he and his mother had moved out to Fort Peck, Joseph had spent a good part of his weekends bored out of his mind, just waiting for Ben to call. Sometimes he called Ben, but he didn't want to seem like too much of a nuisance. He just wanted to talk to his friend.
Ben was one of the few people who knew about his mutation – or, at least, one of the few people who believed him. Ben's power was pretty obvious, after all. It was easy enough for Ben to prove that he could manipulate fire. Joseph's, however, was a bit less concrete. There was no way to prove, really, that a touch from him could make his friend's power even stronger. It was harder to measure, harder for other people to believe.
Maybe that was a good thing, in the end. Maybe it kept him safer. Most of the people he'd told about what he could do hadn't seemed to believe him. Ben did, of course. And his sister Martha had.
She'd believed him, but she'd also told him what a silly power she thought it was. They'd fought a lot, back when they were younger. They'd taken each other for granted, until one day she was simply gone. The cancer had moved quickly – too quickly for the doctors to do anything. A few weeks after her death, he'd come home from school to find his mother crying. At first, she'd only told him that his father was gone, too. It wasn't until a few months later that he'd learned the truth – that his father had taken his own life.
That was when they'd moved out here. To start a new life, his mother had said. She didn't want to deal with the memories that their old house held. But all of his friends had been back in the city. Ben was back in the city. He hadn't known anyone here, and despite his best efforts, he still didn't really fit in. He just wanted his old life back. He wanted to be a kid again.
Suddenly, the FaceTime app on his phone gave a little beeping noise, and Joseph nearly jumped out of his seat. "Hey," he answered with a grin as Ben's face appeared. "Everything okay over there?"
Ben nodded. "Yeah. Just my mom. Wouldn't let me call til I finished cleaning my room. How about you? What's new in Fort Peck?"
Joseph rolled his eyes. "Not much. Wish you were here to melt all this snow."
"Thought you liked snow," Ben teased.
"Not five straight months of it."
Ben chuckled. "Should've tried to convince your mom to move someplace warmer. She does all her work from home. You could've moved anywhere, and she picks Fort Peck, Montana?"
Joseph didn't say anything. He'd thought the same thing himself on more than one occasion. He understood wanting to get away from somewhere with bad memories, but why had she picked somewhere so far away from anything? But he couldn't say something like that to her. For whatever reason, she loved Fort Peck, and she'd already been through enough. He couldn't ask her to go through anything else.
Besides, it could always be worse. He wasn't sure exactly how sometimes, but at least he had his mother. And he still had Ben. Sure, they lived pretty far away from each other now, but at least they could talk to each other. That was something.
And for now, it would have to do.
A sudden knocking on the door shook Joseph from his thoughts. He heard his mother answer it, and then she called out, "Joseph! It's for you!"
Joseph sighed and set the phone down on his bed. "Be right back." He couldn't imagine who might be coming to talk to him here. When he reached the living room, he could see an older man standing in the doorway.
"Joseph Harris?" the stranger asked, glancing around the room as if he was expecting someone else. Or maybe just expecting there to be more people. It was a rather large house for just the two of them. Large and almost entirely empty.
Joseph nodded. "That's me. And you?"
"Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board."
Joseph froze. "Are you here because I'm a mutant?"
"Joseph," his mother hissed, her eyes wide and frightened. She'd tried to warn him before not to tell anyone else that he was a mutant, but it wasn't as if most people believed him anyway. He certainly didn't look like a mutant.
Dr. Brenner, however, simply nodded. "Yes, it is. Can't help but notice that you've failed to register as one, young man."
Joseph relaxed a little. "Is that all this is about? So you just need me to … What? Sign up?"
Dr. Brenner chuckled. "It's a little more paperwork than that, but I'll walk you through it. Just come with me and—"
Joseph was halfway out the door before his mother interrupted. "Wait! Where are you taking him?"
"Just into town. Glasgow's probably the nearest place with the proper facilities. Need to get him fingerprinted and run a few tests. Perfectly harmless."
"Then you won't mind if I come with you."
Dr. Brenner shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Glasgow wasn't that much bigger than Fort Peck, but at least they had a few restaurants, a couple hotels, and, of course, a courthouse. Joseph had never been inside, but as courthouses went, it didn't seem particularly intimidating. Dr. Brenner led him to a room downstairs while his mom waited in the next room. "Now what?" Joseph asked, glancing around the room, which was mostly empty.
Dr. Brenner pointed to a door on the opposite side. "Now we go out the back door – quietly. We're going to get on a plane, which is going to take us away from here. That's what you wanted, right? To get away from this place?"
Joseph could feel his face growing red. "How did you know—"
"It's pretty obvious, kid. Not a lot to do around here, nothing particularly exciting. But where we're going, I promise you, there'll be plenty of excitement."
Joseph hesitated. "What about my mom? Is she coming?"
"Not right away. She'll be along later." He laid a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "Don't worry. You're thirteen, after all. That's old enough to be on your own for a little while, don't you think?"
Joseph couldn't help a surge of pride. Dr. Brenner thought he could take care of himself. "As long as you're sure she'll be all right."
"She'll be fine; I promise."
Joseph nodded. "All right. Where are we going?"
Dr. Brenner smiled. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep that a secret for the moment." He smiled a little.
"But I promise, it'll be the most exciting time of your life."
Dr. Hans Brenner, 75
Glasgow, MT
14:48 MST
It was worth the wait.
Hans let out a deep breath as he led Joseph to the plane. The boy climbed into the back without any reservations, and Hans quickly closed the door. Okay. That was four. Joseph had taken a little longer, but it was worth the detour to Glasgow if it meant the boy came along quietly. Troublemakers like Iola, he didn't mind dealing with harshly. But Joseph had never caused anyone any harm.
It wasn't that he couldn't, of course. Any of them could. Any power could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Even something as seemingly harmless as amplifying other mutants' powers, or being able to heal other people. It wouldn't take much for something like that to become a weapon, in the wrong hands.
And that was their job, in the end – making sure that these mutants' hands became the wrong hands. Their job was to push these children to the limit, to force them into situations where they might break, because that was what it would take to show the public how easily it could happen. To remind them of what they were really fighting against, what they really needed to be protected from.
That was just the beginning, of course. The Games weren't a real solution; they never had been. They were a means to an end. A few more years of the Games, and the public would be begging Congress to accept Mack's proposal of grouping mutants into separate communities. So many of them were already on board, after only one year. It wouldn't take long for the rest of the country to follow suit.
It almost seemed too easy.
The hard part, of course, was that isolating the mutants in separate groups was really only the beginning. It wouldn't really solve the problem. It wouldn't stop non-mutants elsewhere from having mutant children. The answer lay in finding a way to stop their mutations, but in order to do that, they needed an environment where they could run experiments without prying eyes. They needed free rein to make decisions that some people might frown upon, that more rigid people might dismiss as unethical or immoral.
Because this wasn't about ethics or morality; it was about survival. And whether they wanted to admit it or not, everyone – deep down – understood that urge. It was why the Games had succeeded, after all. Very few people wanted to kill, but everyone wanted to survive. And if their survival required someone else's death, almost everyone was willing to make that decision. Some fretted a bit more about it. Some hesitated, some tried to rationalize it, and a few found the courage to make a different choice. But most of them would fight for their own lives above anyone else's.
Just like humanity would.
Just like it always had.
They had survived so much, as a species. If they didn't survive now – if the mutants won – then all of it was for nothing. All their history, their accomplishments, their inventions. All of humanity would be for nothing if it faded out now, lost to their mutant successors. But if humanity had proved anything, it was that it would not give up easily. They would not go quietly. They would find a way to win the war that was undoubtedly coming; they just had to be patient. There was always a solution.
They just had to survive long enough to find it.
"I know something you don't. Something that only comes with age. I know how to wait."
