ISSUE TWO

"Reintegration"

I

Time seemed to stand still here every few weeks, not that anyone was aware that, while time continued around them, the inhabitants of this town stopped dead in their tracks for however long it takes to corner a king. Not far into town was a little cafe, never having more than fifteen people and no less than five at any given time of day. Not too busy, not too quiet. Just right. Perfect conditions for a game of chess.

The al fresco dining section wasn't much to look at; a few potted plants here and there, and an unlit candle or two, but nothing much else. Drinking hot coffee in the desert air left something to be desired as well, but Charles and Erik never seemed to mind too much, especially during the winter. Their chessboard, sat squarely in the centre of the circular table, was made of a peculiar mix of bone and metal. The board itself was built entirely of solid oak, but the white pieces were constructed from an elephant's tusk and the black pieces of Vietnamese tungsten. Completely custom made, no doubt, it was, in every sense, a work of art. Slipped just underneath the board was a newspaper, only its masthead and date left visible, reading "The Jerusalem Post" and dated "DECEMBER 19TH, 1972".

Charles, being in his mid-to-late twenties, looked up to Erik, who was in his early forties, as a sort of older brother. They met here in Israel some years ago. Charles worked as a medic, aiding displaced refugees of war as a therapist in the nearest hospital. Erik never really told Charles what he did for work; only that involved righting the wrongs of his past.

'Your move,' Erik said.

'I know.'

'Then why haven't you moved yet.'

'Some people prefer to take their time,' Charles replied in anticipation. Erik wasted no time in proffering his retort.

'I would have made my move by now.'

'You're attempting to play mind games with me and I am the last person you should try that on.' Charles leaned his chin on his balled fist, elbow firmly against the table. His other hand outstretched over the board, moved a white knight to G5. A black pawn floated forward one square immediately after the other.

'If this were a real war your thoughtful inaction would have cost your soldiers their lives and yours along with them.'

'And you, my friend,' Charles said as he moved his queen, 'would have made a terrible mistake. If you had waited and thought about that last move more, you could have won in two moves.'

'Yes, well, I don't care for waiting.'

II

"Magneto" is the word plastered over every news station, newspaper, magazine and billboard in the world. Frequently followed by "hoax", "fake news" and other such buzz words that are usually used in an attempt to trick one's viewers, only this time every set of eyes and ears across the globe are trained to their TVs, phones, computers, radios and wherever else people might choose to consume their media.

'Several minutes ago, we all received a message from a so-called "mutant". He even claimed there were millions more like him globally. So here is our question: do you see this as a serious threat? Caller?' an anchor on a local news station asks.

'How else are we supposed to take this Donny? Can I call you Donny?' the caller responds, 'The guy stands there, turning a hunk of scrap metal into a freaking CD, and you're asking if it's a serious threat?'

'So you believe the video was real?'

'Looked real enough to me. For crying out loud, it played on every single TV in the world. Explain that to me, Donny.'

'Foreign government hoax. Could be lots of things.'

'There's a jolly green giant, who ain't so jolly, running around the country and you think this is coo-coo? This ain't nothin' compared to that. He said millions more of them and we didn't know it 'cause they look just like us!'

III

Cerebro always appeared far more expansive on the inside than it actually was. The giant steel panels that curved together to form the sphere create just enough glare that you can't really tell how far away they are. A single catwalk extends from the west side of the room, a guard rail running down its entire length, and ends in a round platform situated at the exact centre of the sphere. On the platform is a desk with nothing on it. No bells and whistles, buttons or levers. Just a desk. At the desk is Xavier himself, late seventies and totally bald. Not that you could tell, however, as his entire head is covered by Cerebro itself, a round, metal helmet with an "X" emblazoned on its front. The large, round door at the other end of the catwalk opens.

Scott and his team enter.

'Professor, what did you need?'

'I wanted to make sure you are aware of the dangers ahead of you,' he pauses briefly, 'I need you all to go and capture Magneto and bring him back to me.'

'Well, that's easier said than done,' Jean replies, 'he could be anywhere in the world.'

'I've already instructed Hank on what to do. As for you four, you should know that Magneto is capable of a great many dangers. But he is a decent man. If you are to bring him back, you must reason with him. It is the only way.' Xavier looks at Scott. 'You will leave as soon as Hank locates Erik. Understood?'

Scott nods his head in agreement. But Jean is not so easily convinced.

'You seem to know a lot about Magneto, professor. Why is that?' she questions him.

'A story for another time.'

'Why don't you tell us all now, so we can better understand the challenge we are facing?' she presses. Jean is cunning, a trait which Xavier had always found the least desirable in her.

'Very well,' he concedes, 'I met Erik during the Vietnam war. I was in Israel, tending to wounded refugees, both physically and mentally. He was there at the time also, albeit, in a separate line of work.'

'Vietnam war?' Scott asks incredulously, 'But he doesn't look a day over forty?'

'Quite right, Scott. In fact, he looks no older than the last time I saw him. Rather good looking for a man in his nineties.'

'Nineties!' Piotr exclaims in disbelief. 'Great Mother Russia.'

Scott thinks back to the speech and what Erik had said. 'He mentioned that he was known by a number when he was a child. What did he mean by that exactly?'

Xavier hangs his head, a frown of sorrow spreads over his face. 'When he was a boy, he was imprisoned in the Auschwitz concentration camp for some time. His entire family was destroyed by the Holocaust and I would strongly advise that you don't bring it up, for obvious reasons.'

Nightcrawler's eyes open as wide as they possibly can. Their big yellow lenses almost glow in the room. 'Perhaps it would be best, herr professor, if I did not attend.'

'Nonsense, Kurt. Magneto is German himself and his issue does not lie with them. It is with humanity, which should be plainly obvious to him, that you are not a member of.' The professor waits for anyone else to speak up for a moment and then continues, 'If that is everything, then we should meet Hank in his laboratory. See what he may have found.'

IV

'We're joined here this morning by world renowned geneticists Nicholas Cooper and Meghan Gibson, who are here to tell us about the growing "mutant" situation,' one of the two morning news anchors said. Behind the hosts and guests is a giant screen with an image of Magneto blown up to gargantuan proportions, "Friend or Foe?" in red letters over top.

'Do you two believe Magneto's claim?' the other anchor asks.

'Absolutely. Scientifically speaking, the line between the probable and the improbable grows thinner and thinner. Genetic mutations such as this aren't so farfetched, just another in a long list. They may not even be "mutants" per se, they could be an entirely new species. Either way, an enormous discovery,' Nicholas responds.

'No doubt,' the other anchor continues, checking their notes, 'what about the claims of a government cover up?'

Meghan replies, saying, 'Is it possible? Sure. Likely? Not so much. The sheer scale of such an operation is incomprehensible. The logical assumption would be that most are simply in hiding.'

'What about mass cleanses?'

The atmosphere in the room changes, the scientists shake their heads. 'You're talking about eugenics,' Nicholas replies first.

'We have moved beyond that as a species,' Meghan agrees.

'Have we?'

V

Hank hangs from the ceiling of his lab like some giant, blue bat. A massive computer screen directly in front of him. A giant map of the world lights up on the screen, illuminated by a handful of large, fluorescent lights going around the length of the room. He pulls up news feeds on the screen and whatever social media posts he can get his hands on. He doesn't seem to find what he was looking for.

The door to the laboratory opens. Xavier and his students enter.

'Any luck, Henry?'

'Not even close. I haven't been able to find anything. No sightings, no leaks, just a whole lot of nothing.'

'Narrow your search to electromagnetic frequencies, there may still be lingering power surges from Magneto's little show.'

Hank nods his head and punches a handful of keys with surprising grace, given the size and strength of his ape-like hands. 'Oh my stars and garters, you're right. But there's still no way of knowing where he is right now. You see these frequencies,' he says, pointing to a series of dots that jump around the world map, like a pebble aimlessly bouncing over the surface of a lake, 'they won't stop moving and I don't think that Magneto can move like that.'

'Can you triangulate his original location? The epicentre of the surge?' Jean asks.

'Well, yes, but that could take hours and wouldn't give us his current location.'

'Better than nothing,' Scott interjects, 'he doesn't have his army yet, so we'll have to hope that he's too scared to make a move. Start working on that while the rest of us prepare in the Danger Room. Call us when you're ready, Hank.'

'Righto.'

VI

'I'll tell you something. These mutants were absolutely not a part of God's plan. The church has always been wary of the impending Armageddon. The First Seal states that a rider and his white horse will lead the revived Empire at the end of time.'

'Your implication being that Magneto is the Antichrist, Reverend?' the podcast host asks. His setup is simple, but pleasing to the eye. Flanked by two fern-like plants, he sits across from the Reverend, their microphones attached to long, twisted arms.

'There is nothing implicit about it,' the Reverend says with his deep southern drawl, 'I can guarantee it. He asked for his daemonic kin to rise up and take over the world.'

'I'm not sure that's exactly what he said, but I understand what you're saying. If it is the case, I still have difficulties agreeing with the government overreach in the situation. I'm surprised somebody didn't get out sooner.'

'They have been locked up for a reason. It called itself the Master of Magnetism, imagine how powerful they could be?'

'I can't agree with that.' The two look around the room for a moment, the host taking a sip of water from his comically large thermos.

'Suppose your son befriended one of these mutants. What then?'

'What difference would it make?'

'What if they have control over fire? What if they get into a fight and your son is burned like a pig at a bad cookout?'

'I would react no differently than if someone poured gasoline on them and lit a match. They can't be naturally more dangerous than any other person,' the host says.

'A bad example.'

'We're all jumping to conclusions here. I want to wait and see what the government is going to say. Surely this is big enough news to warrant a direct statement from the President.'

The Press Room in the White House is bustling far more than usual, especially at this time of year. More reporters today than there have been in years. They're waiting for the President to make an announcement, who has decided to arrive late.

A door opens and the President enters. Click, click, click, click, click. Flashes go off in every direction while the President tries to calm the crowd. They take the stand. 'My fellow Americans. Earlier today, the world received a threat.' They look down at their notes, rereading the next few lines for a moment or two.

'I am here now, to tell you, that we have not kept anything from you. We have not been hiding these "mutants" from the public eye. The video we all saw today, was pre-recorded and falsified. The man in the video has been identified as a former government employee, who was terminated from his position earlier this year. The cause for termination was theft of government property, which included plans for a machine that could manipulate radio waves. That is how his message reached so many people. A regular man, a human man, no less, with absolutely zero powers of any kind. Nothing more than a domestic terrorist.' They take a moment before they finish their speech. 'The Press Secretary will be answering any questions.'

The President exits as quickly as they came, trying to avoid suspicion. .

VII

Department H is an organisation secretly funded by the U.S. government and the Canadian government, among other private donors. This underground facility is one of hundreds. Its halls are dark and dimly lit, as are all of its rooms; even the ones you would expect to read things in. Every wall says "DEPARTMENT H" in big, black, block letters. Hundreds of people stalk these halls on a good day. But today is a bad day and stalking is probably not the correct word to be used. Perhaps scrambled. Either way, all of their jobs, even the admin, just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

One man, not particularly important looking, sprints through a flurry of his colleagues, all dressed head to toe in either military fatigues, or black business suits with ties. He's holding a handful of files and stops in front of a door that says "DIRECTOR SUBLIME" in big, black, block letters, not unlike the ones on the walls. He barges in without knocking.

'Director Sublime,' the man says, trying to catch his breath, 'I don't mean to barge in unannounced, but the General would like to know…' He takes a moment to have a few deep breaths. 'The General would like to know what the course of action will be to contain the asset when located.'

The Director sits in his chair, thinking silently. Not for too long, but long enough to make the intruding corporal feel a tad uncomfortable.

'How'd he even get out?' Sublime finally asks.

The corporal doesn't know how to respond at first, then 'Excuse me, sir?'

'How the fuck,' Sublime starts as he stands up, 'did he get out? He can't have just magically escaped, without a single person noticing! Could he?'

The corporal takes a step back, stunned. 'That's above my pay grade, sir. You would have to speak to Professor Cornelius for a proper answer. He was in charge of asset number two-four-zero-zero-five.'

Sublime sits back down, calmer. 'What's his department's phone number?' he asks. 'Nevermind, I'll have it written down here somewhere.' He opens the drawers under his desk and the filing cabinet beside it. Even under other pieces of paper laid haphazardly on top of the desk. The corporal stands there awkwardly.

'I was instructed not to return without an answer, sir.'

'Right, right. Uh, tell him that I will figure it out, I just need a little more time.'

'Yes, sir,' and the corporal leaves. Sublime drops his hand into his hands, exhausted. He rubs his eyes to see if maybe this is all just one big, bad dream. What a fucking nightmare, he thinks. He takes a deep breath in and starts looking for the phone number again. Lifting up a few files beside his landline, he mutters under his breath, "Thank God". Holding the paper in front of his eyes, too close, really, he left his glasses at home, he punches the number into the phone and presses the loudspeaker button.

It rings a few times.

'This is Cornelius,' the telephone says, 'who–'

'You've got some serious questions to answer.'

A moment's silence. 'I take this call is about asset number two-four-zero-zero-five then, Director?' Cornelius asks.

'You're damned right it's about the escaped asset. The asset who escaped under your supervision or lack thereof. Isn't there any surveillance down there?'

'Of course there is.'

'I want to see it.'

'I have already forwarded it to you.'

Sublime turns on his computer and opens the email from Cornelius. He plays the surveillance recording. It shows a room with a big medical examination table in the centre and a series of stasis pods along one of the walls, all lined up in a row. 'We were performing routine cryo-pod maintenance, which required removing the asset from containment,' Cornelius says as the video continues. A scientist opens one of the pods, the one holding Magneto, and removes him from it, lying him on the table.

'Why wasn't he shot on sight?'

The scientist returns to the pod and three or four mechanics begin their maintenance check. But before they can complete their work, every piece of metal in the room starts floating in the air, rising around them, and comes crashing down, slicing them all like bread.

'Because he killed everyone in the room before they even knew what had happened.' Magneto rises from the table, floating, wearing nothing but a pair of white underwear.

'Why wasn't I informed of their deaths?'

'They were only soldiers. Men who are otherwise only good for shooting or being shot. As it happens they were better at the latter.' Magneto turns in the air, staring right into the lens of the camera. With the clench of his fist, the video cuts out.

'Listen here you decrepit old fuck, those were my men. Good men. You need to get your shit together, Abraham, or you'll be looking for another job. And I can't imagine anyone hiring you after this fiasco,' he says, flailing his hands around in the air, gesturing to everything all at once. Sublime hangs up the phone right as a soldier enters the room. 'What the hell is it this time?'

'Sir, we've got a hit.'

VIII

'Alkali Lake. That's where he is.'

Professor Xavier and all five of the students stand around the computer screen in Hank's lab. 'Very good, Henry,' the professor says.

'Where the hell is that?' Jean asks.

'Few hours outside Alberta.'

'You're certain?'

'Yes, Jean, I am positive. Of the two-thousand five-hundred and eighty-four locations across the globe that his signal bounced from, Alkali Lake shows up eight-hundred and ninety-seven times, far more than any other place on Earth. He has to be there.'

'Well done, Hank,' Scott says, patting him on the shoulder, 'I want everyone suited up and on board the Blackbird in ten. Hank, I need you to set a course for Alkali Lake.'

'On it.' Hank turns to the computer and does just that.

Xavier turns to face Piotr directly. 'You may want to avoid using your powers at all costs, Piotr, otherwise Magneto will be able to take full control of your body.'

'Of course, Professor. I should not be so foolish.'

The students turn to leave the room, but not before Xavier gets in his final words. 'Children, do try to come back in one piece, won't you?'