"Revelations"
I
The sign reads "WELCOME TO KILLAM, ALBERTA", illuminated by a single streetlamp. It stands there beside a stretch of highway so long you might think it went forever. Far beyond the sign is the actual town of Killam. A small town already, the distance between it and the sign make it seem smaller still. Staggering down the highway toward the town, is Weapon X.
It slinks down the street and into town, hiding under the cover of late night darkness. Still wearing the tattered remains of its stasis-suit from Department H, it might as well be wearing nothing at all. Its physical scars may have healed, but the uniform is a constant reminder of the past. Hiding behind trash cans and cars, Weapon X approaches a building that simply says "MENSWEAR". It's not quite sure what this means, but there are clothes in the window. He lurches closer and upon reaching the window it is greeted by its reflection. The image changes and contorts as Weapon X realises the truth and his mind and memories start flooding back. All he sees is a shell of what he might have been.
He pities himself and in that moment the animal, Weapon X, is stripped away revealing the man, Logan, though his name is yet to come back to him. He studies his reflection some more and is reminded of his indecency. He takes a single claw and cuts a round circle through the plate glass window. In a town of less than a thousand and almost zero tourists in the year, there isn't much need for security cameras or alarms. Or maybe the owner of this store is too confident in humanity. Logan jumps through his newly scored entrance and rummages through the rack of clothes nearest to him. He grabs a handful. Cowboy boots, blue jeans, tank top and a plaid shirt thrown on top of it all. He tries to leave, but something catches his eye. A leather jacket. He takes it too before leaving the now burglarised business. He steps next to the road, looks to the left and to the right, and catches a scent. He sniffs the air like a dog. He knows that smell. He knows the person that smell belongs too. He looks around one last time and takes off, following wherever his nose takes him.
II
The tennis court is only half way open when the sonic boom of the Blackbird blasts through the air. The jet begins its descent, but is travelling too fast to land safely. It crashes into the hangar bay with the scraping sound of metal dragging on metal, which causes Hank to barrel towards the plane.
'The hell do you think you're doing? Are you trying to destroy the poor girl?' he yells.
The boarding ramp plummets open at record speeds, thudding onto the ground as Cyclops exits followed by everyone else. Nightcrawler holds Colossus' hand, who is carried out on a floating stretcher, Firebird concentrating solely on not letting it tip over. 'Where is he?' Cyclops asks Hank.
'Who?'
'Charles.'
'Infirmary, waiting for you.'
Cyclops twitches his head in the direction of the infirmary, signally for Firebird and Nightcrawler to go on without him. They rush ahead, carefully.
'What happened?' Hank continues.
'There was this thing, this animal…'
'What do you mean, like a bear?'
'No, no. It was a man, I think. But something wasn't right. Jean couldn't get a read on it. Like it couldn't think for itself.' Hank listens to Cyclops, but he doesn't know what to believe. He pauses for a moment to concoct a reply, but fails. 'We should join the others,' Cyclops says, seeing Hank struggle, and the two of them walk together into the mansion.
After fifteen or twenty minutes waiting outside the infirmary together, the X-Men, still in their bloodied uniforms, are finally given the signal to enter. Inside is Xavier and Piotr, hooked up to an IV and a circus of other machines all helping to keep him alive. Next to them is a woman. 'Students, this is Moira MacTaggart. A dear friend of mine,' Xavier says.
'How is he?' Scott asks.
'He's stable now, but it was a wee bit rocky at first. He severed part of his inferior vena cava, which thankfully clotted on its own and the worst of his injuries is a collapsed left lung. Everythin' else is just flesh wounds. Bed rest and some oxygen will send him right on his way to a full recovery in a few weeks to a month,' she says in a thick Scottish accent.
Scott nods his head in appreciation.
'X-Men,' Xavier says, 'I want you all in your separate quarters. It's been a long, troublesome day and you will need your rest, for tomorrow will be no different.'
Kurt and Jean wish Xavier a good night and go to their quarters. Jean takes Scott's hand and holds it in hers for a moment before heading to bed. Once they have left, Scott lets everything out. 'You want us to go back out there, don't you?'
'Scott, please,' Xavier gestures to the door and they move into the hallway, leaving Moira and Piotr alone. 'Magneto is too dangerous to be left to his own devices.'
'Didn't you see what happened to Peter, professor?'
'A terrible accident, yes–'
'Cut the shit, Charles,' Cyclops says, nearly spitting venom from his mouth. 'Peter could have been killed today, any one of us could have been. How many of us have to die before you're satisfied?'
Xavier sits there, motionless. 'What do you want from me?'
Scott seethes behind closed teeth. 'Let us go public.'
Xavier scoffs. 'I am not going through this again, I will not. They would take the school from us and I cannot afford that loss.'
'We're going to have to risk it eventually, with or without you.'
'You couldn't comprehend the casualties that would result. Children, Scott. Do you want that on your hands?'
'I can't risk my teammates' lives for you. I won't,' Scott says. He turns and starts down the hall.
'Scott, wait,' Xavier calls after him. He turns around to listen. 'If you continue to feel like my methodology is in conflict with your own,' Xavier continues, 'then you are free to leave whenever you please.'
Scott walks away in contempt.
III
The once bright forest, now growing ever darker, overlooks the still frozen Lake Alkali with a constant gaze. Snow gently falls on the leaves, and the nettles, and the ice. A metal hatch stands open in the middle of the white ground. At its entrance is Logan, still sniffing the air. The hatch was opened without breaking it, but there is no key in sight.
'There's no point going down there,' a voice calls out to Logan, unphased. 'I've already ransacked it. Nothing of much interest to you.'
'What is this place?' Logan asks.
'This is where you were born. Or, at least, this current version of you.' Logan turns around to find Magneto, wearing normal clothes aside from his helmet.
'They're not gonna' stop lookin' for ya.'
Magneto nods. 'Nor for you, I would imagine.'
They stand there together, keeping just enough distance between them. 'Whaddya' mean by "nothing of interest"?'
Magneto removes a single piece of paper from his pocket. 'This is all that I could find about you.' Logan takes the sheet and looks it over. There isn't much information to gather from the document: a photograph of himself, he notes that he appears not to have aged since it was taken; his name, which he now knows to be Logan; his height, five-foot three-inches; and the date the document was signed, October 28th, 1961. Parents unknown. Education unknown. Date of birth unknown.
'This real?' he asks.
'As real as the snow beneath your feet.'
Logan thinks briefly. 'Why're you doin' any of this for me.'
'I owe you a great deal, Logan,' Magneto admits, 'and I thought you might appreciate the truth. I only wish there was more to give you.'
Logan stumbles over his words. 'No– I– Thank you,' he finally says. And he means it. He questions how he could be at such an advanced age, yet only appear to be in his late thirties. Perhaps Department H had been keeping him young with an anti-aging serum and in a matter of weeks he would shrivel up like a mummy and fall away into a pile of dust. Too fantastical. More likely, he imagined, is that the super healing powers he possesses were also keeping his visage young and attractive. Well, at the very least young. He pops the claws from one hand. 'What about these? Know anything about 'em?'
'I am partially to blame. They forced me to graft metal to your bones because they were ill equipped to do it themselves. Your entire skeleton is bonded with an indestructible metal known as adamantium.'
The claws sink back into his forearms. It still hurts to do, even after all these years. 'Why do you remember all this shit and I don't?'
'They never wiped my memory because they never thought I'd escape.'
'Yeah, I read about yer' little broadcast in a newspaper I found. Gripping stuff, really. World domination and all that.'
'I'm afraid my dreams of leading a utopian society have come to an end.'
IV
The concrete walls used to say "DEPARTMENT H", they still do in a way, except they now have three scratch marks running through the words, no less than two inches deep. Every wall has similar markings, not in any way precise or deliberate. Wanton destruction. Soldiers, scientists and even janitors scramble to clean the place up. They haul big black bags from the other rooms and drop them all in a single line. Body bags. And there are hundreds of them. One of the rooms has its door closed, "GENERAL KIRBY" it says on the diffused glass pane.
Inside, Kirby is on the phone. Not for long however, as he quickly hangs up and returns to his current mood of not wanting to do anything at all. For no real reason, he swipes the contents of his desk onto the floor in an act of unprovoked frustration. A soldier enters with a computer under his arm. 'Excuse me, sir, I don't mean to bother you.'
'What is it?'
The soldier opens the laptop computer and pushes it under Kirby's nose. On the screen is a map of Canada. There's a red, blinking light near the border of Alberta. Right about where Alkali Lake is. 'This is the current location of Weapon X.'
Kirby, stunned, takes a moment to process. 'Did I know about this?'
'No, sir.'
'Why not?'
'Orders from Director Sublime, sir.'
'Why did it go back there?'
'It escaped before the scheduled memory wipe, sir.'
Kirby, infuriated, goes to push everything off of his desk, forgetting his actions from little more than a minute prior. So he slams the laptop shut instead. 'Mobilise a strike team for Alkali Lake. Bring Weapon X back, alive, and let's get this damn thing on the ice. Do as you please with Lehnsherr.'
V
Piotr sleeps lightly in the infirmary. The room is too cold, his pain is too strong and his bed is not soft enough. He's no longer attached to an oxygen tank as he can now breathe well enough from his functioning lung. This is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to him. And the stupidest he's ever acted. A quiet bamf is all it takes to wake him.
'Kurt? Is that you?' he whispers, still whacked out from pain killers.
'Ja. I am sorry to disturb you. I thought you may have already been awake.'
'Not far from it.'
Kurt pulls up a chair and sits next to his friend. 'How do you feel?'
'Like I vas stabbed by six knives. But better now.' They sit there together in silence, neither one of them knowing what to say. 'Could you get me a water, please?' Kurt nods his head and disappears then reappears with a glass of water.
'Zhere you are, mein freund,' he says, handing Piotr the glass.
'You know,' Piotr says before taking a sip, 'your smoke. It smells.'
'Do you not like it?'
'No, because it smells like shit.' Kurt laughs, which makes Piotr laugh, which makes Piotr cough. He takes another sip of water once he is done. 'Do you know what it is?'
'I've never thought about it before.'
They turn to silence once more.
'Do you think Scott trusts me?' Piotr asks sincerely.
'I trust you.'
'But you are my comrade, my friend. And I have made many mistake with Scott.'
'He knows zhat deep down, you are good. Zhis is why he trusts you.'
VI
In his dorm, Scott flicks through TV channels hoping to find something interesting to watch, weaning his civilian clothes. It's nothing but soap operas. Soap. Soap. Soap. Soap. News. Soap. He flips back to the news having had something catch his eye. A headline scrolls along the bottom third of the screen, "CHILD DEAD AFTER PUBLIC STONING". 'Oh my God,' he says to himself, sitting straight up on his bed. The volume bar flashes on the screen as he turns it up and up and up and up.
"...has died after being stoned by his neighbours. The boy allegedly attacked a group of other school children with mutant powers. One witness says the boy exploded into a ball of flame, leaving one child with third degree burns and one other with minor abrasions," the reporter says from within the speakers. Scott sits in his bed, mouth agape. Tears well behind his ruby quartz glasses and spill over when they reach maximum capacity. "Roughly half an hour after the incident, a group of neighbours ambushed the boy outside his home," the reporter continues. "He was chased for twenty minutes before he succumbed to his injuries. Channel Five spoke with the boy's parents earlier today, here is what they had to say."
"My little Samuel wouldn't hurt a soul," his mother says, weeping. "It's not true what they're sayin'. He was such a sweet, innocent boy."
A neighbour yells at the family from across the lawn, "He weren't right! He's a [BLEEP] freak! I seen it with my own eyes!" He spits at Sam's mother, not even getting close to her.
"I just want my little boy back."
The image changes back to the reporter, standing in front of Sam's school. "A family is left heartbroken over a senseless tragedy. The event seems to confirm the existence of mutants in the world and has already spawned a movement of hate groups across the country. Police are investigating, though no arrests have been made. In other news–" The TV turns off and Scott throws the remote across the room. He cries and cries and cries. He has to take his glasses off because he's crying so much, making sure to keep his eyes tightly shut. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets, trying to temper the tears. Behind his fingers, a red glow looms. It grows brighter and brighter as he sobs.
There's a quiet knock at the door.
Suddenly Scott stops crying and the red glow vanishes. He throws his glasses back onto his face. 'Scott,' a soft voice asks from behind the door.
'What do you want, Jean?'
'Can I come in?'
Scott sits there wanting to say no. 'Sure.' The door opens and Jean shuffles inside. She takes a seat beside him on the bed. 'You're supposed to be asleep.'
'You woke me up.'
'How? You live five rooms down from me?' he asks with a hint of indignation.
'Because I can feel everything that you feel and hear everything that you think.' She puts an arm around his broad shoulders. It takes a moment, but he rests his head against the top of hers.
'We're supposed to be helping them. Protecting them. That's the whole point of the X-Men. The school, everything. We couldn't even do that.'
'We can't be everywhere at once. We were trying to avoid a global catastrophe.'
'And we still might not have stopped that! Magneto is still out there. Years of training and all we have to show for it is a collapsed lung and a dissected vein. Some team we are…' Scott trails off, shaking his head. 'He was right, the professor. We can't go public.'
'I have never felt more like myself than right after this whole mess. I felt like I might not have to hide who I am anymore. I know I can't expect the whole world to accept me, but it felt good just to be me.' Jean plays with Scott's hair, running her fingers through the strands like a fine toothed comb.
'He was only twelve, Jean, I–'
'You didn't throw the stones.'
VII
'I must admit that I didn't raid this place selflessly,' Magneto tells Logan. 'I was looking for documents about myself when I found your scrap.' An icy wind picks up over the lake. Logan's hair barely wavers in the cool air. 'And I did find things about myself. All of those political chess moves. Assassinations. Murders. I thought I was doing something for the betterment of the world.' Magneto stops and carefully plots his next few sentences. 'Can you imagine what it feels like to find out that you have been slowly, systematically wiping out your own kind?' Logan shrugs his shoulders only half listening. 'Every person I killed were mutants. Every single one of them. And I never even stopped to question my commands.'
'Get to the point.'
'The point is that I cannot in good conscience lead the mutant race forward through history. I have done so much harm to our people that it would be a joke to take that position and expect their implicit and unconditional trust. I am unworthy.' They stand there in the silent wasteland that is the tundra, looking deep within their own souls. Magneto, wanting to know the future; and Logan, wanting to understand his own past.
'So where do we go from here?'
VIII
Jean, still beside Scott with her arm around, jumps from the bed, eyes wide in confusion. 'What is it, Jean?' he asks her, puzzled.
'The thing, I can feel it,' she says, struggling to comprehend her own thoughts.
'What thing?'
'The man, it's thinking again.'
'What man? You're not making any sense.'
'The man that attacked us, with the metal claws,' she says racing her words until they all become one big word.
Scott tries to put the puzzle pieces together. 'He's thinking?'
'He is now.'
'What about?'
'Magneto.'
Minutes later they arrive in the hangar bay and Scott tears his clothes off to put on his uniform. Jean follows him closely. 'You can't go on your own, you'll get yourself killed,' she says.
'I'm aware of that, but I've made this decision for myself. I can't make it for you or anyone else.'
'I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you that I'm going with you.'
'How are you even capable of helping in this situation?' Scott asks without so much as turning to look at her. He stops dead in his tracks, still not looking at her. 'You know what, you're right. That was an incredibly stupid thing to say.' Jean, who had already stopped walking, stares right through the back of his head, almost burning holes there in a strange twist of fate. Scott throws his uniform on and becomes Cyclops again. He and Jean jog to the Blackbird, some hundred feet away, and open the hydraulic ramp with a button's press. They're not yet halfway up the ramp when a voice bellows at them from across the room.
'Where are you two going?' Hank asks in a commanding voice.
Cyclops turns to Jean, 'Get her started up for me, please.' She nods and continues up into the plane. Cyclops walks back down the ramp to confront Hank. 'You can't stop us.'
'Scott, I'm not–'
'We just need time to talk to Magneto and you are taking that precious time from us as we speak.'
'I'm not trying to–'
'So if you won't let us leave, well, there's going to be some issues.'
'I'm not going to stop you, moron! If you'd let me speak, you'd know that by now and we both could have been spared this entire waste of time!' Cyclops listens, bewildered.
'I just assumed…'
'I don't care, Scott. I want you to take these,' Hank says, handing over a small metal canister. 'There are two extremely potent tranquiliser darts in this case. One is for Magneto, and the other is also for Magneto in case you miss the first time.'
Cyclops holds the case in his hands and looks down at it, then back up at Hank. He gives him a silent, thankful nod of appreciation. Hank pats him on the back with one of his big, blue hands. Jean breaks up the moment using a speaker on the jet. 'Are you coming or what?' she asks. Cyclops runs up the ramp and stands at the top. He gives Hank a two-finger salute and closes the ramp behind him.
Cyclops takes the pilot's seat in the cockpit, right next to Jean. 'What did he want?' she asks.
'To give us these.' He puts the canister on the instrument panel right above the yoke.
'What are they?'
'Tranq darts.'
The jet takes off, flying straight up between the splitting tennis court. 'How do we use them?' Cyclops hadn't thought of that yet otherwise he might have had the brains to ask Hank at the time.
'I don't know.'
'Didn't Hank tell you.'
'No.'
They both sit there in total silence. 'Do we have a rifle, maybe?' Cyclops asks.
'No.' They pause again.
'Can you use your…?' Cyclops points to his brain, flailing his fingers around like some sort of jazz hands.
'My telekinesis?'
'Yeah, sure, that.'
'I suppose so.'
'Good.' Cyclops pulls back on the yoke as the jet takes off at hypersonic speeds, leaving a sonic boom in its wake.
'So you needed my help after all,' Jean adds. Cyclops smiles.
IX
The giant eighteen wheeler pulls into the woods neighbouring Alkali Lake for the final time. They stop in almost exactly the same spot as last time, right down to the fallen trees and deep snow blocking their path. A heavily armoured strike team, between fifteen and twenty something people, pours out of the tractor trailer in a single line. They're covered in so many weapons that each team member has roughly enough guns to arm a small family of sixteen. They might be black ops, they might be something else. To them it doesn't matter because they know what they really are: mutant hunters.
'Alright team,' the squad leader starts, 'These are two Omega-Level mutant threats we're dealing with. Proceed with extreme caution. If we are to remain under cover then we must be completely silent. We'll approach from downwind so that Weapon X won't smell us coming. Shoot to kill. Understood?'
They all nod their heads.
'Let's go people.'
They run off into the darkness, their feet barely make a sound as they fall into the snow.
The Blackbird descends upon a clearing near the lake. It lands much like a VTOL does, directly down from the sky. The trees and snow all blow to the side as the downward facing engines shoot air in every direction. As soon as the wheels make contact with the ground, the ramp opens. Cyclops and Jean, who is regretting not changing out of her pyjamas, step foot in the snow and scout the area.
A few minutes and a few miles from the Blackbird, they begin closing in on their prey. 'Do you know where they are?' Cyclops asks. Jean points in a vague direction. 'Are you sure?'
'Don't ask me if you're only going to question my accuracy.'
'Shh,' Cyclops interrupts her, 'be quiet or they'll hear us.' Jean mocks him by mouthing his words behind his back as they continue deeper into the forest.
'Now we must go our separate ways. Live our separate lives. My body may appear young, but my mind is old and tired. I cannot go on fighting these people. I spent nearly thirty years doing it and I do not intend on doing it for another thirty more. I think… I think I may just settle down,' Magneto says. 'It will be difficult for you to adjust to this modern world as I know it has been for me.'
'I'm sure I'll figure somethin' out,' Logan grunts. A twig snaps in the distance. 'You hear that? Ya think they followed us here?'
'Don't be ridiculous, it's probably just a deer.'
'Deer don't get that close.'
Logan sniffs the air and just as he catches the scent of something a dart hits him square in the throat. He looks over at Magneto, who collapses to the ground clutching his neck, blood dribbling between his clenched fingers. Logan drops to the ground and the whole world turns to darkness.