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Issue #23 |
"Unchecked Power" Part Four: End Game Written By Tom Moses |
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The snow started to blanket the air just as Bobby Drake began walking. His legs are sore and he’s not sure exactly how far he’s gone or how long he has before he reaches his destination, but all the same, he continues to walk. Bobby’s skin tells him the air is returning to normal for this time of year in Alaska, a relatively frigid twelve degrees.
He could guess it’s been a half hour, but it’s been years since he stopped wearing a watch. Ever since the Rolex his grandfather had owned nearly broke during a fight with a number of Sentinels, not that he could believe the random thoughts that poured into his mind. Bobby shakes the thought out; dragging his feet through the freezing earth, the ruins of the Summers’ house comes into view as a hill comes to its peak.
Over the horizon, movement piques his interest; Bobby closes his eyes just long enough not to be a blink of his eyelids. The snow covered ground and the falling precipitation falls black from its former white, he can immediately see six blobs of body heat radiating in and around the house. "C'mon," he whispers as he watches the fading heat signature under the rubble.
A burst of white nearly knocks him on the ground, his retinas burning Bobby returns his vision back into its normal spectrum. Scott’s quick action, destroying what’s left of his house surely saved the last member of the X-Men trapped under the wooden debris. He starts anew, walking through the slush, cracking the delicate ice with each step.
The mile passes by quicker than he was aware. The X-Men stop everything they’re doing to watch him walk into their focus. There is no fanfare for his return, but plenty of worried faces as they see him walking alone. The fresh ice cracks under his weight, the thin layer of cold film barely a quarter of an inch thick. He stops his sluggish movement through the freezing much, every conscious eye is immediately upon him, and Bobby Drake isn’t able to find a single word to greet them.
Likewise, for a few moments, the entire group cannot do anything but stare back. Even though he avoids contact with their eyes, they all know something is wrong. The way he slowly approaches the taller man with a broken arm and dark red sunglasses, tells a story that doesn’t need words for all those looking on.
Scott winces, the cold causing his broken arm to ache. He steps toward Bobby; the added motion only adds more pain to his sore body, “Bobby,” Scott tires to shake his friend from his haunted gaze. “We thought the worst…Cecilia told us what she saw.”
“I’m fine.”
His voice is monotone, and completely out of character for the usually jovial young man. It is without feeling, and it only takes two words for Scott to understand his younger friends’ state of mind. “Its’ good to see you’re up and moving, Cecilia will check you out now that we have the Blackbird’s engines turning.”
“I’m. I’m sorry Scott.”
His voice breaks down, Bobby stammers as he tries to continue. No words come to the surface; his broken voice tries to force an explanation that never comes. Scott stretches his good arm between them, making a feeble effort to calm Bobby. Resting his hand on his shoulder, Scott looks Bobby square in the eye, “calm down, there will be plenty of time for all that.”
“You think so?”
The question puts Scott Summers off; he takes a few steps back. A distance grows between the first two X-Men, “What happened, Bobby?”
His question brings reality slamming into Bobby, his eyes close and his head droops down toward the cold ground. “What happened to us Scotty?” We grew up around all this hatred and violence,” he slowly raises his head, his blue eyes star right through Scott’s glasses. “Nothing is funny anymore.”
All the speculation, every question put to rest. A tear falls from Drakes’ face as he watches Scotts’ expression change from question to understanding. The tear freezes the instant it touches Bobby’s skin, flaking away with a soft breeze that cuts between the X-Men. Both men stand without speaking for a minute, and Scott nods his head without reason.
A sharp pain surprises Bobby. His body is instinctively aware of the warm solution forced into his body. Cecilia Reyes pulls the cringe from his skin just in time for the metal to crumble, frozen and brittle the steel cannot hold up against even the slightest wind.
A pair of arms wraps themselves around Bobby’s waist and forearms, “Just be calm Bobby.” Kurt’s thick accent sounds as the liquid begins to spread through his upper torso, “Let yourself sleep.”
He doesn’t attempt to struggle; the chemical fills his body quickly, a warmth flowing through his blood stream in a matter of seconds. Nighcrawler’s arms release their grip as the Iceman’s body starts to fall limp. “I’m sorry,” Bobby starts to say, his eyelids heavy all of a sudden, “I just wanted….”
Bobby Drake doesn’t have time to finish. His sleeping body crashes against the nearly frozen mud, Kurt is unable to catch him in time. “And this was necessary?” Kurt’s’ shining eyes scowl slightly at the ruby glasses Scott wears.
“I wish it weren’t.” Scott returns, “Lets get him to the mansion, I just hope we can help him before he loses control too.”
Stepping from the particleboard enclosure, a towering man smoothes down the black sport coat that hangs loosely from his shoulders. The public restroom is devoid of any sound – a thankful thought no doubt – until a deadbolt forces its way into the wall. His hands in his pockets, he returns to the bathroom stall, “Quite the ride, care for another go?”
“Piss off, Dominic,” pushing the mutant trembler aside Amelia stops in front of a mirror. She takes a moment to address the mess atop her head, ignoring the speechless passenger she intended to leave in the next moment or two. She sighs. Catching the sight of the man admiring her figure in the mirror, her eyes roll to the top of her sockets.
“Must you be so obvious?”
Avalanche smiles, “Yeah like hiding my efforts are worth any shot. You’re the woman standing in the men’s room after all.”
“Try taking another look around, idiot.”
The attractive redhead turns to lean against the white sink, looking just in time to watch Petros’ face to lose his usual cocky exterior. A wide smile replaces her annoyed frown, and it’s time to get to business. “You’re sure you’ll have your part handled?”
“It’s a simple plan,” he returns to his casual demeanor, almost offended by the question the teleporter had raised. “I wait here for the cue, don’t drink anything, and when everybody is ready I bring down Parliament. Sounds pretty damned elementary.”
Her smile keeps to her face as her physical form begins to fade. Everything that is Amelia Voght disappears in a cloud that cannot even retain a uniform shape. “Good luck explaining your trespass,” her voice dissolves with her body in the heavily scented air.
Wasting no time, Dominic unlocks the deadbolt and with as much of an apathetic expression as he can muster, he walks past a crowd of women glaring at him. “Crazy broad,” he mutters below his breath as he speed-walks through the all too familiar sight of a consumer paradise littered with smiling yellow globes.
Electric doors slide away and the mutant does not look back into the store. He presses the earpiece into place, the only frequency Amelia had programmed it to receive produces the sound of the voice he figured Xavier would place in the lead of this little treason, “I’m in position Proudstar, what’s the count.”
A cloud moves into the room through the uninsulated doorframe, quickly it takes the shape of a human being, and Amelia Vogt steps out of her mist-state as flesh and blood. She takes a glance about the room, stuffed traveling bags are stacked near the door, “It’s done, and everything is in their place.”
“Good,” Charles Xavier whispers as though he’s mostly uninterested in the obvious statement. He moves his eyes off the maps and finally gives the woman in front of him the grace of his attention; Amelia Vogt is not pleased. “If you have something to say, then come out with it.”
Xavier’s voice is annoyed over her position, firmly against the course of action. Amelia had done everything she was asked. Now there was almost no turning back, “Don’t give that signal,” she says “disband your little group, there’s got to be another way.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Think of all the people, Charles. Or has it been so long putting up your act that you’ve forgotten how?”
His eyes close for a moment, “Amelia, this passive-aggressive stance of yours is tiring. If you disagree with my methods then I suggest you take your leave.”
“Listen to yourself!” Her accusation flies from her mouth as poison, “the almighty Charles Xavier! Do as he commands or move from his way. His Will, Shall Be Done!”
“That’s enough!”
He starts to speak again; but, a stray thought he siphons from Amelia’s’ mind bring something more than worry. “You knew all along Amelia, don’t pretend any of this is new.”
The door opens. Without speaking a word, a familiar and dreadful sight walks into the room, the color drains from Xavier’s face, the passionate argument fades without an echo. Charles Xavier looks into the smug face of the eye-patched man, knowing he'd been betrayed. Silence falls about the room quickly, the mutant ambassador does not have to guess how deeply rooted his betrayal sits, as Amelia Vogt wears well the guilt upon her face.
"It's been a long time, Chuck." Nick Fury's words are as smug as his expression. A new color scheme of red and grey fits the militaristic patches on each shoulder. However, the silver stars attached to each collar of the uniform catch Xavier's eye.
"I thought you'd given up this life, Nicolas?" Xavier tries to force his formal speech to continue, but his shaking hands aid only the futility.
He does not wait for an invitation, he simply walks in and takes a seat in an abandoned chair, propping his feet atop the stack of maps on Xavier's table. "Quite the busy bee you've been, but then again you were always on the move."
Amelia stands without speaking a word. Not feeling the need to say anything that hadn't been implied, she leaves the small cottage. The open door revealing the battalion of armed soldiers waiting outside the small house. "You brought your whole pack of dogs, I see."
Fury shakes his head, "I don't play all my cards in a single hand Charles, and you should know that by now."
"Right, of course." Xavier’s head tilts to the sky, “I should have known, Corbo was too easily convinced to my cause.”
"Now I have a small team in Genosha as a clean up crew making sure you don't make more of a mess in this region. The rest of the world is making my job enough of a pain in the ass, you're the last person I need trouble from."
"So," Xavier coughs, clearing his throat, "you're policing the world, then?"
Fury laughs aloud, pulling a cigar from a pocket inside his jacket, "Don't pretend to be naive Xavier, it doesn't suit you. You know as well as I do, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been policing the whole damned world since it started -- it just happens to work better when I'm at the wheel."
"Yes, I heard something about the destruction an entire division felt," Xavier smiles and his comment aims for Fury's throat, "I understand it took the actions of a former pupil of mine to save S.H.I.E.L.D. from itself."
"Actually, two of your loose cannons, Chuck. Two men that we agreed a long time ago that the X-Men were supposed to keep under control."
"The only name I recall hearing of was Rankin's."
"Rankin," Fury smirks, "Talk about a man who would sell you out faster than an indebted gambler looking to pawn his mother."
"But, Amelia?"
Fury's feet touch the ground, so that he may lean in closer to the mutant, "She played her part. Trust me; a lot of people are willing to do a lot more than you'd think to stay out of the Vault."
"You aim to imprison me, then?"
"A lot more than that, Chuck." Fury stands if only to speak down to the Wheelchair bound telepath. His unlit cigar dangling between two fingers, "As of here and now, you've been stripped of your American Citizenship, your assets are frozen, your property seized and your prized soldier -- who was supposed to keep Jean Grey in line -- is marked for arrest."
"And the others?"
The Brigadier General scowls at the comment "Don't get me started on Drake. You just stood by, letting him duke it out with Grey in broad daylight. If she hadn’t decimated the entire population of that town, I'd be looking at one hell of a disaster." His anger showing in his face at an instant, "You and I both agreed before you started this nonsense that you would keep those two in line!"
"Bobby knows?"
"He's got a good goddamned idea!" A finger lashes out at the seated man, slung like the saliva that leaves Fury's lips, "you know Sinister is interested with Drake now, don't you? It's not just Summers and Grey anymore, that cat is out of the bag. And thanks to you, snowballs finally have a shot in hell. Yesterday while Grey and Drake tore down the Alaskan Tundra, the whole world suffered a fifteen-degree drop in temperature. At least Summers has enough sense to sedate the son of a bitch."
Xavier's head falls for a moment, slowly rising to stare Fury in the eye, "he suffers from a severe case of self doubt; there is little chance of him becoming the threat you think he will."
"Yeah well," Fury calms himself, "he took care of the Grey problem, hopefully on a permanent basis this time around. We'll see if he can control himself unlike the majority of your nut bags."
“If it weren’t for my students, your problems would be much worse than you think they are now.”
Xavier's voice is a cool monotone, apathy oozes out of his words. Fury, filled to the rim with anger, as his accusations lay out on the table. "You don't get it do you?" The mutants' face remains unchanged as Fury spits, "You've been branded a criminal almost on the same level as Magneto! All the shit I've let you get away with, the destruction your X-Men have caused, all the memories you've wiped clean! Xavier you're going to a place much worse than just the Vault. If you ever see the light of day again, I'll die from shock."
Fury's admissions his hard, as Xavier's faces turns from uncaring to concern; he's taken aback by the thought of where he'll end up. "So that's it then?" His voice declares his concern, a shaky tone barely holding his words together. "For all the work I've done all the sacrifices I've made? To be locked away like a common criminal?"
"Oh no, Charles." Fury's response is as devoid emotion as is Xavier's earlier monotone. "From here on out, you're a danger to the entire world, where you're going there are no bars to confine you. For people like you, few know a specific place of and fewer visits. I'd venture to guess that the Negative Zone would be more comfortable than the Purgatory I have to send you to."
"I'm sorry then, for all it is worth."
The end of his cigar falls to the ground, "Charles, your powers won't...."
Fury halts his speech as if he stops breathing altogether. "Of course my powers will work. I'm the one who convinced you that Sentinel Technologies would dampen mutant ability to begin with." Xavier informs the unresponsive Nick Fury. He takes the cigar away and snuffs out the lighter. "It's mind over matter after all. And who is better at any of that than I?"
Charles brings his chair around Fury. Parking it not far from the table, he takes a second look at the almost plastic appearance the career soldier wears. "You really shouldn't believe everything you read Nicolas." Xavier almost laughs and stands from the wheelchair without delay or hesitation. "I have much left to do, and I'm sorry this had to occur to allow me to continue my work."
Just as if he existed out of time, Charles Xavier, the world-renowned peacemaker, walks out of the cottage's front door an international fugitive. "Amelia, my dear, take me to France." Mist forms around him as he finishes his request as an almost mystified woman moves completely helpless to Xavier's will.
The two vanish from sight, as battalions of soldiers stand by, frozen and completely unaware.
Xavier?” Proudstar spoke nervously into the static background broadcast into his ear. “Respond, damnit.”
The silence in his ear was unnerving without reason to think otherwise. Warpath knew something wasn’t right. Feeling exposed, he moved toward the crowd not fifty yards from him as Xavier’s plan began to feel faulted, “Petros?” Warpath’s uneasiness compounds when no other channel is able to connect.
“Problems with your radio, Sugah?”
The voice and its accent – her American southern – doesn’t need a name. Nor does he have to wonder why the woman behind him has sought him out. “Sold out, weren’t we?”
“Lets do this quietly, James.” The woman’s voice sounds with a sort of sympathy, “There ain’t no need for violence.”
“The X-Men…” his comment stops as he turns to see Rogue wearing a red and grey uniform, a S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on each shoulder lets him know he’s not in the same kind of trouble he originally thought. “You’re not here on Summers’ behalf?”
“Nope.”
“I’m in some deep shit then?”
“Yup.”
Her arms crossed, emerald eyes stare down the muscular man called Warpath. “James Proudstar, on the authority of S.H.I.E.L.D. you are under arrest.”
“I’m not going down easy.”
“You shouldn’t talk anymore.” Rogue uncrosses her arms and tightens her fists, “You’re not going to win.”
Proudstar smirks, “I’ve always been somewhat curious, ever wonder who was better.” He taunts the beautiful woman in an almost skin tight body glove. “Me or you?”
“You know I’m stronger.”
The streets had cleared almost as soon as the other mutant had taken to the scene, something of a relieving sight for both the mutants. “I like a strong woman,” Proudstar taunts a second time, his knuckles turn white. “Show me what you got, sweetheart.”
He takes stride, brandishing a large knife though he knows the blade would never pierce her skin. The former X-Man throws up her fists in defense, knocking Proudstar’s blade away from her face. She stays on the defensive, concentrating on discouraging Warpath.
“What’s wrong?” He laughs through Rogue’s defenses, striking her pretty face hard. “Already know your place and I don’t have to show it to you?”
Her teeth show in a smile, “You’ve got a long way to dominate me, sugah.”
The smack of bone and skin can be heard easily. His fist finds a way through her blocks, his center knuckle cracks against the woman’s face. Dazed, she steps with his blow, and he comes up with another. Rogue’s body is lifted off the ground, her teeth clenched to avoid her tongue, but she barely has time to react to his speed. Warpath’s fist comes down; barreling through the air it comes to a dead stop.
She doesn’t say anything to egg him on any further, she’s all business and pushes Warpath’s fist back and around his hulking frame. His strength hardly aids him in being much more than an obstacle to Rogue’s, his elbow pops with a painful crack as she jerks the man’s arm between his should blades. “Say uncle.”
“I don’t suppose this is much of a contest anymore,” she laughs to his groans, giving the man another jolt to his arm. “So what do you think, Jimmy? Who do you think is better now?”
“Me, of course.”
She laughs it off, as there is no question to his delusion. “What makes you think that?”
“Because,” his free hand reaches to the belt buckle, he pulls a small cylinder off the attachment and with a quick swing of his arm he extends a lead bar outward. “It’s a little too bad you don’t fight dirty,” Warpath laughs, “you might have gotten me excited.”
The bar comes around and with a twitch of his finger; a blue lightning comes out of the rounded tip. Rogue cries out as the electricity tears at her nerves, her grip tightening for but a second and then quickly releasing, she falls to her knees out of breath and dazed.
He stands over her; the weapon is thrown to the ground; discharged and useless. I told you, gorgeous. I don’t give in easy.”
She looks up, every muscle in her body aching. “And I told you, you should really stop talkin’.” She gets to her feet and smiles, “Oh and about fighting dirty?”
“Yeah?”
A flash of light fills the air, as thunder rumbles their eardrums. Proudstar would have screamed out with pain if the noise of expanding air hadn’t drowned out all the other sounds around their ears. A man with a slight build helps Rogue to her feet, his voice not quickly coming into focus as he snaps his fingers, “…Major? You ok?”
“Don’t call me that,” she says, shaking off the pain, “Took you long enough Chris,” the ringing of her ears trying to subside she takes the man’s hand. Helping her to her feet, the pair of identically dressed mutants stands over their defeated target. “I’m surprised that move worked almost on the guy who doesn’t wear metal headgear.”
“Avalanche is down for the count too?”
Chris Bradley, the former New Warrior called Bolt laughs, “Yeah, he’ll have a hell of a headache for about a week, but he’s definitely down for a long count.”
“Xavier’s crew is on the run,” Rogue speaks into her comm.-link, “Radius, what is the situation with Rolling Thunder?”
His voice comes through loud, her ears still sensitive, and she gives the younger mutant a harsh glare. “She’s in the bag, boss lady.” Radius gloats, “Scanner wasn’t a bit of trouble either.”
“Good, back to the transport people, we’re headed home.”