Continued from yesterday:
MacAllister flew to the floor in a crumpled heap, barely conscious thanks to a sharp rap on the head from Spiral. Scott bent down to feel for a broken skull, and glowered up at the six-armed woman. However decent that Nightcrawler fellah was, his associate left more than a little to be desired.
“My teammate?”
Kurt gestured with the hand not containing his sword, and Alex appeared on cue, bundled in through a side door by a kid that looked suspiciously like a declawed moggy. And a pissed-off one, at that.
Alex scowled at their captors, rejoining h7is brother with a cuss and a rub at his own cranium where a suspicious lump was starting to form.
If all this went to plan, then he’d have a lot more than just a bump to the head to worry about.
“We’re agreed, then?” said Kurt, smiling through his accent. “We fight, no quarter given aside from the taking of a life or wounding to that later effect?”
“You make it sound like a business arrangement.” Scott gritted his teeth, ignoring the strange look Alex gave him in favour of focussing on their adversaries. “OK, we fight, and if we make it out of this place with the General, we get to keep him. That sit right with you?”
Kurt, ever the performer and never the idiot, quickly pieced together the act for the younger X-Man, and fell into his role like a pro. “Jawohl, but only if you manage to defeat us sans powers. We shall keep up our side of the bargain, and Leech will make sure you honour yours in kind. No mutant abilities throughout from either side. Agreed.”
Alex rolled up his proverbial sleeves and helped Scott hoist MacAllister to his feet. “And the reason we’re doing this without powers is…?”
“Because we stay the guests of Professor Squid[2] over there if we don’t,” Scott bit back.
“Ah.”
Kurt took out his sword and tossed it aside with a clatter, assuming a hand-to-hand fighting posture. Either side of him, Marrow and Spiral did likewise, the former without her usual array of knives but plus a heck of bad attitude she was just itching to vent on *somebody*. The fact that they’d already faced her in battle and lost - as a tag-team - was not an encouraging thought. To one side, Leech sat on a pile of empty crates, watching intently.
“Begin!” Kurt cried, and both Marrow and Spiral bounded forward in attack formation.
Scott hefted MacAllister onto Alex and hopped into Spiral’s line of attack, forcing her to meet his fist with one of her own. “Sorry little bro.” Another punch, and another hand closed around it, spinning him around in a circle until his head connected to a supporting concrete strut.
“You talk big, but you fight small, little man,” Spiral grinned as Scott took a step back, holding his skull.
“I know you are, but what am I?” Scott faked left to intercept Marrow, whipping a foot out to topple her backwards, and then spinning around to face Spiral again. She snarled, and launched herself at him. “Whoops.” Scott dodged sideways, letting her carry herself forward and then tripping her at the last second with a pseudo-nonchallant whistle. “Oops-a-daisy. Clumsy me.”
“Indeed.” Kurt latched onto Scott’s back, wrapping his legs around his chest from behind and locking a strong arm around the X-Man’s throat. Scott almost fell backwards, but regained his balance, only to find himself suddenly *very* short of breath.
Spiral was up and pummeling at his exposed stomach before he could move, and Scott grunted as he tensed his midriff muscles to stave off the true force of her blows.
Alex, however, was in no position to help his sibling, having been forced to the edge of the pit where the incredible, as yet still unexplained octopus waited. Marrow pressed her advantage, using the fact that he still had to practically carry MacAllister to force him backwards even more, until Alex’s toes balanced on the edge of the precipice.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he snapped, hefting the bleary General across his shoulders in a practised fireman’s lift. He then proceeded to spin around, lurching at Marrow so that one of the mans flailing feet caught her across her jaw, just before his hand did likewise. She teetered on the brink of the pit, their roles suddenly reversed, and Alex stopped long enough to grin his patented grin at her.
“Ladies first.” A short nudge to the abdomen was all it needed for her to go sailing into the depths, and she landed with a splash and a savage snarl of pure anger at the mutant also known as Havok.
Scott gasped at the pressure around his neck compared to the pain flaring in across his gut, and backed up sharply, hoping to dislodge Nightcrawler by cracking his spine against the concrete struts. They connected, but Kurt held on grimly.
Somewhere, he could hear Alex calling. “Remember was Wolverine always beat into us, Scooter-boy. Use what you got.”
What he had? All he had was a furry blue parasite choking him and a potential winner of the National Miss Badass Awards. Unless…
Scott’s hands flew from where they wer trying to remove Kurt’s arm and whipped off the visor Leech’s power made useless. He promptly reached back and whacked Nightcrawler over the head with it, and in the few precious seconds the elf saw stars, twisted free and landed a good, solid punch to Spiral’s ribcage. she let out all her air in a sudden whoosh, and Scott tucked his foot behind hers to send her flying onto her posterior in spectacular style.
Then Alex was there grabbing his arm, and they were running out of the door and along a featureless tunnel as if their lives depended on it. Which it felt like they did.
“Nice moves, Scooter.”
“Shut up and keep running. We’re not in the clear yet.”
“Gotcha. Feet don’t fail me now!”
~
“Damn this dude’s heavy…”
“Tell you what, bro,” said Scott. “Next time, *I* carry the hostage and *you* get beat up.”
“It’s cool, I’m okay.”
“Glad to hear it.” Scott paused to breathe. “Now where the hell are we?”
“Next right… run for the light…” whispered a distinctly Germanic voice. Scott barely picked out twin lights in the dark.
“The hell was *THAT*?” said Alex.
“Don’t argue with it. *RUN*!”
They did, and emerged into a Staff Only area of the New York subway system, and from there, into the bustle of ordinary street life.
It made the news. Of course.
A thousand homes in America saw Cyclops looking like he’d lost an argument with a room ful of angry thugs, and his brother Havok hanging on to the ass of another man.
~
Professor Xavier looked grave. The collection of children before him collectively swallowed and exchanged worried looks. Xavier was known to be fathery, and maybe a little annoyed at times. Like when their powers accidentally got out of control and damaged something around the mansion, or when they played their music too loud. Never before had they seen his this way.
He looked positively… angry.
“I won’t beat about the bush. I’m very angry with you children.”
There you go.
Rogue swallowed and scuffed her foot. She’s hoped that, when they arrived back at the Institute and dispersed to their rooms without being stopped, they’d been in the clear. Then the telepathic order to assemble in their benefactor’s office had arrived, and it had been all she could do not to choke on her tongue in fear.
“We’re sorry, Professor. We didn’t mean to do anything wrong. We were just trying to help, y'know?”
“Nobody else was gonna go take care of those Legion dudes.” Tabby squared her jaw, but even she looked abashed. “We figured, y'know, kids on kids would be fine. We thought we’d… we’d…”
“Go off and play hero without my permission or even the common decency to *tell* me what you were up to?”
They shrank back, and somewhere to Rogue’s right she could hear Jamie starting to sniffle. Rahne reached over to grasp his little hand, but kept her silence. After all, they none of them knew exactly how much Xavier knew of their evening’s exploits. Having a telepath around would do that to you.
The Professor looked at them each in turn, his gaze penetrating. Then he sank back in his chair, breath leaving his lungs in a jaded whoosh. “I was very worried about all of you. You know the reason Scott and the others do what they do - why they’re X-Men.”
“The common good?” Tabby bit her lip.
“To protect *you*. And this evening you negated all of their efforts by voluntarily placing yourselves in the path of danger. Not to mention seriously jeapordising a delicate political ituation with brute force and mindless action.”
Jubilee bowed her head. “We’re… we’re sorry, Professor.” Then she looked up at him nervously. “Are you gonna punish us now?”
~
“I want you all to write a six-page essay - single-spaced, double-sided mind you - on the potential consequences of your actions tonight. *All* of the potential consequences, including the political ramifications. Then, after due consideration, I want you to tell me what sort of reparations you wish to make.”
As one mutant, the kids swallowed. Every single one of them *knew* that you couldn’t lie to a telepath.
“Essay-thing hard *enough*,” complained Catseye. “No write speaky-speak too good…”
“Do your best,” said Xavier. “An honest effort is all that I expect from any of you. A *completely* honest effort.”
Rogue bit her lip. She was the one who’d been ‘helping’ Catseye with her English papers. _Eeep._
There was, these days, always a television tuned to the news chanel somewhere in almost every room. Every ear in the mansion was keyed to pay attention whenever the word 'mutant’ was said by a spokesperson on CNN.
That word was said now.
They all turned. Someone upped the volume.
“…General MacAllister, recent hostage of the Legion of the Unwanted.” Footage played. “We see our heroes, here. Cyclops, leading the way, and Havok, close behind… carrying the unconscious General. All three heroes are currently being examined in New York’s finest hospital, and our sources say that the X-Man Cyclops seems to be the man of the hour. He came in with his entire torso covered in bruises.”
“That headline again,” said his co-compare. “Mutant heroes the X-Men save General MacAllister.”
~
Warren sank to his knees in relief, his breath coming fast and harsh in his lungs. He found himself smiling inanely at the TV newscaster as he continued his message.
'That,’ he gasped, 'was close!’
'Oui,’ said Gambit, 'too close, but we’re not out of the forest yet, there’s still your father.’
Warren nodded, 'some action must be taken, I don’t know what, but something.’
'Mr Corban managed to gain Nightcrawlers… mercy, by repenting what he did,’ said Storm thoughtfully, 'perhaps he your father were to do similar…’
Warren was shaking his head, 'my father is nothing if not stubborn, even if he came to realize he’d done wrong, he’d not admit to it. No, I think there is only one way of sorting this mess out. But I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all…’
With these words Warren turned and spred his wings, 'I’m going back to talk to him,’ he said, 'don’t follow.’
And with this he took off into the night.
~
“…General MacAllister, recent hostage of the Legion of the Unwanted.” The footage played in a dark and dismal room. “We see our heroes, here. Cyclops, leading the way, and Havok, close behind… carrying the unconscious General. All three heroes are currently being examined in New York’s finest hospital, and our sources say that the X-Man Cyclops seems to be the man of the hour. He came in with his entire torso covered in bruises.”
“THREE heroes?!” Spiral snarled. “THREE?! They’re calling that sack of fucking shit a hero? What the fuck did that son of a bitch do that was heroic?!”
“Mind the language, Spiral.” Nightcrawler said in a low, even whisper. “There are children present.” She spun on him, but could tell by the set of his jaw, the bright glare of his slitted eyes, the tightness of his shoulders, he was just as pissed off about this as she was. “They are just words…”
“Words!?” She yelled. “That f…riken creep kidnaps and tortures babies and he’s dubbed a hero. And you…who take in babies no one wants…feeds them, clothes them…while half starving yourself in the process…and you’re labelled a monster!”
“And the most layable mutant on earth.” Tech added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood and halt the brewing furfural that was brewing between the pair. He’d seen it happen before. They were both very passionate people, very much given to speaking their minds, EXTREMELY vocal. Why they hadn’t put that passion to more practical uses was beyond him. Spiral wasn’t exactly coy about what she wanted to do with their leader, but he just kept pushing her away…
The pair turned on him, just as he predicted. “Seems the fans weren’t fooled one whit about that.” He pointed at the screen. “They figure you were honouring your agreement…and trying to save face by letting the X-Chumps outta here with the jerk…your tally’s gone through the roof!” He beamed as he brought up the website. The artist impression of Nightcrawler now graced the front page. A magnificently rendered portrait of a devastatingly handsome, but pensive, man in various shades of blue.
“Someone’s idealising…” Nightcrawler arched a brow.
“Or maybe they see you the way you are…not the way you think you are…” Tech shrugged.
“Believe me, boss…” Spiral smirked. “Under all that rage and hostility…you’re a babe!”
“You should see what the girls write about you…” Tech said. “Some guys too…but mostly girls…they make you out to be some kind of Adonis… and what they’d like to do to you…” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. He frowned when Nightcrawler’s hand went to the ring at his throat, blue fingers closing on it gently. They had all wondered about it, but no one had the balls enough to ask about it…
“Will you just turn that bloody thing off…” He shook his head sadly and walked away.
~
Three seconds after Nightcrawler turned the TV off:
“And now we have a chance for an exclusive interview with the man of the hour, Cyclops. A quick recap for those who weren’t watching: Our three heroes, Cyclops, Havok, and the General, have just escaped from the Legion of the Unwanted. What do you have two say for yourself, Cyclops?”
“Three heroes? The General kidnapped little children and ran experiments on them. He took away their names and tattooed numbers on them instead. Why are you calling him a hero?”
“…Anyway, after your harrowing ordeal with the evil Nightcrawler, what do you think of the sinister army of the Legion? How will you keep them from taking over our homes?”
“I don’t think they want to take over our homes. And they’re not an army. I fought a few individuals who were protecting the rest. Most of them are children.”
“So, they steal chi-”
“No. They take those thrown out or chased away. Even many children who could pass for normal have been beaten or even killed because someone found out they were different. Most of them couldn’t pass.”
“So this makes what they did ok, understandable?”
“Of course it’s not ok. But it is understandable. They were trying to stop men from putting them in modern day concentration camps.”
*
Throughout most of the interview the reporter had been waiting for his station to cut off the interview with some kind of “breaking news.” They could certainly find something somewhere. The live light finally blipped off, at the worst possible moment. Why had his station cut him off there?
*
Back at the station everything had been in an uproar. Apparently the computers were stuck and the interview couldn’t get cut off, no matter what they did. When they finally did manage to cut off the interview, they realized it was at the worst possible moment. And Forge quietly left the building.
~
Warren Worthington II jiggled his Gold Express card in the lock of the door. In theory, he should have popped the lock in a second. It did *look* easy on television.
However, television endlessly simplified things for its own convenience.
{Whoosh}
“Father.”
“Come to your senses, eh?” Warren senior gloated. “Blood’s thicker than water. I know. Now if you could give me a lift to the penthouse….”
“Where are they?”
“What?”
“The secret bases where you did things. Where are they? Where are the people? Where are the muties you hurt every day? Where are they, Father?”
“Is this how *mutants* show gratitude?” he demanded. “I gave you food, clothing and shelter. I kept you safe from people who would’ve ripped you apart! And what do you do? You want to free the freaks that could have made you *normal*!”
“And the normal scientists you were going to kill, too,” said Warren. “You can’t forget them. Or have you already done so? Cut your losses for the bottom line?” Warren looked bloody furious. “Well, *Dad*, my ROI *sucks*.”
*
Warren flew over the city and tried not to weep. A man he’d idolised was evil. And a devil had shown him that truth.
Well, the office didn’t know everything. Not yet. He still had access to everything in Worthington Industries. He only stopped to grab a coat and conceal himself in a handy alley before he marched into the high-rise’s door. “Doing some research on holdings,” he told the doorman. “Could be a while.”
If Father was the bookkeeper he knew, there would be a record of the bases somewhere. Somehow.
He just had to find it.
Somehow.
~
Warren searched the office for nearly two hours, by which time sunlight was shining strong through the office windows. It was nearly 8am, soon office workers would be coming in, soon his cover would be blown.
He had looked almost *EVERYWHERE* but there was nothing to be found. He returned to the first place he looked, his fathers office. This was the obvious hiding place for the informaiton, but maybe his father had been more cunning than expected.
He opend on of the desk draws and riffled through it again, his hand came into contact with something hard, slender, rectangular.
Warren fished it out of the cuttered desk draw, it was a photograph in a golden frame. His heart skipped a beat. The photo showed his father, his mother, and him at a fishing resort. It had been taken when he was twelve, he’d remembered the day well. He’d been so happy, it wasn’t often his dad found free time from the office to look after his family. The only dissapointment had been the heavy jumper he had been forced to wear in the blazing sun. At the time when the photo had been taken his wings were still new, small, and could be hidden in such a way. Later there would be no more fishing trips, just journies to various doctors and surgeons.
Swallowing the uncomfortable lump that seemed to have suddenly appeared his his throat, Warren made to put the photo down. Then he stopped, and picked the photo up again, something was wrong. He weighed the photo and frame in his hands, it’s weight… it was… it wasn’t right.
Acting on a hunch, Warren carefully took the back of the frame and, sure enough, between the frame backing and the back of the photo was a disk.
Grabbing the disk Warren slid it into a nearby computer and clicked on the A drive.
Then he cursed loudly.
It needed a password.
He tried several combonations, having learned many of his fathers already, but none seemed successful.
Suddenly, a memmory sprang into his head… his father had been doing this to save mankind, to try to stop them 'following the jews to the gasschamers,’ or some such nonsense. Perhaps that was a clue…
He tried 'Gass Chamber,’ 'Concentration Camps,’ and even 'Alchwitz,’ but none of them worked.
In desperation he typed in 'Nie Wieder’ and found himself gaping in supprised shock when it worked.
He scanned the contents, at several points he found himself feeling quite sick. Then, at about half-past 8, he slipped the disk into his trousers and left the building.
*
An hour later Worthington Senior was to recieve a rather unpleasent surprise from his son.
He stared in mute horror as Warren Worthington Junior slammed down a small file of his top secret mutant dealings on the table.
'How…’
'Doesn’t matter.’ Said Angel, 'what matters is that not only do I have a copy of all your nasty little dealings, but in… oh… a very short time so will be sent to the Daily Planet, the New York Times, The Bugel, and several other choice newspapers.’
His father’s face was turning red.
'How *could* you,’ he hissed, 'you’re my *son!*’
'No,’ replied Warren smoothly, 'no I’m not. See, I’ve come to understand something. I was never your son, not really. The only thing that was ever your son was the business, Worthington Industries. I don’t know how much you care about me, I don’t know how much you care about yourself. Shit, I don’t even know how much you actually care about humanity, but you would give *anything* for Worthington Industries. And after this stuff’s out public opinion will turn very nasty indeed, as will the law. Before you know it, Worthington Industries will be a distant memmory.’
Worthington II licked his lips nervously, 'fine,’ he whispered, 'fine then, you want a deal? Right? How’s this, 1 million dollars to you, and… and I promsie to ditch the project, get them to turn the mu-those kids free. Heck, I’ll even throw in half a million to that Nightcrawler creature. Is that what you want? Is that what it’ll take to get you to keep a secret?’
Warren shook his head.
'No dad,’ he spat, 'that only takes care of today, not tomorrow. That money will run out eventually, and sooner or later you’ll invest in another ani-mutant cause, and I may not find out about this one. No, I want make this… long term…’
'Well, what is it you want?’
Warren took a deep breath.
'The deal is this,’ he said, 'you retire early, step down, and I take your place, as is proper. You keep a seat on the executive council, and a very large pay-packet, but I get the overall power, to do with as I wish. In return I promise to act as is best for Worthington Industries, I’ll keep the information a secret and pass it onto no one except my successor who, at this point, remains undisclosed, to do with as he or she wishes. Should I die within the next five years then the information goes straight to the papers.’
There was silence, Worthington senior soaked up the words carefully.
'So,’ he said at last, 'you want control of Worthington Industries. And I dare say you’ll use a lot of that control to aid your fellow mutant freaks, right?’
Warren was silent. To an outside observer there seemed to be a battle of wills going on in this small room, father verses son in the ancient struggle of succession.
'Very well,’ Worthington Senior said at last, 'I agree with you terms, but one one condition.’
'Name it.’
'You may run this company for freaks, but it won’t be run by one. You do this, and I want those wings removed. You can see the surgion within the hour, the operation is only two hours long.
At midday, if you have those wings removed, then I shall step down and declare you my heir. That is my condition.’
Warren turned, and glanced out at the bright sky, looked out upon the busy city from on high. He considered his choice, reaching under his overcoat to touch his soft wings, as if savouring their feel.
'Very well,’ he said at last, deep sadness in his voice, 'take me to the surgeon.'
~
Warren headed out for one last trip around the city before they left. He felt like his heart was breaking. His father saw this as fixing him. He saw it as self-mutilation. But he would do that and so much more to keep Worthington Industries from starting up experiments like that again. He could just hand the disk to the press, but he really didn’t want to do that. He loved his father in spite of all the man had done. He returned to the tower a bit early with the intention of finding out exactly when the appointment was so he could fly until then. When he returned he heard his father on the phone, talking in the tone of voice he’d learned meant his father planned on doing something underhanded. He had been about to knock, but instead he flew back outside and perched on the ledge just ouside his father’s open window, and listened.
“Yes, I’m sure it will work. Junior has no idea how big the company has gotten. He doesn’t pay attention to such things.”
Warren suddenly felt cold.
“Just transfer most of the resources to Northton International. The buy-out hasn’t been made public yet, and I’ll just take it out of the loop. He’ll never know the difference. I’ll have to deal with a different company name, but my son will be normal. Can you imagine the field day the media would have if they ever found out?”
Warren felt sick. Is that all he was to his father? and inconvenience? He’d heard enough. He couldn’t bear to listen any longer, or to face his father. He left as silently as he came, tears blurring his vision on his way out. Whether they were from heartbreak or rage, not only Warren could say. He just knew he had to get his head together. His father was a conniver, and unless he had his head in the game one hundred percent he would lose out. What was he going to do now? Even if he made the disk public his father would just transfer his resources to Northton or some other company he bought out. Everything would go on as before. What could he do?
*
Elsewhere, Forge looked at the information Warren had found. Who would have guessed that as long as a computer was physically plugged in to a networking cable it would be possible to hack into anything on the computer, even if the cable was supposed to be inactive? Ever since he’d found out about Worthington’s part in the experiments he’d been monitering the man twenty-four seven. He’d even designed this little artificial insect with a cam and mike imbedded inside. Old spy films could give someone like him the _best_ ideas. He had the information on the disk and he’d had the chance to watch and record both the two Worthington’s deal and the father’s backstabbing.
He’d have to find a way to get this information to the younger Worthington. He took a closer look at the footage. Or maybe not. There was part or a wing peeking around the edge of the window, and no bird had feathers that large. It seems he could afford to remain in the background.
A pity he hadn’t been able to find out about the research facilities earlier. He had managed to get some video footage of the experiments, but had yet to find out where the holding facilities were, until Warren found the disk. But Warren could take care of that without him. This information would just go in with the rest of the mutant torture files he’d found but been too late to change. Right next to Weapon X.
~
“An inconvenience, am I?” Warren was flying blind, what with the tears in his eyes. “That’s all I ever was, wasn’t I?” He wiped his eyes with his free hand, the other one clutching the disk. “Well I have two words.”
He took a deep breath. “FUCK YOU!”
There, in the square, predictably public, as were all X-Men press conferences, was another media circus.
“I’ll show you how big an inconvenience I *really* am!”
He landed right near the mike. “Can I cut in?”
Bemused and grinning, Jean Grey bowed him in. The cameras were flashing like a hyperactive storm on fast forward. Warren cleared his throat. “My name is Warren Worthington the third, and I am a mutant. My father, Warren Worthington the second, doesn’t want me to be a mutant, and has funded a series of secret bases, where mutants are being held captive.” He held up the disk. “I have all the information about it right here. The password - ironically - is 'Nie wieder’.”
Flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash…
“Once upon a time, people were put in camps. They had numbers tatooed on their arms. They had experiments performed upon them as if they were *less* than lab rats.” Warren wiped his face. “While I am alive. While I have the right to make my own decisions… that is *NOT* going to happen again. I would like to announce my commitment to the Humane Foundation. I just made that up…” he laughed, briefly. It was hollow. “I own a block of buildings in downtown New York, and they are going to become my base of operations for the Humane foundation.”
Flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash flash…
“It’s not *just* for mutants. It’s for people who do not want to fight. For people who do *NOT* wish to see numbers tattooed on anyone else’s arms. For people who just want–” He had to stop and wipe his face. Clear his throat. “For people who just want to live their lives as always. Whether they’re mutant, or human. We’re all *people*… we have a constitutional right to be free.”
Flashes continued to blind him. He had to hold on to the podium to steady himself. “I’ve been hiding for far too long. Never again.”
Jean Grey gently guided him to a seat and helped him open the disk on a laptop. A few keypresses began to show things to the media that would quickly be censored on the re-broadcast.
“My father wanted to do this to me,” he whispered.
“Nie weider,” soothed Jean. “Nie wieder.”
~