Fandom X-Men Second Class IC

[Scatterbrain]

Tom couldn't wait any longer, he didn’t know how much time he had before Nightmare noticed his presence. He moved quickly, darting between sand dunes, until he reached the edge of the fence. As he prepared to rip it apart with his mutant strength, he heard a chilling laugh from behind. Turning around, he saw the shadowy figure of the executioner raised a clawed hand, and before he could react, a wave of dark energy slammed into him, wrenching him from the mindscape.

---

Tom groaned as Nightmare’s realm gave way to the reality of the Institute’s hallways. Though his skin was still wrinkled, his hair grey, strength had returned to his limbs, not the full breadth of his mutant power, but enough to move. Pulling himself upright against the wall, Tom staggered forward towards Cerebro. Whatever Nightmare was doing, it was centred there. The others would be fighting, holding the line, and as much as Tom doubted he could be of much help in his current state, he couldn’t stand by and let the monster win.

Entering Cerebro, the sounds of battle hit him first. Shouts, cries of pain, the twisting of metal and in the centre of it was the shadowy form of Charles Xavier, laughing. The sound sent Tom's blood boiling and his body responded with a surge of strength. Spotting Charles/Nightmare approaching Cerebro's main console, Tom attempted to stop him, only to find his path cut off by a sheet of ice. He turned to see Bobby, his eyes black and hands raised against him.

Tom didn't want to fight him, his mind flashing back to the vision. His baton, the bloodied face of the mutant he’d beaten and the enjoyment he’d taken from it. He clenched his fists, banishing the thought. He didn't want to hurt Bobby unless he absolutely had to. The creature controlling the professor was his enemy, not him but the young mutant didn't seem to be giving him much choice. “Bobby, listen to me...” Tom said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “I'm not your enemy. Don’t make me do this.”

 

[lillymity]

Logan stood in the cage, shirtless and gleaming with sweat under the dim, flickering lights. His fists were clenched, bloodied knuckles flexing as he paced in the confined space. Crusher Creel loomed ahead, a hulking brute of a man with fists like sledgehammers. The crowd was a deafening roar of drunken chants and curses, the stench of booze and testosterone choking the air. Logan snarled, his teeth bared like a predator toying with prey.

"Come on, big guy," he growled, rolling his shoulders. "You gonna dance, or you just a statue?"

Creel swung first — a wild haymaker that Logan sidestepped with ease. Logan's claws itched to extend, but he held back. He was here to blow off steam, not to kill. Not yet. He ducked under another swing, then drove a fist into Creel’s ribs, the sound of cracking bone lost in the cacophony.

"Is that all you got, champ ?" Logan taunted, his voice low and guttural.

The crowd erupted as Creel charged like a bull, slamming Logan into the cage wall. The metal groaned, but Logan just grinned through the pain. He headbutted Creel with brutal force, then followed with an uppercut that sent the bigger man staggering backward.

From the edge of the chaos, a voice pierced through.

"Logan, put this man out of his misery, and I might have a gig for you!"

Logan turned his head, catching sight of Charles Xavier’s smug expression near the front row.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, dodging another punch. He leaped forward, planting a knee into Creel's gut before driving him to the ground. With one more devastating punch to the jaw, Creel went limp, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Logan rose to his feet, the crowd screaming, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He spat blood onto the mat, his eyes locking onto Charles in the front row.

Back at the Cerebro the blur of Pietro Maximoff came at him with impossible speed. Logan barely had time to register the punch that landed square on his throat, forcing him to stumble back, gasping for air. Another barrage followed — dozens of strikes to his ribs, his face, his gut — all in the blink of an eye. Logan growled through the pain, feeling the unrelenting impact of each blow.

"Fast," Logan spat, blood dripping from his lip. "But not fast enough."

When Pietro came at him again, Logan dropped low, claws slicing upward in a desperate arc. He didn’t want to hurt a fellow mutant, but Pietro was possessed by this monster. Pietro dodged the strike but not completely; the faint scent of blood in the air told Logan he'd scored a glancing hit.

"First blood," Logan muttered, pushing himself upright despite his battered body.

Pietro zipped around him again, landing more punches. Logan’s healing factor fought to keep up, but Pietro’s relentless speed was overwhelming. Another blow to the temple sent Logan reeling to the edge of the platform, barely catching himself.

But Logan wasn’t done. When Pietro moved in for another flurry, Logan roared and swung his claws in a wide arc. This time, he caught Pietro’s side, the claws tearing through fabric and flesh. That would give Logan a moment to breathe.

"You’re fast, kid," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "but speed don’t mean jack if you don’t finish the job."

Despite the pain, Logan charged forward. His claws gleamed as he drove them downward, but Pietro vanished again, a blur of motion that left Logan striking empty air.

Then the world around Logan warped — an intrusive nightmare flooding his senses. He saw faces from his past, his victims, their screams echoing in his mind. His claws faltered mid-swing, and he dropped to one knee, clutching his head.

His body trembled, his vision blurred, but he staggered forward, claws still outstretched. Even as Pietro zipped around him again, even as the nightmare intensified, Logan kept moving.

 

[Goonfire]

Bobby sat at the booth, waiting. He looked disheveled, troubled, and tired; the past 24 hours had not been kind. One moment, he was protecting his girlfriend from a bully. The next, said bully was frozen up to his knees. The next, the sheriff coaxed him to come into protective custody.

A lynching mob had followed Bobby all the way from his home to the prison. Even if he was released, they were sure to beat him bloody for attacking such a 'saintly and upstanding young man'. Now he was the troublemaker and the bully.

"I thought I had a lawyer coming. Should've brought the National Guard with the way they're carrying on," Bobby sighed. "What're you gonna do for me, Charlie? I'm in here for my own protection, they said. You don't put a guy—sorry, a 'mutie'—behind bars if you just wanna protect him."

Bobby lay there, exhausted physically and mentally. That message went out to everyone, including his father... There was no way he could show his face in Floral Park again.

Visions and suggestions layered themselves over his thoughts. Leaps of logic and outright fallacies hooked his vulnerable mind as the entity coerced him to fight the others. Surely, his so-called friends were responsible for everything that happened. They delayed him from reaching the Professor. They leaked that information as a cruel joke. THEY were the real threats!

---

"You can call me Rogue. Ev'ryone does." The moniker had a sense of familiarity and comfort by now. She had been called that, even before she ran away from home. It stuck, gave her a cool edge and a sort of mystique—no pun intended. Her white-streaked hair was worn short at this time, and when she wasn't in her field uniform—a green-on-green monstrosity Mystique had issued her—it was usually something in a goth/punk style, her dark eyeliner and lipstick adding to the frosty vibe. She didn't necessarily care for the look, but it kept most folk away, and that was what she wanted for now.

She was surprised that she didn't have to plead her case. Many before her demanded to hear the story, and even then, it felt more like she was doing so for the sport.

When asked about a tour, she rose from her seat—a nonverbal 'yes'. "This's a big mansion. Ah'm never gonna remember it all, prolly never gonna go in half these rooms." This place and most of the people here intimidated her, though she wouldn't dare admit it aloud.

Rogue recoiled as Pietro zipped past her and down the shaft. "Well, here goes nothin'," she said, lifting off the ground and floating in after him. But before she could descend, an icy chill bit her skin. She soon found herself encased in ice from the neck down and plummeting to the bottom.

The ice shattered and Rogue left a dent in the elevator roof. It was a miracle the impact hadn't shaken anything else loose, and she was lucky to have the power to shrug off such a fall. Still, she was reeling.

When she gathered her faculties and looked up, she saw him coming closer, gliding down the cable. "Bobby? Bobby, no!" A boulder was forming underneath his feet. She slid through the emergency hatch and out into the hallway just as he dropped, smashing the elevator under the weight of the ice.

Frost swept along the walls and floor; he wasn't holding back. When he emerged from the wreck, he was transformed. His body was transparent and his fingers sharp claws. Narrow spikes grew from his back and shoulders.

Rogue swiftly lunged, ramming into him. For all the force she put into the blow, she merely staggered him. "Wake up...! Bobby, snap out of it!" she demanded as the two traded blows. She cracked his cheek while he gouged her side. His face slowly healed, though, as cold vapors condensed to fill in the cracks seamlessly.

"Snap out of what? You think I'm asleep, or maybe stupid? I SEE IT NOW! YOU ALL BETRAYED ME!" He roared, the entire hallway becoming coated in shimmering white under his wrath. It proved difficult to get one's footing, and staying in one place for too long meant getting stuck in the veritable glacier forming down here.

Reality soon faded to a stark white. Both Iceman and Rogue glanced around and gasped as their vision was engulfed.

 

[Arifutonautilus]

*Juggernaut's Onslaught* an hour into the chaos



I gripped my rifle tightly, scanning the horizon from the crumbling bunker's window. Our military base, once a beacon of order, now teetered on chaos' edge. Rumors spread like wildfire: Juggernaut, the unstoppable force, marched towards us.



Suddenly, the earth shuddered. Dust devils swirled, heralding the monster's arrival. Juggernaut emerged, his iconic helmet glinting like polished steel. His massive strides devoured distance, sending tremors through the ground.



"INCOMING!" I yelled.



Artillery blasts and tank fire erupted, shredding the air. Bullets and shrapnel pelted Cains armor pinging and ricocheting in different directions as Juggernaut laughed, the sound thundering through our defenses. He bulldozed tanks as if they were building blocks in the hands of a boisterous toddler. I swear I lost my shit when I seen him hurl a 80 ton missle truck atleast five miles south of the base the men running it screamed their last breathes fading on the winds before I heard the distance explosions



"KEEP FIRING!" “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THATS RIGHTEOUS KEEP FIRING!” our commander shouted.



But Juggernaut would not be slowed. I frowned harshly as i watched his smaller friend stand atop an overturned jeep shouting and laughing as if he was at some mad and twisted party and blasting strange heat waves from his staff



Our barracks crumbled, reduced to rubble. Panic spread as soldiers scrambled. I froze, transfixed by the unstoppable juggernaut.



His gaze locked onto our central command. "XAVIER'S FILE," he bellowed. "WHERE IS IT?"

“I SWEAR ILL KILL YOU ALL! “ILL FUCKING BURY THIS PLACE AND YOU ALL IN IT!”



Our commander, defiant, stood tall. "You'll never have it!"



“FINE BY ME! HAVE IT YOUR WAY FATBOY!”





Juggernaut's response was brutal. With a swipe, he shattered the command center's doors. Our leader disappeared within the wreckage.



I fled, joining panicked comrades. We sprinted through smoke-filled battleground staggering an stumbling holding pointlessly onto my helmet, clenched teeth and pain in my hand as I gripped my rifle helped dull the sharp edge of fear as Juggernaut tore apart the base, searching for the elusive file.



A nearby fuel depot exploded as black Tom unleashed another of those weird waves of his a huge chunk of its southern wall hit me splitting my helmet and injuring me disorienting my senses. I thought quickly, “My sister is in that command bunker…gotta get to her somehow…

Juggernaut was literally making his own path to the center bunker where highly classified information and objects were held. Doors exploded, sending shards flying. Walls crumbled, burying screams.



"Fall back!" someone yelled.



We retreated, abandoning our shattered stronghold. Four of my combat brothers grabbed me and dragged me away. I yelled defiantly, “NO WAIT MY SISTER BRO!!! TANYAAAAAAA!!! LEMME GO YOU MUTHAFUCKERS!! My buddy yelled back, “ITS OVER MAN SHES GONE!! EVERYONE THERE IS GONE!! JESUS CHRIST HES STILL GOING WHAT THE FUCK DID WE DO TO THIS GUY!”



Juggernaut's roar echoed, "I WILL FIND IT!"



As they continue to drag me through the chaos, fear made my legs feel like pasta. My head injury reminded me of just how alive I was. I let my rifle slip from my hand, mag still full, completely useless I thought as tears streamed my dirty cheeks as i saw dead brothers and sisters alike. Finally we reached one last military truck that somehow survived the personal pocket apocalypse we were in. I was tossed in like a rag doll as my brothers piled in after me. I screamed my frustration and feelings of uselessness because deep down I knew the truth was that he was right my sister was gone some how…….some way I could just feel it.



Juggernaut's relentless onslaught ensured nothing would remain hidden.



Cain not knowing where he was going since he didn’t exactly know the layout of the base veered off to a sharp left and broke through to the underground tank depot and was in the middle of taking the turret off a tank when Cyttorak’s voice boomed through his mind attacking his very core. Cain dropped the massive gun turret and paused for a brief second putting a hand over the face of his helmet.



“YESSSS CAIN!! MORE!! MORE!! DESTROY IT ALL AND DONT STOP THEREEEE! RELEASE YOURSELF TO ME COMPLETELY MY AVATAR! BLESS ME BY DESTROYING IT ALLLLLL!



Cain blasted his voice out loud,”SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP YOU WEIRD…”



Cyttorak interrupted him heavily, “YOU WILL BE MINDFUL OF YOUR TONGUE AND INSOLENCE! YOU ARE MINE AND MINE ALONE! YOUR DESIRES ARE MY WILL! I HAVE GIVEN YOU ALL THAT YOU DESIRED! I AND I ALONE BEQUEATHED YOU THE POWER AND MEANS TO DESTROY YOUR BROTHER! YET YOU DENY ME AND THE NATURAL DESIGN OF MY WILL!



Frustrated and angry beyond measure at this point, Cain raised both fists and brought them down super hard on the destroyed tank in front of him rupturing the hull of the now exposed tank and burying the front of the machine 5 feet into the ground and concrete before grabbing a large part of the junked machine and hurling it through the northern reinforcement wall of the depot shattering the rock and steel and entry gate as the machine kept flying and hit the last standing guard tower, exploding the building in a fiery explosion of metal and rubble.



Realizing his misdirection Cain doubled back and took a single hand and pushed the steel and concrete wall aside shattering its center mass as the weight gave in on itself.

Cain paused for a brief moment as Tom walked up next to him. Cain looked over the half functioning command center. Tom spoke sarcastically, “ayyeee sometimes Marko…youuu are yer own enemy. Ye went to far lad. Hang on lessseehere” Tom walked to the blinking armament of computers majority of the screens were filthy from debris and cracked beyond good repair. Both Cain and Tom heard wreckage moving. Cain moved the heavy chuck of metal and concrete to reveal an injured soldier. She leaked by the mouth a steady trickle of blood but spoke strongly.



“You’re the guy that ransacked the bank to huh…*cough cough*…listen man don’t kill me…but there isn’t a file or anything like that. We just had a bit of cracked intel. Leaked from a shield double agent. We were preparing an investigation but….fuck this hurts….hey listen man….whoever this Xavier guy is…*cough cough cough* …fucking New York…don’t know where..but New York…some kinda college or something…geez…I …I…*” her hand fell from her chest and thumped the wrecked floor softly.



Cain closed his eyes. His conscious heavier than his mighty blows, he sat down just as the double riveted lock mechanisms released and he turned the helmet and removed it and placed it next to his left leg. He glanced the dead lady again, and dropped his head. “Tom I just….cover her up wilya fer cryin out loud..” “no problem lad…ya know Marko…we do what we do because we can and that’s not the problem. The problem is most times good people have to pay fer what we do buckers..” Tom kneeled beside her and covered her with a scorched American flag. Before whispering, “sweet sailing mo stoirin..” Tom stood and opened the portal. “New York it is the boyo” Cain nodded slowly, Faulkner and this lady was on his mind something fierce. Why them though?….no time now…Cains fury could not wait nor be contained. He stood grabbed his helmet and headed for the portal but not before looking back through large open area that was once an enclosed command center. He looked at all he had done as black smoke pillars licked at the clear skies. Rubble and fire was everywhere, Cain clenched his teeth as he watched field medics and teams desperately try an help what few brothers and sisters at arms that were left. In the distance he saw a lone military truck with soldiers in the back they seemed to be holding one of them back as he reached out. Gave Cain the feeling that the guy was leaving someone important and he glanced over at the lady that had just died giving Cain what he wanted in the fire place. Cain planted his helmet back in place locking in he turned and headed into the portal, gone as quickly as they came.

 

[strawberryspiral]

Running eternally in place, can make even the fastest mutant alive break a sweat. Which is something Pietro’s not used to- sweating. Feeling any sort of true exertion at all really, Wanda calls him the energizer gremlin for good reason, but this does it. Whatever hold the monster in sheep's clothing has on him, it feels almost necrotic, in nature. As if his whole body is invaded by some sort of parasite pushing him to just go, faster, and faster. Denting into the ground below him, ever running to nowhere-

Then his body jolts alive at a perilous scream. The edges of his vision begin to blur some, swirling shadows floating through the air as the Wolverine lunges for Wanda, ripping her out of the air. Both of them slam into the metallic flooring with a loud ‘BANG’ that shakes, and echoes throughout the metal dome.

Eyes widening in shock, his feet push him into action, velocity of his previous high speeds throwing him forward. A horrific squelch sounds as Logan’s sharp blades sink into her stomach.

“WANDA! NO!” White hot rage courses through his veins, heart racing, he dashes through the chaos heading straight for the savage harming her.

As he collides with the Wolverine, the beast of a man roars, a sound far more primal than any man. Every instinct in his body tells him to turn around and RUN.

But he can’t get his sister’s pitiful face out of his mind. He hadn’t hesitated, and took everything from Pietro in one foul swoop.

“Time to put the animal DOWN!” He’s barely coherent and screams between tears. She’s gone, Wanda… She’s the only person he can trust. His parents, things could change- people always do but her-

Logan, no- the monster, makes a face. His long claws stretch out wide on either side of himself as he gets ready to unleash another series of wild yet precise swipes.

Raising both balled fists, he jabs him repeatedly in the torso, and face. Barely even looking in what direction he swings, vision blurred. Not allowing himself to let up, as his sister lies still on the floor, a puddle of red seeping out from the gashes of Logan’s making.

“YOU MONSTER!” Pietro yells, pummeling his fists into Logan’s broad frame.

Dark shadows clinging to the edges of his vision begin to consume him whole, unable to see straight as the thing wearing the Professor’s skin continues to warp and feed his mind images of Wanda being ripped into shreds. All he can do is keep punching into Logan, listening to the creeks of metal, and snaps of sinewy muscles, as he pelts him with one balled fist after the other.

Logan’s speaking, his mouth moving but all Pietro can see is his sister. Wanda with her chest torn open, belly slit down the middle like prey for the slaughter. This man- no, the beast before him is beyond evil. Pietro should’ve known, from the moment he came here he was on guard. A safe haven for mutants? More like a re-education school for freaks and killers, he should’ve known it would end this way.

That no one could be trusted. He should’ve left when he got the chance. Professor X was wrong, there’s no reason to be good for goodness sake. That’s just some pipe dreams. Spoon fed wishes the Professor fed him to spare his feelings, and now Wanda’s dead! With no one to blame but himself, and all he has to show for it is tears and blood-

Pietro yelps, letting out wet gasps of pain between dry lips. There’s a sharp, burning sensation in his side that almost consumes him as he tries to right himself. An image of Logan as nothing but a red splat at the bottom of the long drop to the Cerebro’s bottom brings him pure joy, he deserves this- for Wanda, for all the people that the monster's hurt.

"You’re fast, kid," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "but speed don't mean jack if you don’t finish the job."

He leaps up, and pounces with a great swipe in Pietro’s direction that he barely manages to dodge. Fists rearing back to strike him in the center of his ips quickly behind the mutant who suddenly takes a knee. Every muscle strained and tense the person before him looks inhuman, alien. Pietro doesn’t recognize this feral monster- Logan used to be someone he thought highly of.

So why? How could he do that to Wanda? She didn’t deserve-

Pietro suddenly slows as he turns to glance in his sister’s breathless body’s direction. Still, so perfectly still, and covered in blood her guts and intestines spilling from her slit belly. Green eyes looking into the distance, at everything and nothing at all, seeing right through them. Why’s he even doing this? If Wanda’s gone, then he should be too.

That thought solidifies in his head as another chunk of meat is cut through. It releases a shocked scream from himself that it makes his voice crack. Immediately that pain begins to radiate with a very similar one to the other side of his torso. If he looks down, he might even catch a peak of his own insides gushing out.

“Asshole!” Pietro punches him right in the nose just because he can. Then starts to move so fast in time, everything looks super, super slow. Like honey off the hive, or sand in a dial.

As Wolverine pushes himself back up to his feet, grunting and growling through bared teeth. Pietro’s brows narrow dangerously and he wipes the back of his hand to clear his vision of tears. His throbbing fists pulsate from being slammed into the beast’s metal lined skeletal frame. But, he could care less at this point.

The pain is the only thing that keeps him going. He thrives in it, dwells in the depths of his hysteria, because Wanda’s not here to bring him out of it. In fact, she’ll never be there to coax him out of insanity again- so Pietro dives in head first. Throwing another flurry of endless punches while ducking and diving, weaving in and out from Logan’s reach. Moving so fast even he’s becoming dizzy and that’s still not enough, it can’t be. Won’t ever be- he did a good thing, and this is how Logan repays him?

So much for being good.

Ignoring the red hot pain that flares up in his gashed sides, he grins. Sometimes you have no choice but to contribute to chaos, to evil. Growing up surrounded by cold surgical grade steel, being prodded by needles, binded in place. Watching the world pass him by through foggy glass, like a fish in a bowl had taught him about suffering. Physical pain was better than the mental, it was a welcomed distraction to reality.

Maybe this is what he gets for doing good for goodness sake, gored to death by a beast. Pietro doesn’t even register his own movements anymore, swinging so wildly and erratically, he’s sure Logan will find some way to disembowel him eventually.


The red tidal wave of glowing magic made the interior of the Cerebro light up like neon stop signs as it met with the possessed Professor’s sharp shadows. As she shot out jagged blades of red magic, moving in great arches to resemble smaller and bigger waves of red blades cascading off another. The thing wearing Professor Xavier’s skin raised an arm, a massive cloud of wispy shadows met swirling neon red, causing bright sparks to explode through the air.

Black and red sparks pop and sizzle, Wanda has to turn and bring up a red forcefield of magic to protect herself from the blast that follows.

“How is this even possible?” The ghoulish being snarled, his mask of complete arrogance beginning to falter some.

“I SHOULD BE A GOD!”

So, he isn’t a god? Wanda finds that fact somewhat comforting.

Knowing what that thing isn’t, it brought her one step closer to finding out what in the actual hell it is at least. The interaction between their two energies- fizzling off eachother, as if whatever magic she possessed was noncohesive to the shadow being’s, is another reassuring comfort.

One that lasts just long enough for her to process her Pietro slamming his fists at hyperspeeds into Wolverine, just below them.

“Pietro! Stop, what’s wrong with you?! STOP IT!” She screams out in desperation, diving down through the air in his direction. Mind far too occupied with trying to put a stop to her brother, to notice whatever inhabits the Professor’s body, looking to Cerebro's helmet with a predator’s hungry gaze.

Before she can even reach Pietro the world starts to drain of all life. She whips around mid air, just in time to watch the thing wearing the Professor’s body reach out with thin, pale fingers. Hands clasped around the gleaming helm of Cerebro, Jean is motionless at his feet somewhere.

“No, no, NO! WHAT DO WE DO?”

All around her the world has succumbed to chaos. Pietro and Logan are locked in a match to the death, outside the doorway she can hear even more ruckus ensue. The familiar southern twang of Rogue’s voice shouts out with so much emotion, she wishes she could make out what’s being said. But she’s cut off by something else.

“YOU ALL BETRAYED ME!" A voice echoes off the metallic walls and she’s suddenly tossed to the side but a strong wind comes rushing at her like a wall of ice.

Without a second thought she gets tossed through the air, body flailing out of control. A sudden gust of wind hits her, a shower of icy flurries, and blue light shining from just beyond the entryway.

Wanda’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Let her brother, and Logan, go at it until one of them parishes or, risk everything to stop the being that’s already managed to slip on the Cerebro. She tries to be in both places at once, reaching within herself to expel another surge of red sparks in both her brother’s and the skinwalker Professor’s direction. Eye glancing to Jean Grey who lies motionless on the platform, back again to her brother, then snapping to the all powerful being as the helmet slides into place on the Professor’s head.

Before magic even has a chance to dispel she’s overtaken by a paralyzing jolt, like electricity shooting through her nerves and causing them to fail. An immense cold begins to consume her, and the air pressure drops. She can feel it all around her, a freezing chill rippling over her skin. Her body goes motionless then tilts sideways and she begins to drop through the air. Body sinking down to the belly of the sub-basement below.

When she hits the ground it's covered in frost and snow. Robert Drake, it could only be him but why? He must be like Pietro, like the Professor, like everyone else, possessed by something ferocious and unrelenting. Anger, hatred, resentment, guilt, and regret- every negative emotion possible hangs still in the frost bitten air. She attempts to raise an arm and push herself up off the frozen floor.

Her breath comes out as barely there puffs of condensation, getting smaller, and smaller. Unable to move a muscle, every breath a labored one, she gasps for air. Watching from a distance as ice begins to crystalize her body. All colors that make up the world around her fading out into muted pastels- and then, everything goes blank.


White, endless, like a world made of light reflecting off the surface of freshly fallen snow. All around Jean is nothing, and everything- it’s a mind boggling thing to observe. A world made of everything her home- Earth isn’t. It feels like a fever dream, this can’t be real.

It can’t be.

She blinks long and hard, attempting to clear her muddled head. “This can’t be real, this can’t be happening-“

When she looks down at her hands and body, nothing feels or seems out of the ordinary. Jean still feels like herself, looks like herself, and it shocks her. Puts her into a state of panic briefly before she slowly sinks to her knees. Everything around her is real, this is real, but she doesn’t want to be. The Professor never told her about a place like this, somewhere time seems to stop- or it seems endless- or-

Jean doesn’t know anymore, she’s just confused. Lost, where did everyone go?

“Professor!” She gulps, “Professor Xavier! Are you out there?”

When all she gets back is silence and the sound of her own voice, echoing off endless white at all sides she truly begins to panic. For the briefest moment she gets a flash of Wanda’s face, color drained and brows into a creased expression of concern and fear. She shoves herself back up onto both feet, walking forward into the white space.

“Wanda!” Jean’s running now, half stumbling over her own feet.

“Rogue? Bobby! Anyone? Where are- where did everything go?!” At this point she’s doing nothing but running in circles it seems. Jean pauses for a moment, leaning over to grab both knees with trembling hands. Taking quick, rapid breaths that almost tear at the bottom of her lungs.

“C’mon, Jeannie,” A distant voice calls, and the unfamiliar yet recognizable soft tone to it brings with it a swell of emotions. “You’ve got this. Just a little longer. I ain’t going anywhere.” Logan’s whisper pierces her psyche, like a far off echo from worlds away.

She lifts her head up to look from side to side, only to be greeted with endless nothing per usual.

Could it be him? Leading her somewhere, to something more than this… This vast nothingness. Jean presses on into the deep white, a soft buzz of warmth crawling all over her skin the further she gets. She doesn’t even know how long she’s walked before a small dot of something, a tiny blur in this strange world that she clings to like a lifeline. Never letting it leave her line of sight.

Jean begins running full force towards it, propelling her body forward, and soaring forward through the air. The closer she gets the more confused she becomes, looking over the sight of a set of grand double doors free from its hinges. When she sets foot onto the smooth white ground a shiver crawls down her spine, head tilting back to look up at polished wood.

It’s the Institute's main entrance, she’s seen it one too many times to forget. Grasping tightly onto the familiar door handle she listens to the familiar creak of unoiled hinges, smiling at the fond feeling of warmth it brings. When the door swings open she’s greeted to the dorm halls. Or atleast, a muted, colorless version. All soft whites and grays, like god forgot to fill in the color scale at the drawing board of reality. When she steps through the doorway the door swings shut behind her.

Closing with a resounding, ‘THUD!’’ The door slamming, echoes down the long corridor. Doors on either side of her resembling that of the Institute’s grand halls brings her some comfort in this state of complete confusion. But, she’s still unsteady by the lack of color, by the lifeless appearance of everything around her.

“It’s the Institute but, but it’s not?” She slowly begins walking down the hall, carefully watching her surroundings. Skeptical from her recent run in with the horrific version of her mentor, that thing could be around any corner after all. But, the further she walks the more she realizes that absolutely nothing is happening. As if the world around her is waiting on her, to make a choice.

Stopping in the hall she raises two fingers to one temple, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to hone in on the others. That’s all that matters now. Finding the team, getting their heads right, and prepping for whatever they have to do to save the Professor is her number one priority at this point.

So she focuses on them, pictures the Xmen in all their glory. Corny costumes, rough around the edges, and too smart for their own good. All of them are flawed and hard headed to a fault, especially that new girl- Wanda. Jean ponders on that briefly, just a fraction of a second, but that’s all it seems to take. Opening the first door she sees in the hallway causes a sort of ripple effect.

It swings open, she steps inside, and the white around her brightens, intensifies into something so bright she has to squeeze her eyes shut. Holding them like that until, the pinks of her eyelids start to fade to black. At all sides around her a world of faded grays and whites begins to form. She finds herself sitting in the backseat of a standard sedan. In the front seats ahead of her are both Rogue and Bobby, driving down a long road lined with black snow and ice…

It had been a day of reminiscing for Bobby and Rogue. The two weren't lovers, just friends. Rogue had offered to drive; their destination was the Drake household in Long Island.

As the Jeep followed the road, the previous conversation lingered in Bobby's mind. He had built what seemed like a city of ice in the ocean while recalling how cold his father was. The man thought building sand castles and having an imagination were useless.

It’s strange, similar to an experience she’d read about in the Professor’s books about fringe psychology- remote viewing. Jean’s here, inside a memory that seems all too real, but she’s not really there. Just in spirit, or, her psyche? Connecting to some sort of consciousness she doesn’t have the brainwidth to quite understand yet. What’s even weirder than all this, is the fact that she can literally hear Bobby’s inner monologue. As if she is spectating from within a corner of his brain. It’s intrusive, beyond wrong and she feels even worse about it given the psychic message that awful being had projected worldwide for all to hear.

No one deserves to be outed like that, least of all something so personal as their identity whether that be sexuality or their status as a mutant. If she’d had the choice Jean would’ve hid her own powers the rest of her life. Hidden that part of herself, just to shield the world and herself from the potential hate that was sure to come with it being revealed.

Nobody likes a mutie, least of all one that can’t read their thoughts. She can’t imagine being outed on top of everything they’ve gone through. Bobby must have had his world absolutely rocked tonight. Who could blame him? She’s not sure she’d be able to take all of this either.

Bobby’s inner thoughts press on like a distant channel being played on the radio.

At this time, Rogue had just ended a relationship built on lies. She vented about it some on the road, and her situation weighed on Bobby. When she parked, he finally said aid it: "He's a jerk."

"Whatever's between me an' him is between me an' him," Rogue spat. His bluntness had caught her off-guard.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to care about you," Bobby retorted. "Let's look at the facts. He hit on you and forgot to mention he has a wife?"

Rogue sighed heavily. "Ah see your point." Her face twitched; she wanted to cry. "Not too pathetic, huh?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing pathetic about wanting to be loved, Rogue."

She smirked wryly. "Bobby Drake, that was almost profound."

Seeing the closeness between the two is a painful reminder of everything she’s lost. Jean’s so far gone in her despair she’s even starting to miss the sound of Pietro’s rambling chatter. The car begins too slow and Jean watches a myriad of emotions, none of them good pass over Bobby’s face.

The moment was interrupted by a blinding light. Both of them recoiled and squinted to see the shape standing on the lit-up front porch. "Are you two familiar with the concept of neighbors?" an older man's voice chastised them. "Tell me, love birds... Are you two joining us for dinner, despite the fact you're an hour late?"

"Here we go..." Bobby groaned under his breath.

———

Bobby's mother, Madeline, placed plates of delicious-smelling food on the table—mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, breadsticks... all while the argument raged between Bobby and his father William. "Is it too much to ask that you bring home a normal girl?" The latter had quickly puzzled out that Rogue was different.

The bitter tone of his father makes Jean flinch, she had no idea Bobby came from a family like this. It’s the last thing she would picture, he seemed like such a stereotypical all american kid. But, she should’ve known better, usually people with the saddest stories are the ones you’d least expect.

Logan taught her that.

The newspaper in his hand flash-froze and then crumbled in his hands. "Define 'normal girl'," Bobby demanded through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched, a wild look in his eyes. This wasn't his first time being belittled.

So, his dad did this a lot then. What a piece of work, the warm buzz from earlier seems to broil beneath her skin as she watches on. Rage begins to paint pictures of what could be, this house burned to the ground, his father begging for mercy. Jean shakes her head, trying to push those violent images from her mind.

"Don't you DARE start using those damned powers in MY house. You may pal around with your little friends at that school, but MY HOUSE will NOT be turned into—"

"A sideshow," Bobby finished for him. "Can't you at least write some new material after a year, Dad?"

She can’t help but laugh at that, Bobby had always been whitty, and had a mouth on him for sure.

"You're the one trotting the same circus here, Bobby—just a different face every time." He took on a mocking tone. "One week, she's Italian. The next week, it's Japanese. And now this one is..." His nose wrinkled in disgust as he glanced at Rogue.

“What a prick, you’re lucky to have a son like Bobby. If I was your kid I’d have mind controlled you into walking off a short pier!” Jean can feel Bobby’s rage like it’s her own at this point. Except where all he feels is cold, numb to his father, sick and tired of the same act and dance. All Jean feels is burning hate, like a lava pulsating within her blood vessels.

Bobby bolted up from his seat. "Is what? A mutant?" He started to circle around to William's side of the table. "That's what this is all about! You're just disgusted by anything that doesn't fit your narrow definition of 'normal'. Well sorry to disappoint you, Dad." With that, he threw the front door open. "I'll call you, Mom. Marie?"

———

Jean follows them back to the car, and sits through a very quiet ride. Watching the scenery pass, blurs of white snow and more gray, everything still drained of life yet able to feel every awful emotion that ebbs and sways through the air. They swing into the drive thru at a nearby fast food joint, and she watches them chow down. Bobby with pure disdain, and Rogue seemingly satisfied with the food but concerned by Bobby’s silence as he rants on in his own head.

The two had bought fast food—a flaccid alternative to a mother's cooking, and yet unspoiled by William's guff. As Bobby sat there in the passenger seat, he seethed. Next time his mother invited him to dinner—if there was a next time and if he accepted the invitation against his better judgment—he had half a mind to bring someone who would give the old man a heart attack. Maybe he'd invite Storm. Hell, why not another guy?

Bobby's thoughts lingered on the latter... A guy? Maybe he could convince Mr. Logan—the gruff biker type—to join this little game... Or maybe someone well-known like Jean-Paul Beaubier would up the shock factor! The thought of sitting before his appalled father with a man made his heart flutter. Wait...

Jean cringes, though the thought of Logan posing as a fake boyfriend does amuse her. She can see where this is going, and listening to it is a bit, well, very intrusive. So personal are these thoughts it feels illegal to be listening and yet, she can’t get enough. Afraid that if she leaves now she might never see either of them again.

Bobby considered the utter ridiculousness of such a move; was it only an act of rebellion. It had to have been just that... right? He let his mind wander a little further down the rabbit hole.

Oh boy, here it comes. Jean tenses, eyes glancing to the glinting handle of the back driver's side door. If she opened it, would it lead her back to the hallway? A door brought her into the car, maybe…

Why did he date the women he dated? Why did he bring girls like Opal Tanaka and Rogue to meet his parents? Sure, they were pretty and had great personalities, but Bobby never found himself able to commit to a long-term relationship. They couldn't go beyond 'just friends'. He didn't feel that kind of attraction to them, nor to any woman. There was that, and the wonder he felt when a man came out as gay... and the way he admired attractive men... and the fact thinking about this felt so right, despite his dad's tendency to demonize it.

It was at that moment Bobby Drake realized he was gay... and that his dad had another reason to dislike him. He turned his head away, a tear falling from his right eye.

At that she can feel her own eyes grow misty. Jean knows she couldn’t have known this would happen, but it still feels wrong. No matter how accidental, she’d broken one of the only promises she’d ever made herself.

———

"I just don't get it..."

The two had finished their meal on the beaches of Montauk. Rather than the elaborate ice structures from earlier, Bobby and Rogue packed sand into their paper cups, building a sand castle. He had composed himself, focused on the subject of his mutant genes. One step at a time...

"It's called stupidity, sugah. It ain't supposed to make sense. Skin color, religion, gender, sexuality, genes... If ya wanna hate a body bad enough, any reason'll do ya."

Sexuality... Bobby wanted to speak up, come out of the closet... but was he even sure? Perhaps if he did some research and thought hard, he would be more confident in saying for sure. Maybe later...

... But 'later' was only a month down the road, at which point it couldn't be ignored any longer.

———

Teeth biting the inside of her cheek, Jean shakes her head. Some things aren’t meant to be poked and prodded by an intrusive telepath, why had she stayed so long? Gulping her hand grabs aimlessly through the air. Trying to picture the door handle of a dorm room door, and picturing herself clasping around it tightly. It was time to leave them to their private moment, even if this is the last time they’ll meet.

At least she got to say goodbye, sort of.

Seeping through the doorway and into the hall Jean takes a couple of long strides, making some room between herself and Bobby’s hurt filled memory. Again she focuses on the X Men trying to picture their faces down to even the smallest details. Maybe if she keeps opening doors she’ll eventually find one that explains all this, or leads her somewhere other than this endless white room?

Another door opens and she finds herself in the sitting room on the main floor. The Professor sits beside Wanda, noth with their backs to her as they look out a window. Obviously having a hushed conversation, as she begins to step into the room a shear wall of red becomes visible. Blocking her from getting any farther than the doorway.

“I-It’s just these dreams! I don’t understand why they wont stop, it’s never ending. On repeat I see you, but, but you are much younger. A-and this man, no, this child, sometimes he’s grown other time she’s a kid and he’s in trouble, being poked by needles, taunted by some man in a lab coat. I just want it to stop, I already have a hard enough time with my own shit without all this other junk filling my head! What do I have to do? Get a lobotomy? I’ll do anything to make this stop,” Wanda is yelling, but seems to have caught her outburst just in time.

Devolving into a small whisper, her voice trembles as she recalls the night terrors that keep her up all night. Jena’s noticed the dark circles before, everyone has bad dreams around here. It’s not unusual for a mutant to have some baggage that keeps them tossing and turning all night. But she’s seen some pretty odd things on Wanda’s end, even for a mutant. She calls herself a witch for good reason. Comes off as naturally a little creepy roaming the halls like a zombie, but that could also just be the sleep deprivation taking its toll.

The Professor nods with understanding, “I know at times things can seem… Hopeless but, I assure you Wanda we will find your father. Once we do, I think things will start to make sense.”

“You know him? Our dad? My nightmares aren’t just messed up figments of my tortured imagination?” Wanda tilts her head to look at the Professor with wide, startled eyes.

The Professor replies, and when the words fall from his lips they sound somewhat warped.

“Your father was-” A scratching record sound rips through the air, “-passionate and cared for you but life was-” His voice cuts off with another burble of technical sounds.

The both of them fall into silence for a moment before Wanda continues on as if everything had occurred as usual. “Really? You think so?”

“Of course, I know so. We’ll find him together.” He responds in kindness.

Jean frowns, the Professor knows her dad? Looking back to the door handle still in her hand she takes a step back into the hall. Then taking a deep breath opens the door once again, watching as the very same scene play before her once again. This time pressing two fingers to her temple as she watches on, focused in on this memory. Trying to pull at the fracture pieces of warped sounds and fit them back together like a puzzle.

This time when the Professor speaks, more is revealed but still a muddle mess. “A good friend of mine-” “-with a rough hand, if he’d known everything in his power-” “-Together we can.”

That doesn’t make much sense to her either. And Jean doesn’t mind redoing this a million times if she has to, if just to hear the Professor’s voice one last time.

“Impossible odds-” “-Your father was passionate” “-Like you, he was dealt-” “In order to find you-”

“We can search for him together,” Professor ends again with a compassionate smile that she can see just the corner of.

His back still to her, she’s a little annoyed, why did Wanda get a lasting memory like this? And how was she able to manipulate the memory, keep it from Jean’s reach?

Teeth gritting she turns back to the hallway, letting the door close behind her for the final time. It’s time to stop living in the past, Jean needs to find her way out of here once and for all. That’s just the thing though, she’s not sure just how she’s supposed to do that... So, when Jean opens another random door to see the suburbia neighborhood she grew up in. It’s not much, just a farmhouse, some cracked roads, and those faded hills of what used to be green now bleach white.

There’s the neighbor’s house- an old man with way too many dogs, and she walks past the Grey family mailbox. Heading up the hill, trekking up the dusty asphalt to the main driveway of the brown trim home. Already a steady flow of anxiety begins to pulsate through her shaky hand, opening the front door with a quick exhale.

“I’m home!” Jean doesn’t know why she shouts it out like that, probably just a habit that brought her comfort at this point. Walking through the doorway only to pause midway in the living room at the sight of the Professor sitting down across from a much younger version of herself. Complete with cherubic, freckled cheeks, and crooked teeth held in place by braces covered in pink bands.

As if there’s a magnet somewhere in the room her body is dragged into place, Jean is a puppet on strings, pushed into the couch cushion roughly by fate. Chin lifts as she lands with grunt to meet the gaze of both the Professor and Amelia Vought. She knows this memory by heart, the first time she met him. Had brought along one of his closer acquaintances on staff, they’d had juice boxes. And the Professor talked about her abilities openly without judgement, unlike her parents. Opened her eyes to see that life as a mutant didn’t have to be spent wallowing in guilt and self hatred.

This is one of her best memories, now tainted by the look in the Professor’s eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but it isn’t him. Just the black eyed monster, wearing his skin. Face emotionless, but eyes filled with gleeful mirth as he looms over her.

“Hello Jean, you have a most beautiful mind…”

Her whole body goes rigid as the nightmarish version of the Professor speaks, and then hearing her own voice but childlike is just another out of body experience all together. “I bet you say that to all the telepathic kids you scoop off the streets.”

“Well, yes, but with you I truly mean it. Read my mind, see if I’m being truthful.”

Amelia shifts in her seat, “Charles…”

“It’s fine Amelia, I trust her," Eyes like two bottomless pits meet the child version of her's.

She watches the child- herself, as features crease in concentration. “You’re being honest, for now.” Like clockwork her little head snaps to look at the hallway, her mother steadily approaching with a couple of juice boxes, with her dad at her side.

“Here Jean, dear- and for the both of you-”

Watching her mom dutifully serve guests leaves an ache in her chest that wasn’t there before. Realization that she may never see any family again coming to stark reality.

Her father’s voice is what shakes Jean out of her own head, “-I just wanna know what this place is about. What can you do for Jean? Is there a way to cure her?”

Amelia Vought’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Cure her?”

It used to make her stomach drop and face burn when he talked like that. Now her father’s words roll over her back like frigid water. Instead of sparking self hatred it leaves her empty and soaked in disappointment.

“Oh, no, no, c’mon John. Just- just let Jean take care of this! Let’s leave them to it.” She waves her dad over to the kitchen with a sigh.

“Oh, c’mon, I just wanna know there’s a solution-” Her mom successfully shoves him out into the hallway. Leaning back to flash a pitying smile to the girl sitting perfectly still on the couch.

“We’ll be in the other room if you need us sweetie.” Elaine Grey’s smile is everything but pleasant, forcing on a happy front in front of the guests.

‘Dammit John, can’t you just pretend to be supportive for once in your life? Why did I marry-’ She catches the tail end of her mother’s thoughts as she walks out.

The Grey family fought over Jean’s circumstance for a long time. Her father saw it as something foul, ungodly, and biologically incorrect. While her mother sat on the religious tree hugger side of the fence, claiming Jean had gifts given to her by god. Either way she wasn’t winning, not with two parents arguing day in and day out, all over whether their daughter was a devil or an angel.

The stress of that, the loss of Annie- her last, and only friend, it all had piled so high on her shoulders she’d forgotten what it felt like to be carefree as a kid. Taken over by guilt and paranoia, fearful of what thoughts she might read, unable to control her ever growing laundry list of abilities. Jean’s starting to wish that like every other memory from her childhood, she’d pushed this one deep into the margins of her brain to be forgotten.

The cherubic version of herself stares intently into the ink black eyes of the ghoulish Professor. “You’re like me, you hear the voices…

“Yes Jean, you and I- we’re mutants with the gift of knowing our fellow man down to their most inner subtleties. But I can do more than just turn them off, I can teach you how to control this gift we’ve been given.”

“Gift?” Jean rolls her eyes, “More like a curse if you ask me.”

The older man’s eyes soften at that, which is strange given their blackened appearance. “Yes, well, there’s negatives to every circumstance. There are mutants who suffer just as much if not more, I assure you. The question is, do we let the opinions of others push us into obscurity.” His eyes drift over to the hallway where her mother and father disappeared down, “Or rise above and put into action the life we want and deserve?”

Little Jean Grey bites down on her lower lip, jaw jutting out, as a look of determination takes over soft features. “I want to be a doctor one day, all I want is to help people.”

Amelia smiles, reaching out to squeeze the little girl’s hand, “You can, you will.”

“Yes, in that I have no doubt.” The pale, possessed Professor nods, and Jean looks into those dark eyes with longing.

If only it could’ve stayed this peaceful forever. Jean would do anything to put things back the way they’d been before, but she’s not sure she’ll ever get that chance now. So she sits in that memory, wallows in the self pity it brings, and hangs onto every word that falls from her hijacked mentor's lips.

 

[Thatguy1]

Vol 1: X BEGINS
ISSUE 2: NIGHTMARES OF FUTURES PAST
PART 1





1 HOUR BEFORE THE WHITE OUT


Brooklyn Bridge- Peter Parker

High in the smoke filled sky of the New York City skyline due to all the riot caused fires, a news helicopter emblazoned with the logo of the Daily Bugle newsmedia flies towards the Brooklyn Bridge in a rapid pace, inside a young blond woman is talking to the camera and periodically looking out at the scene below of several cars having crashed into one another. "Thank you studio, this is Norah Winter observing the traffic situation here on the Brooklyn Bridge, unfortunately our attention was diverted from the riots resulted by the SHIELD broadcast from earlier." As she speaks, several worried citizens are trying to help the people stuck in their cars, one SUV in particular had crashed into and through the railing and teetered dangerously on the edge of the bridge. "As you can see there is a potentially disastrous situation below us-"


Unfortunately nobody in the helicopter saw a red and blue track suit wearing young man apparently swinging from bridge cable to bridge cable with the sound of his webbing making a PTHK sound as it attached to the brick structure with each pass. "Don't worry, I'm coming!" the young man shouted, and the surrounding crowd looked up in confusion and bewilderment as the young costumed man landed flippantly in the center of the situation.


"Who the Hell are you?" One of the good samaritans asked him, but the young man paid him no current mind as just then the SUV lost it's grip and began to fall towards the Hudson, roof first. Inside was a hispanic woman and her young daughter strapped to a car seat. For the rest of this hero's life he would have trouble sleeping after hearing the sheer terror in the mother's screams.


He ran as fast as he could and it seemed as if time slowed to a crawl for him, he anchored himself with a webline that connected to the bridge's center concrete barricade and was completely off the bridge itself as he connected another webline to the trunk door of the SUV. The weight of the concrete on one arm and the weight of the SUV on the other caused him to yell out loud because of the electric-like pain shooting through his body. "Rrrrrrauuuugggh," The young man grunted and tried to lift the car but could barely do a lift curl, the mother was a mountain of hysterics the whole time. "Okay Pete...." The young man whispered to himself, "you got this, make him proud. RRRRAAAAUUUGH!!" He tried again, this time he managed to bring his hand all the way up to his shoulder, but there was yet no way he would be bringing it up back to the bridge. "Okay think... Pete," The young man looked around at was available for him down here, which was pretty much null and void. "Okay, it's just me, okay, wait... could that work?" He asked himself coming up with an idea. He had no alternatatives so he mustered up a bit of strength and connected the webline that held the car with that of the concrete and began to reinforce it into one giant ball of webbing. "I have no idea how long that will hold."


With another PTHK he swung out and down to the driver's side door to the terrified mother and motioned for her to roll her window down, she was screaming hispanic explitives at him, so he tried to muster up as much spanish as he knew from school. In broken language he said, " Ma'm my name Spider-Man, you okay, everyone okay. I get you safe, no worry."


"Please!" she begged him, "save my daughter, save my Aranya!" tears welling in the woman's eyes as she looked down at the crushing depths of the Hudson. Back at the ball of webbing, a few strands were getting frayed.


"Okay," Peter said calmly, but internally he was freaking the hell out. "I be back for you, I promise." He said, his big white eyes staring at her intensely before he scurried like a literal spider over to the daughter's side of the car and swung open the door. "Hey there, you're name's Aranya?" He spoke with a quivering smile behind his mask and unhooked the car seat and took the little girl in his arms, "Let's go get on solid ground, i bet you'd love that." Without hesitation he PTHK'ed to the railing of the bridge and ascended, taking note of the fraying web ball and trying to console the little girl, before he made it over and one of the samaritans who was watching took hold of the girl, Pete and the man shared a quick nod of appreciation before Pete uttered, "Gotta love New York," before taking a step back and flipped back down and attached a web line before climbing onto the mother's side of the car.


"Okay, your turn," he said as he slowly opened the car door, up at the web ball, almost all of it was gone. The mother, scared and desperate to be with her baby again moved a little too quickly and the force caused the line to snap and the SUV began to plummet, the woman was a split second from being out of his reach but he felt the familiar buzzing in his head and caught her almost effortlessly. "I gotcha," he said in english, and began to ascend once more, "Insurance is gunna suuuck," He let out a quiet laugh as he helped her over the railing and everyone around began to clap for the young hero, the same samaritan who held the little girl reunited her with her mother before returning to Pete. "Who the Hell are you kid?"


Pete turned to respond to the guy and leaned back to rest against the unbroken part of the guard rail, "The name's Spider-" He started to say, but all of a sudden his head was metaphorically split wide open due to a massive amount of pain and buzzing from his Peter Tingle he liked to call it, he yelled out but nobody seemed to react, he turned around to lean his head towards the water, lifting his mask so he could puke and thats when he saw it. Two massive glowing white eyes in the head of a big bald man in the sky.


"Peter Parker..." The man in the dark clouds voice boomed and echoed for miles, "It is time for her..."


Peter hurled his dinner Aunt May made for him earlier in the day before turning around, and started to breath really heavy, "Oh...my...God..." He tried to get out through ragged breaths, then images of his Aunt in nightmare situations, like dying alone creeped into his mind. "It's my fault..." He realized, then he started to run back the way he came, reaching out with a PTHK here and there swinging towards Queens. He watched as he had to leave both criminal and victim of the riots to their own devices as he swung, a direct contradiction to the promise he made that night, but this single vision was the only thing keeping him going.


When he reached his and Aunt May's home, he barged through the door almost breaking it off it's hinges, he didn't care about changing into his civilian clothes, if the man in the sky was the same man he saw the night his Uncle died, nothing mattered but his Aunt. He called out to her, and felt a wetness and the taste of iron in his mouth, his headache was so strong that he was bleeding, maybe he too was going to die? He heard footsteps rushing down from the second story and he saw her, his Aunt May who was in her 50's was just fine.


"I don't... I don't get it... He-He," Peter was a mess but then he doubled over in pain and Aunt May came for him and held him.


"Peter? Is that you?" She asked, he meant to have this conversation with her, but never found the right time. "What's going on? Why are you bleeding?"


"I'm so sorr-sorry, May, I'm hurting real bad, something bad is happ-" and then everything went white...


THE NEGATIVE ZONE


The Negative Zone was first discovered by Reed Richards and his family during their initial tests of cosmic radiation in a zero gravity environment, one minute they were in the observation deck of their Latverian shuttle, the next a hole had ripped in the fabric of space time and they were sucked into it, each member making a sound not unlike slurping up a noodle. What they had found when they arrived on the other side by now at the end of time, was very heavily documented, it is a universe where upon physics and mathmatics have little to no meaning, neither did the concept of time. For the the few minutes they were gone in True Reality, they were in there for years upon years without a single hint of bodly ageing, but they had developed powers no mere human could ever dream of, but thanks in part to their new unstable composition they were able to come and go as time went on once they returned the first time.


The one thing that Reed hadn't tested however was the strain or biomolecular change that a non human, such as a mutant would go through. So when Mr. Immortal landed on the other side of the portal, he could hardly believe his eyes.


Where our universe was entirely pitch black save for celestial bodies, this universe had a purple hazy hue to it, there would be floating structures miles wide or some that were only several feet wide that floated haphazardly, and there was gravity where there were no Suns. And he found he had no reason to breath as well, it was as if he was non corporeal in this place. "Holy..." He whispered, but despite the vast expanse of space, his voice had an echo to it. "This is so strange...strange...strange...," he shook his head and took a step forward, "well, no time like the present...present...present."


WAY IN THE PAST


Several ages had past from the time of the first mutants, and man had discovered the ability to make stories via cave painting, and there was one painting made long ago that is valued in certain circles above all others, and that is the war between the Cheyarafim and the Demonspawn of Limbo. The Cheyarafim were a near angelic race of mutant who hailed from the first society known as Worthingtown now, but back then in their native language it was known or thought to be Heaven, a place only for those were like one another and hence a true utopia. T'was the complete opposite in regard to Limbo where Demonspawn resided.


A place born of true chaos and darkness, hidden deep underground, but with one of the first class based systems, you had the blue skinned who were of good nature but treated as lowly slaves, and you had the red skinned who desired nothing but carnage. Both though had the ability to teleport from one instance to another, within their line of sight.


This tale is about the time the Red skinned Demonspawn had raided a human encampment that had happened to be protected and watched over by a group of Cheyarafim, the resulting war would be fought upon the land that would later be known as Montana in North America. This would not be the last time however that the two subspecies would wage war and fight, despite both sides losing 90% of it's persons, and it would add yet another reason for mankind to fear and despise the mutant populace. This, is the story of that war...


SEVERAL MONTHS AGO
THE HOME OF YOUNG JEAN GREY


"Yes, in that I have no doubt," The Professor nods, and looks at Young Jean for a moment, and then his body vomits up a second, complete replica of himself, this one free of Nightmare's control as Young Professor carries on with his conversation with Young Jean. "Hello Jean," The Professor says with a warm smile, this new body able to stand and walk unabaited and he took a step forward towards her. "I see you've found The White Hot Room, a place where our Astral Projections, that is to say, our inner most selves can come to commune. Please, do tell, are you students faring well at all out there?"


"I've been trapped in my own mind for what feels like years." He noted her looking at the ghoulish form of his Younger Self and he attempted to explain, "Think of there being certain... levels to the subconscious, the first layer are your surface thoughts, your hopes and dreams, your... Nightmares. Level two is your base self, like a soul for example, that was where you managed to find me, it was the most painful feeling i have ever imagined, but it is going to get worse. I welcome you to the third level, pure abstractional thought. We as we perceive ourselves are to be, our mutations, our telepathy unbridled by limitation of the physical form, we have chosen to meet in the past, and here we are. May i ask though, what does the White Hot Room present to be for you? For myself, it presents as Westchester the town itself."


ALBERTA CANADA


Charles watched the Canadian mutant put up a rather entertaining fight, and looked him in the eyes with another cocky grin as his own eyes clouded over and he began to manipulate Creel like a marionette, the man who fought and technically won against Battlin Jack Murdoch was now in the ring, just that nobody was home upstairs except Xavier. In Xavier's voice Creel spoke, "I came with a proposition," he started moving fowards and faked a right before going left and elbowed Logan in the nose, a spot where his admantium wasn't available, "I'm recruiting a team of those like us," then he spun around and attempted to knee Logan in the groin. "Mutants, if you hadn't guessed by now, are hated by pretty much everyone." As Logan started to drop, Xavier had Creel thunderclap against Logan's ears, and I need this team to fight for the hope of not just one side versus the other, but both aisles working towards a commonality." Then he had Creel reach his big New York meaty hand to help Logan up, "In exchange for you helping me, I'll help you figure yourself out. Does Weapon X ring any bells?"


SEVERAL MONTHS AGO
MIT


Amelia pulled Mansion's handicap accessability van into the visitor parking lot of the prestigous tech school, Xavier was in the back, as was Rogue and the three of them had started their journey of recruiting teachers for the school, after all Xavier didn't know everything about everything. Which was exactly why they were here, "So Rogue," Xavier began as Amelia got out to unload the Professor's off ramp, "Ready to know who we're here to meet?" He asked her as he pulled out a manila envelop on the side of his chair, and he pulled out a dossier on a young man named David Alleyne, an intellectually gifted African American who was actually too young to get here through normal means. "Some have called him Gifted," Xavier said as he handed her the dossier and rode down the ramp, "but we know better, don't we?" he added as he came around to her side and helped her with the door. "Do you have any questions so far, young one?"


THE TOUR OF THE MANSION


"Very well, off we go then," Xavier said with a bit of cheer in his voice as he rolled up behind Rogue and telekinetically closed the door on the way out of his office. They made a quick left down one hallway, "This is the way to the student dorms, granted there aren't much of you right now, but still. Not only do you each have your own living space, but i'll be giving you an allowance for personal living, unless of course you want to get a job in Westchester down the way, everyone in that town is pro-mutant, which I don't have to tell you is a rarity, right?" He asked with a solemn chuckle.


LONG ISLAND


"Oh it's not what I'm going to do for you, young Robert," Xavier spoke on the other side of the glass via the telephone, he looked the roughed up young man up and down and tried to disengange from the loud volume of the mob outside, "It's what we're going to do for each other." He smiled at the guard who was behind Bobby and then his eyes became cloudy and he mentally took over the guard, walking him up right alongside the young, scared man. "You and I, and Amelia with me," the guard pointed at the red headed woman as the guard took on the voice of the Professor, "Are mutants, nothing bad, it just means that we're different. I may be able to convince these fine folks to help us out, because as you see in this world, people hate different, I want to teach them that different doesn't equal bad. Do you want to live in a world where that, out there-" The Guard made a motion towards the noise, "is normal for anyone and everyone else who's different?"


NOW


THE MINDSCAPE OF CHARLES XAVIER


It was entirely dark, there was nothing in the vastness except pain, then there were tendrils that came into being, these tendrils were like fine fibers and they began to wrap and twist, and there was pain with every movement but there was no way to unleash the pain. Then the tendrils formed a brain, an intelligence that knew nothing but the pain of existing, but then came another thought that it tried desperately to hide from the unending darkness. This thought gave shape in the center of the brain of a tiny speck of the color pink, and that was as far as the darkness would allow the mind to grow.


This was level two of the Astral Plane, Charles Xavier soul was now nothing more than pain and flayed nerves, surrounded by Nightmare, Charles no longer had any ability to do anything beyond his mutation, and scream into the ether, but there was a sliver of hope in the mind of another. This truly was a nightmare world...


MOUNT WUNDAGOR


"What do we do?" Erik asked Destiny beside her bed, "who are they fighting if not one of ours? Do we even have anyone, anything?"


Destiny looked Erik full in the face and began to stand up, though shakily, before speaking. "We have the shard, the shard of the M'kraan Crystal." She let out a long sigh before rubbing her face from the coming wave of fear, "Erik, with that Crystal, you know what you have, right?"


Erik offered her a wide smile, knowing his helmet would protect him in the coming seconds. "I have leverage." His laughter was the last thing Destiny heard as everything went white for her...


WHAT REMAINS OF THE WORLD


Reality was only whited out for a second, maybe two, but when color and form had returned, the sky was now much smaller and down to Earth, maybe a mile high, but there was nothing beyond. Every couple hundred or a couple thousand feet pools of black ooz and anti gravitional forces pulled at whatever structures they could find in their range and began eating away at reality. 99% of all living organisms were gone off the face of the planet, those who remained had some connection to Vibranium, or Adamantium, or were otherwise shielded from telepathic assault.


The only nation unaffected was that of Wakanda, but even then they were hit the hardest with the loss of their Great King T'chaka and his Prince T'challa. A minute later, a great fog descended upon the world and covered it in it's entirety and the great End Storm, a storm of lightning, acid rain, and thinning oxygen was the norm. This was the world now, this was the power of Nightmare, and even the Professor's body had vanished from the Cerebro console. What hope did anyone have?


10 YEARS LATER
NIGHTMARICA- PETER PARKER'S WORLD


PETER PARKER

NEW YORK CITY


In the pitch of night a group of terrified people stampeded down the street screaming about a monster eating people, someone screamed that the monster ate their mother, another said boyfriend, so whatever they were running from was an indescriminate killer. It wasn't very far that the group could run though as a minute or two flew by before they heard the heavy falls of thick webbing connecting to build mortar with a thick PTHOK, and in the distance someone screamed, "MAN-SPIDER IS COMING! HE'LL KILL US ALL!" They were all too tired to run, one business man simply dropped to his knees and from the darkness came a shot of webfluid that incased his head and he was ripped head first into the shadows.


They all heard the crunch of bone and the gristle of meat being knawed on as The Man Spider jumped into the street, it was wearing what remained of a red and blue jumpsuit, it had eight hairy arms and the most horrifying head, part human and part spider. The thing had a human mouth but on each side were pinchers that dissolved his prey as he ate it, and he had six extra deep set black eyes and two nightmare inducing red eyes. He webbed up someone else and flung them into a nearby shop, popping them like a balloon with the sheer force of power behind his arms, they all tried to run again, but the chase just made this thing smile.


"Witttthhhh greatttttt power comesss greattt hungerrrr..." The Beast roared and then shot webs into the store front and grabbed chunks of body to begin feasting, but as he ate, it began to transform. his blood soaked mouth returned to normal, his eight arms rescinded into his body and the hairs gave way to human skin. As human sentience grew from animal instinct, Peter looked down at the person's gore in his hands and he freaked out with a gutteral scream and he backed away in tears in the middle of the street.


"Oh God, they're all dead! They're all dead and it's my fault! Oh God..." Then the realization hit him, "Aunt May... Mary Jane... I-I-I-" He doubled over and tried to throw up, but his throat muscles were too strong from all the transformations.


"Noo, I couldn't have, Oh God what have I done?" The sound of this world's police sirens sounded in not too far away, but Peter no longer cared, he had been on the run for a decade, living a nightmare as a monster anytime he was hungry or smelled barbeque, or saw someone who looked sooo tasty. Soon several cop cars pulled up to him, except instead of serve and protect they read TRAINED TO HUNT, and the cops, they were wearing leather overcoats and three piece suits underneath, they wore red armbands with a stylized letter X on them.


"Peter Parker!" One of them yelled with an assault rifle trained on him, "By order of Master Xavier and His Order Of Xazi Brotherhood, you are under arrest!"


WHAT REMAINED OF CHARLES XAVIER


WASHINGTON DC


In the rubble that was The White House, a now decrepit and derelict building with graffiti on it's walls, wires splayed out everywhere in the nation's once greatest establishment, was now nothing more than a step to success for The Being in the Oval Office, which had been converted into a much larger Throne Room. Where once the resolute desk was, was the marble chair from the Lincoln Memorial and before it was a gullotine and a trough where Master Xavier's Mutant Hounds ate their fill from, and where once there were windows, was now open so that Master Xavier could gaze upon his worldly kingdom and sit back watch the bloodflow. No longer was there a government that needed to be checked into, he could simply peer into the minds of his subjects and take action through them. Nightmare had won against Xavier, and to show for his failure, Nightmare had cannibalized Xavier's body until all that remained was his head and his nervous system so that he could feel the pain and sorrow that Nightmare inflicted. This was his Nightmarican Dream...

 

[Lost Martian]

BEFORE THE WHITE OUT
Jean-Paul’s offer to help get to Cerebro was quickly invalidated as the pressure from Xavier’s troubled mind finally pushed down on him completely. Without a word, Jean-Paul slid down the wall he had braced himself against, becoming an unconscious pile on the floor. Clarice immediately dropped down to check on him.

“He’s not dead,” stated Clarice, “He just blacked out.”

As she spoke, Clarice wondered how long she would be able to last, as the psychic onslaught continued to bore into her young mind. As she fought back with all her mental fortitude, Clarice saw another super-fast mutant show up, Pietro was his name she was pretty sure. Taking over for Jean-Paul, Pietro would rush Jean and Logan over towards Cerebro.

Still wanting to be of some use, Clarice decided to check on the younger students gathered in the hallway. Nearly all of them were crying, some just crumbled on the hardwood floor. With as much empathy as she could muster, Clarice went to comfort a group of students huddled together.

“It will be alright. The X-Men will fix this,” she said in her softest voice.

For the next several minutes Clarice tried to cheer up the children, all the while flashes of what felt like mental spikes being pushed into her brain came and went. The sheer mental power was making it feel like Clarice’s body was about to give out.

The raw energy would temporarily be replaced by what sounded like Xavier’s mental voice, only it was off. As the mental shouting outed Bobby as both a mutant and a gay man, though with a rude expletive instead, Clarice could see that everyone in the hall had heard this vulgar statement.

“Well of course he’s gay. But that should of been his own thing to disclose,” Jean-Paul said softly, raising his head off the floor.

Clarice was glad to see that Jean-Paul had recovered, Xavier’s mental outburst seeming to have been enough to awaken him. The Canadian mutant would then slowly rise up onto his feet, glancing around the hallway, apparently assessing the situation.

“What did I miss?” Jean-Paul asked.

“Rogue and Bobby went to the Professor’s room, while the others went to Cerebro,” answered Clarice.

“So what do we do now?”

However, Jean-Paul wouldn’t have to wait for an answer, as Xavier called out telepathically, this time with his normal voice.

To me, my X-Men.

Both Jean-Paul’s and Clarice’s heads whipped over toward the Professor’s room, both clearly thinking the same thing.

“Charles is in trouble,” said Clarice.

“So let’s help him,” replied Jean-Paul.

The pair of X-Men would head out of the hallway, toward where the Professor slept. But before they even reached his door, it swung open, revealing a floating Professor Xavier, his eyes pitch black.

“What the hell,” Jean-Paul barely muttered before Xavier’s mind ripped into his.

For the second time in a few minutes, Jean-Paul collapsed to the floor, though he wouldn’t be alone this time as Clarice fell with him. Xavier would then float over the unconscious pair.

The two would awaken in what looked like Washington D.C., though everything was on fire. Chants of mutant and proud echoed among the chaos, bodies strewn all over the once beautiful landmarks.

Clarice was the first to move among the carnage as mutants clashed with armored police, the scent of blood in the air. Working on instinct, she immediately tried throwing a blink javelin, only for nothing to appear.

“Look at that, another mutant who looks weird but can’t do anything useful,” laughed an orange skinned mutant before moving back into the writhing crowd.

Tears began to stream down Clarice’s face, only for Jean-Paul to grab her, “Didn’t the Professor tell you about the dream realm? This isn’t real.”

“What do you mean? Everyone’s dead,” replied Clarice.

“Yeah, but they’re not really dead. This is something Xavier’s mind whipped up.”

“So, we’re not in Washington?”

“Nope. If I recall, Charles said that we just need to focus on waking up to get out of here.”

Clarice would then close her eyes, wishing with her entire being to leave the violent scene she was in. When she finally opened her eyes again, Clarice found herself on the floor, Jean-Paul lying on top of her.

“See, that wasn’t too bad,” said Jean-Paul with a smile.

“Yeah. But where did Xavier go?” asked Clarice.

“My bet is to Cerebro.”

Jean-Paul and Clarice would then get back up and rush toward where they had seen the others go. After a few minutes of trial and error, the two ended up at the door leading to the room where Cerebro was housed.

“Ladies first,” said Jean-Paul as he pressed the button to open the door.

Only to be met by a fist flying toward him. Normally Jean-Paul’s reflexes would easily be enough to dodge, but not when dealing with a mutant like Pietro who was even faster than the Canadian. So the blow landed, the super-fast punch to the jaw, sending Jean-Paul flying backwards, yet again unconscious.

“What the hell!” Clarice shouted as she saw the Cerebro room full of fighting X-Men.

Spotting the floating, and probably possessed, Xavier, Clarice threw a blink javelin at him, hoping to get him far away from Cerebro. But he seemed to read her thoughts, moving ever so slightly so that the javelin dissipated harmlessly against the wall.

Before she could throw another one, Clarice was assaulted by a raging Bobby. With blasts of ice flying at her, Clarice did her best to dodge. However, a stray shot would land on her right leg, causing her to trip, unfortunately sending her head first into the corner of the console that Cerebro.

Blood would immediately flow from the head wound on Clarice, darkness overtaking her. A minute later and the X-Men would all be downed, the Nightmare creature floating victorious in Xavier’s body. Then the world whited out.

---

---

10 YEARS LATER - NIGHTMARICA
Jean-Paul sat propped up next to a tree, one of the few ones remaining in this destroyed forest. Off in the distance, Jean-Paul could see the fires still raging in the remains of Toronto, the once biggest city in Canada now a hollowed mass grave, bombed to all hell by Master Xavier during his conquest of Canada.

But that was many years ago, Canada no longer a thing. Now known as the Northern Territories, Canada and its many resources now swallowed up by Nightmarica. The once proud people of the north had now been reduced to slaves, plundering their land of all things valuable under the order of Master Xavier.

While Jean-Paul’s powers allowed for him to travel pretty much anywhere in the world, he was drawn to remain in what was once his birth nation. He was currently in Toronto, as his hometown of Montreal had been removed from the map by a special weapons strike. In fact most of metropolitan Canada had been destroyed, the few free people of the north having to hide in the wilderness, much like Jean-Paul currently was.

While there were some free cities left around the world, they were rapidly falling to the Order of Xazi Brotherhood. In the past several years, Jean-Paul had seen enough warfare, enough death. He had retreated from others, accepting his position as an outsider, the odd one, the monstrous one.

Mutants had ruined this world, and Jean-Paul was painfully aware that he was a mutant, the bringers of ruin and death. He didn’t even like using his alleged gift, as it was progressively getting stronger, Jean-Paul reaching insane speeds now. That, and the fact that he was having a harder time controlling himself while traveling that fast, meant that he caused a lot of destruction whenever he actually did use his gift.

However, Jean-Paul would need to use his powers again when he noticed a Sentinel flying just above the skyline of Toronto. Once mutant hunting machines, the Sentinels had been co-opted by Xavier to capture wayward humans and forcibly conscript powered individuals into his army.

With no real tree line to hide behind, Jean-Paul made the choice to launch away, hoping to outrun the Sentinel. Jean-Paul had only been running for a few seconds, before he lost his footing and tumbled down, piling through several buildings.

Jean-Paul would then find himself laying on the scorched concrete of some small town’s main strip. Groaning from the impact, Jean-Paul slowly raised off the street, only to see the Sentinel catch up with him, floating above the town.

The roughly ten-foot tall machine landed in front of Jean-Paul, towering over the downed mutant.

“By Master Xavier’s order, you will submit for conscription now mutant,” stated the Sentinel.

Jean-Paul spit some blood out of his mouth before saying, “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

The Sentinel didn’t bother with anymore words, instead firing a repulsor beam out of its hand. With great pain, Jean-Paul pushed off the ground, rising above the beam. Focusing all his energy into a great thrust, Jean-Paul shot forth straight at the Sentinel.

In a millisecond, the entire top half of the Sentinel was removed, leaving a half body just standing in the street.

Jean-Paul was in even more pain as he laid on top of a broken bench, pieces of Sentinel tech strewn all around him. Wanting to rise, Jean-Paul found that his body couldn’t.

His breathing was ragged, multiple bones feeling broken. Jean-Paul would decide to take a few minute breather, his already burdened body in an even worse state after his last few uses of his powers.

But before Jean-Paul could gather himself, he heard the familiar rumbling of an Omnijet speeding toward whatever small town this was. The super fast aircraft would then land a couple feet away from where Jean-Paul lay, the Omnijet opening to reveal several officers clad in red, with an X on their right shoulder.

Jean-Paul began to try and rise, even though his body protested. He really didn’t want to be killed by plain old officers of Master Xavier, after everything else he survived. But the final person to exit the Omnijet was someone who would be more dignified to be killed by.

“Northstar, it’s been awhile,” said the commander of these officers of X.

Through blurry eyes, Jean-Paul recognized the familiar green skinned form of Marrina, a member of Omega Flight. The aquatic being was a lot more older looking now, no longer the bright eyed teenager.

“Marrina,” replied Jean-Paul, blood dripping from his lip, “Still doing my sister’s bidding.”

“You will shut your mouth!” shouted Marrina, “No one speaks ill of Mistress Aurora, regent of the Northern Territories.”

“Of course she is Mistress Aurora now. Remember when she was just Aurora, when we were friends, heroes of Canada. But of course there is no Canada anymore, thanks to good old Master Chuck.”

“I don’t live in the past Northstar. I simply do what is needed to secure the future.”

Jean-Paul was then finally able to rise to his feet, wiping wires from the Sentinel off his shoulder. While he intended to look powerful, it was clear to everyone there that he was barely holding on.

“I am offering you a chance to surrender,” stated Marrina, “As Mistress Aurora would like to have you back in one piece. But she is clear, that she wants her dear brother back.”

“You know, I spent so many years looking for her, only to find her and learn that she is a terrible person. I’m ashamed to be a Beaubier,” stated Jean-Paul.

Clearly tired of listening to whatever Jean-Paul had to say, Marrina raised her hand, the officers raising their rifles. Jean-Paul braced himself to run, though he knew that his body couldn’t support it currently. And even if he could get away, that Omnijet was extremely fast, and could probably lock onto his bio-data now.

“Set rifles to stun,” ordered Marrina.

Thanks to his improved reflexes, Jean-Paul saw the blasts coming. With all his remaining strength, Jean-Paul bounded into the air, stun shots whizzing past him. As he continued to rise into the air, Jean-Paul could once more just how ruined his country was. It was almost enough to make him want to give up. But he wasn’t going to give up just now.

---

---

Clarice was trying to sleep as she sat in the back of the drop ship, as sleep was good whenever she could get it. Her shaved bald head was wearing a toque with the red X of the Order of Xazi Brotherhood, a clear indicator that she was a member of their ranks. It was due to this allegiance that Clarice found herself aboard this drop ship, as her and the other assembled mutants were being sent for a hit and run mission.

While Clarice’s control of her power had led to her being able to teleport across all of Nightmarica, she preferred to travel with her squad, to be among her fellow soldiers.

The drop ship was heading south, into the recently “liberated” regions. They were a haven for traitors and cowards who fled America during its rebirth under Master Xavier. Mexico particularly had taken in many fleeing the revolution, a cesspool of vermin and scum.

In what was once cartel territory, remnants of the Friends of Humanity had been gathering in numbers, enough for the Brotherhood to be dispatched. While Clarice followed all orders, she had a particular beef with the Friends of Humanity given what they did to her during her youth. She would be glad to put down those dogs.

Sitting on either side of Clarice was the ever changing Morph, and the wild looking Mimic. They had served together for the last two years, the rest of the squad being a rotation of various mutants who would last a few missions at most before kicking the bucket. Clarice viewed their deaths as necessary to maintain the peace of Master Xavier.

“We’re at drop point in three minutes, so get ready,” stated the pilot of the ship, the cyborg mutant called Forge.

Rising from their seats, the squad began to put on their parachutes, though notably Clarice did not.

Mimic turned to a confused looking new squad mate, “She doesn’t need one. Just watch.”

When the door did open, Clarice was first out, leaping off the drop ship. As her squad followed behind her, Clarice threw a blink javelin at herself. Immediately moved to the ground proper, Clarice opened fire with her rifle at the flatscans shocked to see Brotherhood members at their compound.

She would soon be joined by her squad, more rifles bearing down on the remnants of the Friends of Humanity. Said flatscans had been using what looked like scavenged Sentinel tech, various repulsors and other lasers being shot at the Brotherhood squad.

One of the new squad mates took a blast to the head, killing him instantly. Meanwhile Mimic turned his skin to steal, while Morph changed his form to weave in and around the blasts.

“Keep pushing,” ordered Clarice, “We need to do our best for Master Xavier.”

“Right-o, boss,” laughed Morph.

Indeed they would push on, the human guerrilla fighters forced back into the building. Figuring that it would provide some measure of safety, Clarice would prove that wrong by teleporting her squad inside.

After a few more minutes, the remaining humans were lying on the ground, all dead by some means.

“Alright squad, search for any possible survivors and relevant items,” order Clarice, “Morph, copy all files off that computer.”

Leaving the tech expert mutant to his work, Clarice swept over the building again, confirming that they had indeed killed all the flatscans. Once back outside, Clarice took a breather as she had been so amped up during the raid.

“There can’t be too many more of these places left, huh commander,” wondered Mimic.

“I don’t think so,” Clarice replied, “Perhaps we’ll finally have peace soon.”

“That would be nice. I’ve been drenched in blood for at least five years.”

Clarice didn’t respond, instead pushing away all memories of the past, only retaining what she needed for the here and now. But this mental process would be interrupted when the communicator on Clarice’s arm beeped.

Answering the message, Clarice saw the hologram of a hooded man appear, “Sister Blink, your presence has been requested at the Temple.”

“And I shall be there,” she replied with a bow.

Turning off the hologram, Clarice turned to Mimic, “I want you to finish up here before extracting. I’ll see you back at base.”

“Copy that commander,” replied Mimic.

Without anymore words, Clarice tossed a blink javelin at herself, ripping her far away from what used to be Mexico. In an instant, she stepped down into New York City, a part of the city that was fully controlled by the government of Nightmarica.

In front of Clarice was a massive temple, covered in the ancient hieroglyphics of Egypt. Surrounding the temple was an energy field, but Clarice passed through without effort, her bloodline letting her into the temple.

“Sister Blink,” welcomed the same man that was on the hologram, “Welcome back to the temple of Akkaba.”

“I am welcomed,” replied Clarice, “What is needed of me?”

“The time we had been preparing you for is at hand. You will now become the heir of Akkaba.”

Clarice didn’t speak. She had learned of her blood relation to Clan Akkaba during the rise of Nightmarica, and had accepted a position within them, but her role as the heir was something she wasn’t ready for.

Being a squad commander alone was more leadership than Clarice ever wanted, and yet she was now supposed to lead one of the world’s largest mutant groups.

“Are you ready?” asked the clan member.

It would take a few seconds, but Clarice would eventually nod, before being led deeper into the temple. For not the first time in her life, Clarice felt that she wasn’t in control of her life. It was a feeling she hated, and yet she did nothing to change it. Clarice was helpless, and she hated herself for it.

 

[Scatterbrain]

The Badlands stretched endlessly beneath a sky of cold twilight, where the sun was forever caught in a blood-red hue. What was once a vibrant and warm land now lay under the chilling influence of the Demon Bear. The creature loomed in the distance, a towering force of malevolence, its massive form blending with the darkened horizon. The nightmare beast’s power was absolute here, its shadow stretching for miles and bringing with it a cold as bone chilling as the bitterest of winter nights.

Among the warped landscape, two of its servants moved with the eerie silence of predators. Tom Corsi stalked forward with deadly purpose, his once-human visage was gone, replaced by the corrupted features of a daemonic revenant. His skin had taken on a bloody, crimson hue and his face was twisted in perpetual rage. Beside him, Sharon Friedlander moved just as unnaturally, her warped form mirroring Tom's own.

“We’re close,” Tom growled, through gritted teeth. He knelt to the ground, touching the snow. The faint imprint of a boot was there, partially covered by fresh flakes. “They came through here not long ago.”

Sharon approached, her bow drawn and ready as she surveyed the trail. “The Demon Bear will be pleased.” She said, reverently. “They can’t outrun us forever.”

Tom’s lips curled into a cruel smile. His corrupted soul felt a sick thrill at the idea of capturing these mutants, forcing them to join the growing ranks of the Demon Bear’s army. With every new servant, their master's power expanded and its shadow grew colder and darker, devouring more of the Badlands. “Let’s make sure they don’t.” Tom stated, rising to his full height, grip tightening on his spiked club.

-----

A group of young mutants moved cautiously through the Badlands, the lead mutant scanning the terrain as they went.

“Stick together!” He said, in a Southern drawl. “This place ain’t natural.”

The red headed girl behind him sniffed the air nervously, her wolf-like senses tingling with unease. “There’s somethin’ here, Sam.” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Somethin’ watchin’ us.”

“I hate this place.” The Brazilian mutant muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Everything feels...wrong.”

“Keep moving, Roberto!” said the Russian blonde, her sword glowing faintly at her side. She glanced at her fellow blonde, who was close by, flames flickering weakly around her hands. “Whatever’s out here, we’ll handle it.”

“They’ve found us!” The redhead shouted, her claws extending as her body shifted partially into her wolf form. Out of the swirling snow, Tom and Sharon emerged, Tom’s club rested heavily in his hand, his rope trailing behind him like a serpent, and Sharon’s bow was drawn, her arrow aimed with deadly precision.

“You don’t belong here!” Tom bellowed, his voice full of rage. “This land belongs to the Demon Bear.”

Tom lashed out with his rope and it coiled around Roberto’s arm, pulling him off balance. Roberto struggled, trying to ignite his solar powers, but the shadows blotted out the light and warmth of the mid-day sun. Sharon let loose an arrow, the projectile slicing through the air toward the wolf-girl, but she narrowly dodged and the arrow embedding itself into a nearby rock. Sam activated his blast field, rocketing toward Tom in an attempt to free Roberto but Tom moved with inhuman speed, sidestepping the charge and swinging his club in a brutal arc. The impact sent Sam crashing into the snow, his blast field flickering weakly as he struggled to recover.

“Enough of this!” the flame wielding mutant shouted, summoning magma to erupt from the ground beneath Tom and Sharon but the pair split apart, avoiding the attack. Suddenly a deafening roar split the air and all combat stopped as the towering form of the Demon Bear turned its attention to the fray, its massive body blotting out what little light remained in the sky. It stood over thirty feet tall and its glowing red eyes fixed on the young mutants like twin beacons of doom.

“RUN!” The wolf girl screamed, her instincts overriding any thought of resistance, but the magma mutant, separated from the others by her earlier attack, found herself directly in the Demon Bear’s path. She scrambled to her feet, summoning fiery blasts of molten rock in desperation, but the nightmare beast remained unscathed.

“Amara!” Sam shouted, trying to reach her but Tom’s rope snared him mid-flight and he tossed him in the other direction.

The Demon Bear loomed over Amara, its shadow engulfing her completely, chilling her to the bone. She screamed as its massive claw descended and stabbed into her chest. The moment its claw pierced her, a dark energy surged through her body, spreading like cracks in glass. Amara fell silent as her body twisted into a corrupted mockery of a Native American warrior. When she rose again, she was no longer Amara Aquilla but a revenant servant of the nightmare beast.

The Demon Bear roared triumphantly, its massive form growing even larger as its shadow stretched farther across the land. Tom turned toward the remaining mutants, a sick grin spreading across his face. “Run!”

 

[strawberryspiral]

The suburban family home of the Maximoffs no longer reflects the idyllic childhood Wanda had come to value. Floors creak and wood rotten, crumbling and degraded completely in places, she has to step over the developing holes to avoid breaking her ankles. Flowery wallpaper caked in dust, every surface caked in it, and to make things worse the water comes out slightly gray and murky. Lights flicker, electricity occasionally cuts off, meaning at times she’s left without heat. Then there’s the holes in the roof, leaking polluted rain from their tainted skies.

During the day the sun barely shines through dark clouds of black and gray, everything bleak, drained of life. Wanda floats downstairs, stopping at every family photo to stare, to ponder what that was like. A home, a family, a distant memory she can barely recall- at times she stops to observe their spirits.

Wandering ghosts, translucent figures of the Maximoffs, going about their own day completely unaware of her presence. She watches and longs, wishes and prays to nothing and everything, only to be ignored. To be treated as if she were the ghoul haunting their own halls.

They’ve been gone so long her mother’s pillow no longer smells like that hibiscus shampoo, and Pietro’s snacks have fossilized- crumbling like dust between her fingers. When she spots her father’s faded figure brush past her, his hand reaches out on instinct to touch her shoulder as he passes; she feels nothing.

Hollow, empty, he acknowledges her as if she’s with them but at times stares right through her like she’s not even there. Wanda’s reminded of a time when she moved through expansive corridors, somewhere with high ceilings and fanciful paintings. Invisible, surrounded by an unknown multitude, just another body to fill the seat at a desk. The memory comes and goes, she can’t think on it further, a time so lost to her she can't quite grasp its meanings or origins.

She’s done this for what feels like forever now. Wanda’s routine is that of a hermit, leaving the ruins of her decrepit home only to refill her meager supply of food. Pulling the hood of her jacket up as she puts on a pair of sunglasses, Wanda forces herself to leave the safety of her haunted home. Breath quickening, she takes that first step outside into the bleak world outside her black out curtains.

All she wants is to go back inside, but you can only survive on saltines and canned fruit for so long. The tiny wad of bills she got from selling some of her family’s valuables weighs a ton in her pocket. Wanda begins the thirty minute walk to the nearest supermarket with haste, while the rest of the world goes on as if everything around them is completely normal.

Children run around in the green grass of their white picket fence yards, their mothers watch on from the front porch swings, while fathers arriving home from work pull into the driveways. As she passes by, the neighbors stop to stare, Wanda doesn’t blame them. She barely leaves the house after all. Hasn’t brushed her hair in awhile, or showered really, she looks crazy and can’t find the will in herself to care. To them she must seem like an actual witch, haunting the streets with her atrocious lack of self care and worn out clothes from years past.

Wanda trudges under bleak, sunny skies, surrounded by dozens of smiling people, happy souls. Despite dense sheet of dark clouds the sun still shines, a faded white yes but, the world moves on. Everyone’s gone on with their lives, forgotten the ones they lost, and started anew. It brings her envy, judgement, and eventually, hatred. Maybe her self deemed seclusion is part of it, deep down she knows that without her brother there’s not a soul on Earth left she can relate to or be personable with. The loss of one's entire family isn’t the common occurrence Hollywood would have you believe. Wanda’s alone and there’s nothing aesthetic or motivating around it, all she feels is an eternal emptiness. A lack of care she can’t even begin to explain to anyone, she can barely understand it herself.

Once she finally passes through the supermarket’s sliding doors Wanda’s greeted by bright colors, a million sounds at once, and the chirp of: “Welcome back!” By one of the employees at the front. She avoids meeting his eyes, head down as she passes by. Grabbing onto her staples like chips, canned fruit, and cereal- things that wouldn’t go bad if her electricity goes out like it has been lately. As she goes down the cereal aisle taken in by the multitude of choices something makes her stop in her tracks. An irregularity, a bag of opened cereal tipped over its side, spilling out onto the floor endlessly. Wanda takes a few hesitant steps closer, the multicolored flakes keep falling, more than what could ever be held within that bag. So much so that the white tiles of the isle begin to become completely covered. A woman standing with a child on her hip, leaning against her cart says nothing.

Wanda just stares, watching as a sea of fruity cornflakes start to pile up to her knees, spilling out, like a leak in the hull of a ship at sea. Wading through the cereal, crunching at the bottoms of her boots, she steadily approaches the bag until she’s close enough to touch it. Hand grasping the plastic bag with a whirl of red magic, sparks flicker and a flash of white blinds her. Her eyes squeeze shut automatically and when she opens them Wanda’s no longer standing in a knee high pile of cereal.

THE VISION FROM ANOTHER WORLD​

Greeted by the sight of the stranger she’s seen so often in her nightmares Wanda flinches, staring into blue eyes that resemble her brother’s so closely it hurts to look at him. In her nightmares he’s tormented, persecuted, and chased to the ends of the Earth.

A mutant cursed to wander a world that only contains further suffering with every corner he turns. From a child held hostage by scientists, to a young grown man haunted by the shadows of those he lost, every dream brought her questions. Strangers in his life who carried gifts just as magnificent as his own, war, festivities, hardships.

He’d lived a fuller life than her, traveled far, seen every warped erosion of evil the Earth could produce. Yet, still the young man she’d watch grow through dreams held his head high despite everything. It’s a weird thing to say- that dreams of a life far worse than your own brings you peace. But, if anyone on this planet could understand the pain she felt from losing her family it was him.

Now, he looks nothing like a young man, with wrinkles between both brows from glaring, and downward creases from the stern flat line his lips seemed permanently pressed in. Head high and back straight he stands on the other side of a holding cell. Looking into the small rectangular crack in the door with a look of pride.

“I hope you’re comfortable, you’ll be here for a while.”

“Screw you! I didn’t do shit and you know it!”

“Ah, denial, it will get you nowhere around here. You’ve already been charged and booked, my job is done here-”

“-You snake! You’re just a lowlife mutie, like me! I know you’re type, no way in hell you’re some fancy government agent! FRAUD! BETRAYER TO YOUR OWN KIND!” The man on the other side of the thick walls bellows.

There’s the sound of metal scraping and choked gags from the little rectangular opening in the door.

Said betrayer’s brows narrow, then he lifts one hand, and she hears something slam hard into one wall, “I’m no betrayer. You should’ve thought about how your acts would reflect on us all, mutants like you are the reason this world is descending into chaos. We’re better off without scum like you.”

More choked gasps arise, and for a moment Wanda’s scared he’ll kill the prisoner on the other side. Then his hand drops, both fists balled at his sides, “You’re a threat to nation security, a threat to the reputation of mutant kind. It is my pleasure to know you’ll spend the rest of your insignificant life rotting in this cell.”

With that he turns, walking out on the sound of pathetic wet sobs, and sputtering pleas of innocence. Wanda wonders what he did, how the boy she saw in earlier dreams tied down to lab tables and prodded with needles could become an agent for any government agency. It seems like such a complete one-eighty but Wanda’s hooked, so intrigued she completely forgets about the never ending sea of cereal she saw only moments ago.

As he strides past prison guards and is followed by the jeers of prisoners under fluorescent lights, they begin to get fuzzy white light swirling, encompassing her vision. Only dissipating when she sends a small blast of red magic before her. Hoping to somehow manipulate and transition from this vision to something else, anything to distract her from the lonely reality she found herself entrapped in.

She blinks, and the red and white fade into green grass and gray skies. Dark clouds rumble in the distance and the sunrise peeks just over the horizon. Wanda finds herself sitting on a bench in what can only be Central Park. The same man from all her dreams sits beside her, wearing a gray sweat suit, and carrying a metal water bottle.

His head tilts back to take a swig as one of the many people passing by stops, sitting down on the bench next to him. A young woman, dressed in the usual business attire of a pantsuit and trenchcoat. Short brown hair cut just above her shoulders, she fiddles with her glasses, pulling out her cellphone.

The two sit in silence for a long moment, then he drops his water bottle, and it rolls oddly in her direction despite her bench being slightly uphill to his.

“Oh, very sorry-” He starts and she just nods, grabbing the water bottle, and handing it back to him.

When he takes it back she stands up, gives him a nod, and mutters, “It’s fine, have a good one.”

Upon her leave, he protrudes a small slip of folded up paper, stuck to the bottom of the bottle. Lets it sit balled in his fist, looks over his shoulder, then hops to his feet striding deeper into the park. Towards a trail that leads deeper into trees, she follows until he pauses at a cluster of trees, walking off into the woods.

When he’s standing at the center of the cluster of trees, further off the trail, he begins to unfold the white paper. He pulls out a thumb drive, paper carefully wrapped around it, and shoves it into his pocket. Reading the words written in a whisper to himself only the trees and herself, can clearly make out:

“Previous assignment complete, now begins search for meta-subject C-52. Remain covert, further details regarding case enclosed within drive.” Clicking his tongue he flicks one finger, a tiny coin leaves his pocket and flies through the air. The coin cuts through the piece of paper until it's shredded into miniscule pieces, before throwing it to the wind.

“Seems SHIELD’s found use for my talents after all,” One corner of his lips twitches into a barely there smile.

RETURN TO NIGHTMARICA​

Wanda’s once again thrown into a swirling sea of lights that flickers and shine until she’s once again standing on a speckle tiled floor, listening to generic pop music, and the shriek of someone’s baby in the distance.

The cereal is gone, all perfectly organized on the shelf as if the tidal wave of multicolored sugary, cornflakes never even was. While Wanda doesn’t know if she’s going crazy or finally seeing the world for what it truly is.

“Chaos, all of it,” For some reason, that gives her hope.

---

“Hey, maybe you should take a break man. That bottle’s not goin’ anywhere, ya know?” A voice carries from across the bar, and Pietro’s not even drunk yet. He looks around, he isn’t drinking from any bottle, just drinking fruity cocktails as usual.

Through the sea of sparkling New Year’s decorations and scantily dressed partygoers he spots a man maybe twenty times the size of a normal human- horizontal wise, sitting up in a corner. While he nurses a bottle that’s half emptied, before gulping the last of that amber liquid down. Adding the empty one to the multitude of others on the table, his bulging stomach protrudes and spills over.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” The hefty man yells back, even his voice sounds heavy, impactful, just like his physique. Pietro wonders how much he’d have to eat to get that big, or with his inhuman metabolism- if it was even possible. He’d been pretty lean his whole life despite love for junk food.

“Hey, I’m just lookin’ out for you bud!” A muscular guy wearing an NYU hoodie claps the blubbery looking white guy on his shoulder.

“Well, I can look after myself, alright dipshit?”

“Watch it fatass,” The college student slurs snidely and he watches as the hefty bald guy at the table begins to stand. Body rising up after much effort, face red, and brows narrowing dangerously. Pietro would think he was gonna cry if not for that.

“What’d you just call me?”

Making a big deal of rolling his eyes dramatically the college student snickers, some of his friends gathering around to look. “You heard me lardo, what’re you deaf and fat? Your momma must’ve torn in two tryna push your fatass-”

Pietro watches on, sipping from a fancy pink straw, as the guy suddenly steps out from behind the table. The edge of it tearing away with the drag of his stomach, splintering wood joins the chorus of loud music, and a handful of TV’s broadcasting the ball drop.

“I’m warning you, GET LOST!” The boar of a man growls, then the younger does something beyond stupid. He sets up another joke.

“Look at him! He can barely stand,” He looks to his friends jovially as they all join in with laughter. “You get diabetes from your momma too?”

Pietro’s had about enough of this, it’s ruining his buzz, so he quickly makes his way over to them. Watching as the massive man’s meaty hand- about three times the size of a normal person's, begins to raise inorder to strike the guy.

“You get that ugly face from yours?” He spits back and the guy jumps, surprised to find Pietro standing right beside him.

“Oh-ho! Who is this? You make your boyfriend fight your battles for you chunky?” The group of wanna be bullies erupt into boisterous laughter, looking all too full of themselves.

Pietro grins, “You make your boyfriends laugh at your lame jokes?”

Mouth dropping open then snapping shut, the guy goes wide eyed then looks enraged. “Hey! Who the fuck do you think you are freak? You wanna fuckin’ go? Let's take this shit outside then!”

He shrugs, “Okay!” Pietro shifts into overdrive, throwing him over one shoulder, and darts out the door. Body maneuvering through the crowded streets, he runs until he hits the Narrows Bridge. Then he sets the guy down on the sidewalk, and runs right back to where he started in record time.

When he gets back inside instead of the bar proceeding with the party like expected, he walks into upturned tables, shrieking people in a hurry to make their escape from the crowded bar.

“GO AWAY FUCKWADS!” The bald man throws his belly into two of the college frat boys soar through the air before tumbling across the floor.

Pietro’s a bit buzzed, and lacking in entertainment, so the whole thing makes him burst out into cackles. One of the frat guys stumbles into him, and he grabs the guy by the shoulder, whipping him around to throw a flurry of punches so fast and hard he hears bone crack. It felt more freeing than anything he’d been through since arriving in NYC a year ago. So far from home, from everything he once knew.

Not like it was up to him though.

People leave in flocks, and as the bar descends into chaos, the giant of a man- approaches to smash one of the dudes' heads into a table. His breath is heavy and labored, body rippling with fat, but Pietro can’t help but think that he must be pure muscle with how he throws his weight around with ease.

“We should get outta here, they’re calling the cops,” He glances over to the woman behind the bar hyperventilating into her cellphone.

“Let ‘em I ain’t scared of nobody! I CANNOT BE CONTAINED!” The air shakes along with his hollering.

“Suit yourself, I’m not stickin’ around to let them take away my abilities and lock me in a cage though. I’m going home- pizza rolls are calling my name…” Pietro takes one slow, calculated step forward.

Tilting his head, his expression contorts into sudden joy. “Wait! You got a place around here? With food?”

“Sure do my guy, I got the family size bag and every Shrek movie ever made on DVD too.” The sound of sirens blaring from the distance sobers him up a bit. Pietro glances around looking for a good escape that isn’t the front door. “We should probably get outta here, quick.”

“Huh?” The guy looks around, “I gotchu!” He squares up, body in a running position before pushing himself off with one tree trunk sized leg, barreling right through the brick wall of the bar, barreling through one business after another on the block.

“My boss is gonna kill me!” The woman behind the wails into her cellphone and Pietro watches crumbled brick and dust fall from the giant hole in the wall.

“Well-” More loud BOOMS follow the previous ones, the whole Earth seems to shake with every step of the humongous stranger as he bulldozes through the whole block. “-Sorry ‘bout him, between me and you- I think he’s a bit insecure.”

Pietro leaves with a blur of motion filing in behind the blob shaped guy, watching partygoers eyes go wide with shock as the massive man runs through literal brick walls like it's nothing. When they finally clear the block of businesses and end up on a street, he takes a deep breath of polluted yet crisp winter air.

“I gotta hand it to you big guy, that was pretty damn impressive.” He smiles and watches as the densely packed human of fat turns around slowly to meet him his gaze with a death stare.

“What you jus’ say to me shrimp?”

Pietro looks around in confusion. “Uh, is that offensive? I dunno, sometimes I speak to fast for my brain to keep-”

“CALL ME BIG ONE MORE TIME!” Again he squares up lifting one leg then the next to plant his feet in the cement- it cracks.

“Oh shit, you’re actually serious! This is hilarious!” Pietro can’t help the laughter that escapes him. “Bro, c’mon, I wasn’t even meaning that in a bad way.”

“IWE AIN'T BROS! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW MY NAME!” He’s revving up, Pietro can see it, engines on overdrive like a tank going up a steep hill.

All he can do is run, or, try to de-escalate the whole situation. “Oh, you’re right, my bad man, my bad. What’s your name? Mine’s Pietro, it’s nice to meet ya,” He throws out a hand.

After a moment's hesitation the threat seems to blow over, his round, red face cooling to pink. “M-my name’s Fred,” His huge hand encompasses Pietro’s and shakes, thankfully, he doesn’t crush any bones but he knows there will be a bruise tomorrow.

“Cool, cool, well Fred, you and I better hang low from here on out. Wanna binge Shrek and pizza rolls at my place?” At the mention of food his mood brightens instantly.

“Yeah! For sure! Lead the way,” The two of them begin running through crowded streets, thousands of people trying to make their way to Times Square as they push through, going the opposite way.

“Pee- tro- Pee- say, where’s that name from bro? I’ve never heard of it,” The massive mutant makes casual conversation as they come to a slow walk, just down the street from his place. Pietro hides the amused smile that tries to break it's way across his cheeks, so now they're bros? That was fast.

“Uh, I dunno, I’m adopted- from a tiny country in Eastern Europe. Probably haven’t heard of it.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m from Texas- Remember the Alamo, and all that stuff.”

Pietro doesn’t know much about the USA’s geography or history, just that it’s big , and has lots of different people who hate each other for one reason or another, spread out all over. “Huh, Texas- you still got family there?”

“I think so, haven’t seen ‘em in a while though.”

“Me too,” Pietro sighs.

“Thought you said you were adopted?”

He nods, jaw clenching. “I am, me and my twin sister- Wanda. We’re inseparable.”

Were inseparable, he meant.

“I don’t see her with you now,” He looks around in confusion as if expecting an exact replica of Pietro to show.

“Yeah, well, that’s because-” I can’t stand to be around her anymore, literally, Pietro almost says. But, this simple minded fool couldn’t begin to understand. Not even if he explained it to him like he’s a preschooler.

How do you tell someone that you and your mutant sister are like opposite ends of a magnet? Get too close and chaos ensues, his body vibrates uncontrollably, powers becoming unstable until he’s stuck in super slow mode. Everything around him drips like honey while his sister’s magic goes haywire, consuming things in fragmented pieces and portaling them high in the sky where they drop on top of airplanes, take out cell towers.

“-Because what?” Fred repeats, bringing him out of his own thoughts.

“We just can’t be around each other without things going… Nuclear. I guess?”

“Oh! I get that, yeah- I used to fight with my cousins back home all the time! I always won though.” Fred exclaims proudly and Pietro just nods, a thousand mile stare fixed on his apartment building in the distance.

“Yup, that’s family for you. Can’t stand to be together, but can’t take suffering apart either.”

---

THE WHITE HOT ROOM: SOMEWHERE BEYOND SPACE AND TIME​

The time spent reliving the memory from when she first met the Professor continues on repeat for so long, Jean has every word memorized. It’s all she has left of him after all, Jean’s not sure where she is, or how she’ll ever get back home.

Or if home even exists anymore.

That makes her tremble, body shaking as she pushes herself up on both feet. The possessed Professor repeating the same strange words with a creepy lilt to a voice that is in no way his. “Hello Jean, you have a most beautiful mind-”

There’s a sudden pinging, like a certain frequency is played, her head starts to throb and nausea soon follows. It's what ultimately gets her to move on, to finally let the past go. Move onto another strange memory, back to the color bleached Institute. Jean grimaces, the ink black eyes of the being who has taken the Professor hostage never leaving her.

Even as she walks right past him, his gaze follows, but head never turns. Frozen still as if her memory holds him in place. “You can run Jeanie, but you can’t hide,” There’s a satisfied hum after those chilling words.

“What did you just say?” Her voice lowered to almost whisper, the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. For the first time his choice of words changes- speech adjusting to the environment as she heads for the front door.

Leaning forward in the couch the Professor’s head twists like an owl’s to snap around and look at her directly. Dry, pale lips, almost blue stretch into a wide and sinister smile, eyes empty of any warmth the Professor once held.

“Run, make this fun for me. I do love a chase!” He raises from the couch, arms outstretched as all the lights begin to pop and sizzle. Dark shadows growing and consuming all light, Jean backs away a few steps hand grasping the door knob tightly. Just in time for a tendril of black shadows to curl around her ankle. A scream rips its way out of her throat, the energy feels so cold it burns.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Like salt and ice it peels away at her skin, leaving a festering welt as she lashes out. Releasing a psionic blast that starts at the back of her head, traveling down her spine, and fully releasing once it reaches her ankle.

A circle of pink energy, meets jagged black, and blood sprays. Jean’s pretty sure she just psychically degloved her ankle. If the actual Professor were here he’d probably cheer on her detailed level of control during this precarious moment. She’s not sure how she managed to avoid any major arteries or muscles, maybe it’s just a lucky break.

Blood seeps down her ankle and soaks her shoe. So, not as lucky as she once thought then.

Fear crowds her mind as she steps out the opened door, white blinding her vision, and a scourging heat covering her head to toe. From behind her Jean hears the evil being let loose a bout of maniacal laughter.

“Now the real fun starts!”

As she stumbles out the door into white nothingness, hobbling on one foot. The smell of burning flesh sifts through the air, and her ankle throbs, she glances down to see the singed skin beneath her tattered pajama pants bubbling.Cauterizing itself, without her even thinking about it.

As if her environment is in control and not her, which seems impossible, just like everything else about this subliminal white out of space and time. She registers the pain like flames licking her skin, but keeps running. Somehow maintaining a steady pace on both feet despite the heat bleeding through her veins.

The last thing she registers is that sizzling hot pain as everything dims from white, to gray, and then pitch black.

THE FUTURE: WELCOME TO NIGHTMARICA​

When she awakens, no longer surrounded by the faded out version of the Institute dorms, or her childhood home. Jean gets the sense that she’s somewhere she doesn’t belong. It's similar to how she felt after her first growth spurt. Skin feels too tight on her body, and joint muscles ache. Plus, there’s this heavy sense of paranoia, and not just from the usual slightly neurotic need to control everything around her either.

Jean’s awoken to a world the polar opposite of the one she comes from. First off, the moon overhead is blood red, secondly where she once felt the presence of a million scorching suns is just cold. She’s still in her pajamas from that night, wearing nothing but a flimsy cardigan and the canvas shoes she slid on in a hurry.

Around her is a place that could only exist in a psychopath's daydreams- crumbled buildings, rusted vehicles abandoned in the cracked streets, and collapsed street lights. There’s a strange bleached hue to everything, even the sky is bleak despite the red light of what she can only assume is a lunar eclipse?

Nothing is green, all the plants are brittle and yellow, or brown crisps. The few people she does manage to encounter as she walks through the ruined town are dressed in layers of worn out clothing. Everything encrusted with dust and what looks to be old burnt crisps. Some walk with purpose, others wander aimlessly, and as wind pushes through the streets, so do thick blankets of dust.

The people she does manage to spot give her a wide berth, all of them covered in gray dirt, and their smell… Cobbled ruins surrounded her on all sides, streets piled high with mountains of rubble. All she could do for a while was stare, mouth slightly agape, wandering through the ruined town. She walks down several blocks of collapsed towers, one literally bent in half to reveal the offices inside.

It’s so cold, her toes are clenched inside thin canvas shoes. Cold bites at her skin, and she shakes her head from side to side, teeth chattering.

“You’re not cold Jean, it’s not real, this can’t be all that’s left.” She’s answered by the whistling wind and stinging eyes.

Everything happened so fast last night, she’d spent the night tossing and turning. Woke up for water, ended up playing cheap flash games on Pietro’s laptop with a group of kids. One minute she was tossing and turning, the next an incessant beep welcomed her to hell on earth. If this is all that’s left, does that mean everyone’s- are they really dead? Stomach churning, nausea prickling her senses. All she wants to do is curl up in a ball on the cement, and wail like a baby.

Instead Jean keeps walking, that’s all she can do. A million questions swirled through her rattled head, shaky breaths leaving dry lips. She’ll need to find a source of clean water. Or find a way to clean it herself, but everything here- the trees and their shriveled blackened hawks or bone dry bark with no leaves, is just so dry. Jean’s got the power to read minds, sure, but she’s no

Everyone she cared for, everything the Professor dedicated his life too. It can’t all just be gone in an instant, can it?

Most of the people she spots are dressed in layers of worn out clothing. Encrusted with dust and others with what looks to be old blood. Some walk with purpose, others wander aimlessly, and as wind pushes through the streets so does thick blankets of dust.

She spots a tall, rail thin man in what looks like a gas mask, beside him a young teenager around her age covered in dust. Jean hurries to cross the street, about to ask them where she’s found herself, when the man winds around to stare her down from beneath the goggles he’s wearing. Hand going into his pocket as his distorted voice comes out in a growl from beneath the comically large gas mask.

“I’m armed and I won’t hesitate!”

Jean jumps backwards at the threat, eyes widening, and just nodding. “O-okay, sorry-” He grunts, the teen boy at his side pulls at his companion’s sleeve.

“Chill out, look at her-” He waves a hand dismissively, “-She ain’t no threat Pops.”

She’d be offended if not for how bone chillingly cold she is. Whole body shivering as a strong gust of wind tossed hair into her eyes. “H-he’s right, I don’t want to hurt anybody, I’m just lost.”

The two look between each other before the slender, older man nods. The teen takes that as a signal to dig into his pocket, pulling out a folded scrap of paper that he unfolds into a meager looking map. Somewhat faded and parts redrawn with different colors of pen. Added on are little doodles of various animals and crudely drawn skulls, he flattens it out on the brickwall of an abandoned building.

All over the business’ walls are various flyers and posters, she doesn’t bother reading them. Too focused on the map he’s so kindly offered to show her. The man she assumes to be his dad raises a lighter, allowing her to read everything in the red shrouded darkness.

“You’re right here miss, Dustmourn Valley, a couple hours west of the Capitol.” The kid’s southern drawl reminds her of Rogue, of everyone she’s missing.

“Dustmourn?” She repeats in confusion. Taking a closer look at the map her eyes drift to the top, she reads the faded words aloud in shock. “Maryland? H-how did I- when did I-”

The two are giving each other knowing looks, the guy in a gas mask shifts on his feet. Suddenly putting a hand around his son’s arm and pulling him back from her. Both of them no longer look at her but past her, to something behind her head as the kid shoves his pocket back into his pocket.

“What?” She gives them a blank look, and lets her psychic touch push past her mind's eye, intruding into the strangers’ trauma riddled minds.

It’s her, so she’s the one they’re looking for.

Mutant, she’s a mutie!

She’s the reason they destroyed our home, to look for her, to capture her! Why’s she so special? What gives her the right!?

Cassandra’s gone because of you, I hope the Sentinels find you, I hope they chop off your head on national TV-

Flashes of a warm, sunny day, a boy searching for seashells in the white sand. A father with a big belly sipping beer that smells of ginger. The back of a woman in a bikini as she lifts a sun hat from her head and looks out onto azure blue waves.

She turns her head, the corner of her lips in a smile. “Oh honey, I love it here, it’s most beautiful place on Earth-”

Jean blinks and she’s back in the present, the paradise held in the man’s far off memory long gone.

“You…” The old man growls between gritted teeth, and Jean’s frozen still in shock.

The teen’s kind, dirt smeared face turns cruel, “This is all ‘cuz of you, why don’t you turn yourself in! We’re all sufferin’ ‘cuz of you!”

Another thought barrels through his subconscious so loud she can’t block it out.

Momma’s dead, she’s never coming back.

“You did this, you ruined everything, all those people… They all died ‘cuz of you!”

Heart racing Jean shakes her head, “N-no, I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You know, you’re one of ‘em. A mutie, a monster-” The sight of the Professor- eyes black and skin pale, with that creepy smile on his face flashes in her vision.

“-I’M NOT A MONSTER!” The screams rips out of her chest, and the two back away.

At their sudden retreat, the wide eyed fear, she suddenly softens. Hands reaching out to placate them but that only makes both flinch.

“I-I didn’t mean- I’m so sorry. You have to understand, I didn’t mean for any of this-”

“-I don’t care! My Momma’s dead ‘cuz of you!” The kid yells himself hoarse, doubling over with a cough as the dust cuts through the streets.

The father steps in front of his child, arms outstretched protectively. “Don’t hurt him! You can kill me, ju-just don’t hurt my boy!”

It pains everything in her, Jean can practically hear the Professor’s chiding voice from somewhere deep within her head as she does it. But, she doesn’t have much of a choice anymore. Eyes meeting the man's pale pink, psychic tether latching onto both father and son, she implants a new version of events into their heads.

“No, you must be mistaken, I think you’re confusing me for someone else. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Pink eyes glimmer underneath the man’s goggles and his son who peeks from behind his father stares at her with a dazed expression. “Yeah… We friends Pops, why’d you shout at her like that?”

The old man rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry miss, got carried away there. I didn’t quite catch your name?”

Jean blanks, “Oh, uhm- Elaine, my name’s Elaine.” She gives up her middle name and the two just nod in unison.

“Nice to meet ya Elaine, hope you find your way home soon. These streets ain’t no place for a lady. Steer clear of the east, closer you get to the Capitol the more chaos.”

His son nods, pulling a thick, crumpled up red scarf made of wool. “Here, ain’t much but it’s better than what you got on.”

Jean gulps, taking the scarf and wrapping it around her shoulders, neck, and head with a mixture of both relief and guilt. “Uh, thank you, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Avoid the east.”

“Yep, see ya ‘round. Pleasure meetin’ you!” The tall, emaciated man exclaims as the two of them pass her by.

As they go their way, Jean finally turns around to take in whatever had made them switch up on her so quickly. Chin lifting she comes face to face with a picture of herself- in black and white, tattered at the edges. It's a picture where she looks to still be in high school, and in big bolded letters reads a foreboding message.

MUTANT CRIMINAL AT LARGE
JEAN GREY

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
VIOLENT & UNPREDICTABLE
TAKE CAUTION & ALERT AUTHORITIES
REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO CAPTURE​

 

[Goonfire]

Bobby furrowed his brow as this 'Charlie' piqued his curiosity. He listened intently, but his confusion grew as the man before him seemed to focus. The guard startled him, speaking with the telepath's cadence. He was... possessed? No matter how unnerving it was, Bobby saw the precision and control firsthand, even in the delicate act of taking over someone's body. He composed himself, pondering the question; does he want the world to continue down a path of ignorance and irrational hate?

Finally, he gave his answer. "No. I didn't ask for this, and no one else did, either. I'm the one who beats up the bullies for making fun of 'different'... but... now I'm different."

Clearly, the teen was still processing what Charles was offering and what it meant to be different. "I think I get what you're askin' me, and like... I'm game, but I've gotta get away from Long Island first." He stood up from his chair and motioned towards the door. "Look at those guys out there. They're mad as he—heck. I might be safer in here." He squinched his eyes shut, sensing he was between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to cry, yet he had to put on a brave face.

---

Rogue followed along, both physically and mentally. The idea of her own dorm room sounded wonderful; nights in a comfy bed—or any bed, for that matter—were few and far between since she ran away from home.

Westchester was a rare bastion of mutant rights, as Charles said. "Yeah, that's rare, all right," she echoed absentmindedly, pondering work. "Ah never worked before. Gotta be away from where people can touch me, though." She was afraid of someone else getting hurt just by bumping her. A stock room sounded good; she could lift fifty pounds, no problem... or a hundred... or a thousand...

—

Rogue stepped out of the van, staring at the sprawling MIT campus. She looked like a new person compared to the girl who first went into the mansion. She let her hair grow out and ditched the heavy makeup, the black lip gloss replaced with a popular red. The old stuff went in trash cans or donation bins, and she instead showed up in a fashionable orange turtleneck.

David Alleyne... The name was on the tab of a tan folder in the vehicle's backseat. She didn't miss a beat as the Professor threw a rhetorical curveball her way. "Trick question," Rogue retorted with a smirk, then recited: "He is 'gifted', but not in the common way." While still not fully comfortable with her mutant powers, her outlook had changed; she and others of her kind weren't 'freaks' anymore. The old 'Glass half empty' had changed to 'glass half full'. She was even working on her GED.

"What're we waitin' for? Let's go meet 'im," she finally answered, ushering him and Amelia ahead of herself.

---

Nightmarica, 10 years later...

The town of Westchester lay in ruins. It was simply another mass casualty as its pro-mutant citizens refused to bend a knee to tyranny. They stood for equality, even as the lasers and bombs rained on them... But what about when the life rapidly drained from them?

Destroyed drones and fighter jets rested in the scarred streets of Westchester, their wings marked with the stylized 'X'. Skeletons were strewn across the lawn of the battle-damaged town hall. Some bones were broken, others charred, and still others were completely intact. Among them were the remains of scavengers—crows, raccoons, and even insects. Nothing in ten years had the opportunity to pick these bones clean.

Even for a ruined, forgotten city, Westchester was eerily devoid of life. The reason sat within that very town hall. Beneath a hole in the ceiling, there knelt a woman. Her white-streaked auburn hair had grown unkempt and tangled. A ragged men's overcoat sagged on her slim shoulders. Though she could leave at any moment, this place was the willful prison of Rogue.

During her valiant battle against the Xazi Brotherhood, Rogue's powers had changed. Other rebel fighters around her started to cough and groan, their skin paling before their eyes rolled back in their heads. Their memories, fear, and confusion flooded into her mind, and it quickly became apparent that her power of absorption started to radiate from her. She cried for others to get away from her, but it was too late. The aura from this new mutation killed dozens—even some of her fellow X-Men.

Those who hadn't fled died or were captured, but the broken Rogue couldn't bring herself to leave, for fear of claiming more lives without even realizing it. Attempts to retrieve her failed, and so Xavier's forces established a quarantine zone to ensure a living weapon of mass destruction didn't evade their prying eyes. Every night, she wondered why the Sentinels flying overhead didn't drop one final bomb...

---

Antarctica: a frigid place, inhospitable to all but a few rugged species. Some fortunate souls made it to this last frontier of Earth, but none ventured deeper inland, towards the city of ice.

In all his efforts to reach his possessed mentor, Bobby Drake found himself hindered and pushed back by former allies and Sentinels. He soon found new purpose in leading refugees far south, acting as a guide for a global Underground Railroad. However, it was woefully short-lived.

Bobby found himself confronted by Nimrod, the adaptable Sentinel. Though he realized his Omega-level potential, it was for naught as the relentless machine pursued him inland from the Antarctic shores. After slaughtering the people in his care, it slammed him to the ground and brought its hand closer. A large needle jutted out, an orange glow coming from within. It penetrated Bobby's chest, molecular napalm squirting directly into his heart.

In one final act of defiance, Bobby unleashed everything he had. A blast like that of a nuclear bomb scarred the snow-covered earth. Unlike a nuke, though, the purest, deepest cold radiated from this place, leaving a perpetual snowstorm within the crater.

Iceman's sacrifice and the formation of the crater was not the end of the story, however. Months after his death, whispers among the scattered rebels told of icy spires rising from Bobby's final resting place. A frozen city mysteriously appeared. The culprit? Bobby Drake himself... but Bobby Drake was not himself—not exactly.

The being that called himself Bobby had no real form; he was little more than an icy specter, haunting a city of his design. Flocks of penguins moved into his city, which entertained the spirit, but without human interaction, he started to 'make' people. Intricately sculpted figures inhabited every building, joy and laughter upon their faces.

The palace was the pinnacle of Bobby's art. Residing here were perfect replicas of Bobby's friends, in a monotone snapshot of an ideal life. The ever-intelligent Jean Grey sat at her desk, writing in a journal. Logan sat mounted upon his favorite motorcycle, sipping beer from a bottle that had been sliced open instead of uncapped. Jean-Paul carried his skis through the foyer. Scott and Rogue squared off on a basketball court.

In one room, a figure in a wheelchair sat by a fireplace, a replica of Amelia seated near him. The figure's face remained blank; in three years, Bobby couldn't bring himself to render Professor X's face. It had become the face of evil, all because he hesitated. Those horrific, black eyes were still burned into the ghost's memory.

Below the snowy citadel, at the deepest point of the crater, there was what appeared to be a vault. Beneath the ice rested the battered remains of Nimrod. Despite the force of the blast, the Sentinel remained intact, sealed here for what Bobby hoped was all of time.

Upon a bed in the center was another statue—Robert Louis Drake, just as the plaque said. His bare form was rendered delicately, down to the last eyelash. Beneath the transparent skin, he had crafted everything precisely: muscles, blood vessels, intestines, even a brain... but it was all for naught. He wanted to inhabit a solid form once again, but he didn't know how. The cluster of sapient snowflakes fell onto the model, then poured into it, but alas, the body didn't move. As he frantically tried, his confusion turned to sadness, and then rage. Wind bellowed from every window of the palace, carrying a faint, ghastly, agonized wail throughout Drake Crater. He was the land now, and to be stuck here, alone with his suspended foe for eternity... That was his nightmare.

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