================================================================ Hi There. X-Writers is a fan fiction e-mail group. We're just doing this for fun. Marvel owns the X-Men and all related characters and they never said we could do this. We're not affiliated with any group, individual, or MUSH. I own a pack of cigarettes and a pitcher of Kool-Aid and they're dwindling fast so if you're gonna sue, you better do it quick. All job offers prompted by this story will be considered in the spirit in which they are offered. ;) ================================================================ Presenting X-Writers X-factor #116 Havok: The brooding powerful leader Polaris: The demure emerald haired mistress of magnetism Forge: The mystic technological miracle worker Val Cooper: The savvy Washington power-player Mystique: The shape shifting seductress Wildchild: The feral fallen hero (another one?) and now without further ado: X-Factor -------- "Portents" written by Zakk Cloud (aj822@rgfn.epcc.edu) Alaska. It has been many years since the day when Alex Summers was thrown from the skies, sharing a parachute with his brother Scott, to land in that field, right there. In that time, Alex has seen many things and faced many obstacles but in the end, he has overcome them all. Well, most of them. Alex looks down at the suit which has once again become his prison. It seems that not so long ago, he had beaten this one, too. Somehow, his trip through the mysterious Siege Perilous had fashioned for him a new life, a new handle on the power which coursed through him, which ofttimes threatened to consume him, which propelled him into a life like no other. As the sun sets to the west, Alex admits to himself that for the first time in a long time, he doesn't resent it at all. As he finishes getting together the few things he brought along with him on this retreat to his cabin, Alex's thoughts turn to Lorna, who has always been by his side and who always will be, and he is anxious to get back home. Outside the cabin, a visitor awaits the right moment to make her presence known. Her name is Fatale. With an uncanny ability to blend into her surroundings and peak physical condition, the deadly beauty stands as a monument of accomplishment for her creator. She watches, invisible, as her prey exits the cabin. She crouches in the grass, her eyes never wavering from the throat of her prey. Her muscles tense. She senses, more than decides upon, the appropriate time to strike. A breath, an impulse. Alex senses movement to his right, but when he turns to look at it directly, he feels a blow connect and he hits the ground, suddenly. His cheek still stinging, he stands and cries out. "Fatale!?" He peers about him. Suddenly motion to his left catches his eye and he rolls to his right, attempting to carry his attacker's momentum past him. He feels the assassin brush by him but her recovery is swift and he receives a boot heel to the face. "I can't fight her hand to hand," Alex notes to himself. "I'm totally outclassed on that level." He hears the soft sound of Fatale's wrist blades being extended. It is a sound he remembers through a hazy series of disconnected thoughts. The sound means one thing. The ante has just been upped. Havok lashes out at his attacker with the cosmic power pent inside of him. He fires blindly, first one direction, then another. His power signature, both beautiful and intense reaches from his hands to the surrounding terrain. The perfect circles tear into the ground as he calls "Fatale! I'm not holding back here! I'm willing to--Gah!". A stream of blood follows the motion of Fatale's blade as it streaks past Havok, where in it's wake it has left a small gash across the skin of his neck. Havok looks in the direction of blood, now soaking into the ground. "Endgame, Summers," the smooth, mocking voice of Fatale chimes. "Now that my poisons have entered your system, we can have a nice long trip." Drip. Drip. Havok's eyes focus. There. On the ground, little drops of red... Havok releases a blast in the direction of the drops of blood. Fatale hits the side of the cabin and her unconscious body collapses to the ground. Alex approaches her cautiously and, upon discerning no serious injuries, rushes to his motorcycle. He turns the key in the ignition. Revving the bike, he says "You're lucky, Fatale. You as well as anyone know the extent and unpredictability of my abilities. Next time, I may just not be aiming to knock you out... I may not have a choice.", and as the dusk slowly gives way to night, Alex Summers leaves this solace of his with a heavy heart and doubts about the future. --- "Days ago you came to me here. You brought to me news of things to come and bid me look to the signs," intones the man called Forge. "Though I once shunned that which you represented, I call to you now. You must return to give me your guidance, to impart to me those truths which are hidden from eyes which see only the earth from which they were made. I am Forge. I am the Maker." He sits upon an outcropping in front of smouldering embers, in an artificially created illusion of the desert where he once honed the skill and craft passed from shaman to pupil for ages. The irony is not lost upon this, a man rife with dichotomy. "Your toys become more and more elaborate," says a voice carried upon the wind. "Yet, the more intricate the illusion, the emptier the man behind it." "Naze!" cries out Forge. "I have been trying to reach you for days." "The path from there to here is a long one which i do not travel lightly," speaks the image of a man, newly formed. he is old yet strong, and even in this form he carries a certain dignity which cannot be ignored. "Nor may I with great frequency. Indeed, were the need not so great, I would not travel it at all." "What is this need? For what reason do you come to me now? The time for my trial is past, or so I believed." "Your role will not be completed for a very long time, Maker. But you will not be alone. You must learn to accept difficult truths as you would any other. Some you trust will betray you. Others you suspect will become your greatest allies. The monster you will face knows you and will strike where you are weak." the image of Naze begins to fade. "What monster? Who will stand beside me? What does all this mean?" cries Forge to the wind. "Damn! I've got more questions now than ever!" There are clicks as Forge places his bionic leg and hand in place. He gives a command and the world around him fades. In the wake of the desert's departure, all that remains is an empty metal shell. Forge turns his thoughts away from the analogy Naze would no doubt make and towards the exotic woman who, even now, two levels beneath his chamber, abjures her own demons in a way all her own. --- "C'mon, ya twisted hunk a' tin foil, give it yer best shot," growls the man we see before us. "I'm the best at what I *hunh!*" yellow and blue and metal sheen give way fluidly to the form those who know her most commonly associate with the shapeshifter called -- Mystique. "Damned man," mutters Mystique meekly, lifting herself from the ground directly in front of the metallic monster which advances with a click and whir. "mmmm. You're a real one, aren't you big guy?" A red dot of light from the head of Forge's training droid appears on Mystique's shoulder. Mystique rolls instinctively, narrowly avoiding the concussive blast which would have, no doubt ended round two of today's training session. Emerging from her roll in a crouch some four feet away from her attacker, Mystique draws one of the toys with which Forge has provided her and fires. The futuristic looking hand gun emits a yellow beam of force which burrows into her aggressor's metal shell, exposing wires and chip boards to the sound of an electronic squeal. She fires again and again and again until the robot is reduced to so much sparking and wining machinery, then, somersaulting over the rubble, she ducks into an alleyway in the holographically created terrain of what once was known as the Morlock tunnels. "Stupidstupidstupid female, showboating like that and no one here to even impress, not TOO dysfunctional, eh?" Mystique sprints through the dark tunnel taking note of a radioactivity warning on the wall. "Hmmph. The main Alley isn't too far away, unless I miss my guess, trouble's not too far ahead." Mystique stops short of an opening in the wall. Light from that direction, bouncing and arcing, shines into the tunnel where she hides. Mystique pulls a spherical object from the pouch at her side. She counts one, two, three, then throws the thing into the opening in the wall. Mystique cradles her head in her arms and presses herself against the wall. Just then a titanic blast throws waves of force in all directions from the explosive device, incinerating the walls of the no longer lit tunnel. As smoke rises lazily around the blast area Mystique approaches the wreckage and notes two dead hostiles. Illusionary ones, obviously. Scalphunter - pieces, Vertigo - twisted into an impossible position and thrown from the blast, and Harpoon - nothing but his weapons remain, scattered as they are about the floor of the tunnel. Mystique smiles to herself, and is knocked to the floor. Twisting around painfully, she sees the powerhouse, Arclight. Stunned, unable to reach her blaster, Mystique watches the fist of Arclight speed toward her face. She winces. "Simulation terminated," chimes a lifeless computer voice. "End score: Marauders killed: 5 Marauders neutralized: 0 Morlocks rescued: 0 Morlocks murdered: 117 Collateral Morlock deaths: 21" "Computer, remove Morlock save/kill ratio evaluation. Restart simulation on my mark." --- The roar of his motorcycle fills Alex's ears. He is sweating profusely now and his helmet's visor is beginning to bead, obscuring his view of the road. The highway is mercifully empty, though, and with the roar of his engines strobing through his head, the man called Havok pushes on, focusing past the dizziness, fighting the confusion in his mind, putting as much distance as he can between Fatale and himself. He is blinded suddenly by light in front of him. In his daze, Alex considers them hallucinations and shakes his head, trying to clear it. He begins to feel cosmic energy well up inside of him in response to the imagined threat. Havok forces the power down, focusing intensely on controlling his powers. The blare of a horn retrieves him from his efforts to the outside world and shocks him into the sudden realization that the lights now fill his vision. He curses himself and swerves the bike to avoid the oncoming truck. He comes very close to grounding his bike and himself into the pavement but the truck glances the cycle, sending conveyance and rider sprawling into the nearby brush. Havok lands on the hard, cold ground with a wet thump. He can feel his shattered leg limply hanging off of him. All outside input ceases as he retreats slowly into unconsciousness. His control breaks as he fades out, and his plasma burst rushes headlong to he stars. --- The creation, Fatale, leans against the side of Alex Summers's cabin, wincing from the beating she took when Havok's blast tossed her away so casually. Her eyes open and close. There is a beeping sound emitted from a device at her belt. She opens her eyes and grasps the device. "The tracker just read Summers's power signature. Good, he hasn't gotten far." Fatale stands, tentatively and watches the device give it's report. She smiles. "When I bring you back, Havok, there will be no doubt that I am the best example of McCoy's work. I can't wait to see Random's face when I dump you on the laboratory floor." --- Scene: Washington DC. The corridors of power in the Mutant Affairs office, to be exact. "Allow me to introduce you to Wildchild, one of the new additions to the X-Factor team, Gyrich." "Yes, I'm quite aware of the new lineup, Ms. Dane, as I am of Forge's obvious absence from this meeting." Henry Peter Gyrich takes a long, hard look at the occupants of the room. Dr. Valerie Cooper, former government liason to X-Factor. Evidently she is determined to reclaim some part of her former role. Lorna Dane, codename Polaris. She's one of the powers of this group. Gyrich doesn't like her, but he's never been sure why. Granted, there need be no reason to resent her, a woman and a mutant freak, treating him as an equal but there is something more ... disturbing about the woman he's never been able to shake. Maybe it's the fact that she could twist him into a pretzel with those magnetic powers of hers. And, of course, Wildchild. The freak was one of the people responsible for the death of the original Guardian. Now that Dr. Hudson is alive again, he thinks he is absolved of that crime? "His absence will be noted." "That's hardly fair, Mr. Gy-" "No need, Lorna," says Valerie Cooper. "Forge and I have agreed to share the burden of liason to X-Factor, Agent Gyrich. Rest assured if other matters did not require his immediate attention, he would be here." "Hmmph.", grunts Gyrich. "Regardless, I think the point to this meeting is obvious. With the new additions to the X-Factor team, I have been requested to ascertain the viability of the program and report my findings to the Mutant Affairs Committee. My investigation will be painless and, if the lines of communication between my office and yours, Ms. Cooper, remains open, relatively harmless." "That's DOCTOR Cooper, MISTER Gyrich, and I would like to go on record as finding this 'investigation' insulting and unnecessary. X-Factor is in a state of flux resulting from the loss of three members in the past month. Jamie Maddrox succumbed to the Legacy Virus during the Haven affair, Rahne Sinclair was granted leave due to an illness in the family, and Guido Carosella sustained massive heart trauma in a attempt to save human lives! I think a better 'investigation' would be to 'ascertain' YOUR 'viability'. What exactly is your official capacity these days, Gyrich?" "Don't get flip with me, woman!" Henry Peter Gyrich is shouting now and it can be heard all the way to the water cooler. "You have much to answer for! In the middle of the 'state of flux' as you called it, the team field leader has taken a leave of absence, too hasn't he? Why is that? Forge's report on Havok's abduction and rescue is filled with holes and glazed over material. HE'S NOT HERE TO DEFEND IT, and in the place of approved personnel the two of you have placed two known criminals..." "My crimes were paid for a long time ago, little man," growls Wildchild. "And I suggest you alter your tone when you address a lady." "I will address her as I please, and your claim is yet to be seen." "Regardless," interjects Val, in calm, measured tones. "Former criminal history is irrelevant and pertaining to Mystique's status, Forge and I have.." "I am only too aware of your political maneuvering regarding Ms. Darkholme. But her situation is not completely ground breaking, is it Cooper?" "How Dare you?! Freedom Force was..." "A complete disaster from the original idea. One you seem intent upon repeating. Today Mystique, Dr. Cooper, who's next? Spiral? Blob? How far will you go to erase your mistakes? Who will be the next Super Sabre, Val? Who will be there to make the sacrifice now that Stonewall's gone? How many others' blood will stain your hands along with Destiny's, Dr. Cooper? I trust I've made myself clear." "Oh, you've made yourself very clear, suit man," growls Wildchild. "You pathetic little pencil pusher, I oughtta shove those papers right down your..." "I think," Polaris's voice is both calm and diplomatic. It breaks down the tension in the room immediately. "That the likelihood of this meeting yielding anything productive at this point is in jeopardy. I suggest that we postpone this to a time when we can all act a little bit more... professional, shall we say?" Lorna's eyes seem to bore directly into Gyrich's psyche. He stutters for a moment and finally says "I am inclined to agree with Polaris." Outside the meeting room, Val turns to Lorna. "I think today taught us a lesson. Gyrich is a snake. We can't trust him to be impartial or expedient. We need this 'investigation' cleared up post haste. The man annoys me so completely that I'm afraid I have to remove myself from this situation. From now on, only you, Forge and, if he seems stable, Alex should meet with Gyrich. I used to think only Forge could intimidate the man. What I saw in there is our only advantage right now." "But surely, Val, he wouldn't dare use this as a personal weapon to get to you." "You haven't been in Washington very long have you, Lorna?" It is a rhetorical question. Valerie Cooper knows exactly how long Polaris has been in Washington. Nevertheless, the question drives her point home. --- Alaska. Fatale kneels in the woods, touching a drop of blood to her lips. "You're close. You're injured. You're delirious. You're mine." --- Alex drags himself another inch. He's been crawling for days, it seems. It is very difficult to continue and he has used the last of any will he had in that time. The smell of the soil, so close to his face, the cold chill the wind pours through his bones, and the blurry, distant thought of hope combine upon him and he collapses onto the ground. Alex Summers, so close to sleep, sensing someone standing over him uses his last ounce of strength to look up. The flowing, shredded cape; the white skin; the red diamond glaring down at him tears this strength apart and he collapses, finally, into sleep muttering "so unfair so unf..."