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#3
DEC 12 |
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“Old Places and New Horizons” Part Three
Ravencroft Institute (Almost three weeks ago)
Quirky was the most polite word possible to describe Typhoid Mary. Everyone else generally tended to use psychotic and murderous. Psychotic came from the multiple personalities that she suffered from and murderous from her long association with criminal syndicates. She often operated for them as an assassin, which had brought her into conflict with the likes of Daredevil and Spider-Man. Three distinct personalities existed within the body of Mary Walker. There was “Mary, innocent and quiet”; “Typhoid, adventurous and full of lust” and then there was “Bloody Mary, who was full of sadistic hate”. Xavier knew about all of these and knew he would have to confront them all.
But he wouldn’t confront them alone. For his purposes and the purposes of his new team, he needed Typhoid Mary stable as fast as possible. So he brought Emma and Betsy with him to this institute for the criminally insane, despite knowing how difficult it was for any telepath to be around this many erratic thoughts. He could see the discomfort evident on Emma and Betsy’s faces as they were escorted to Mary’s cell. “Concentrate and dim their voices as much as you can. Though more unwieldy than the average mind, the insane one can be manipulated and handled all the same.”
“If you didn’t say it with such confidence, darling, I wouldn’t believe you,” Emma said as she looked around the medically clean facility. Something about it felt wrong though. There was a hollow, empty nature to this place. She wondered if this was what it was like for her brother. Was this the kind of life he had to endure? That thought made it even harder for her to concentrate on blocking out the surface thoughts of Ravencroft’s patients. “Is this woman truly as necessary as you believe, Charles? It would seem to me the presence of her on your tem would create a dangerous risk.”
“A risk with great rewards; if we can heal Typhoid Mary’s broken psyche we will be showing yet again the great worth and potential of mutantkind. That is an opportunity I don’t think we can afford to pass up.”
Psylocke looked sadly at the men and women strapped down to their beds. They looked like little more than caged animals. Something had to be done, at least for this one person. “I agree with you, Professor. I only wish I had attempted something like this with my brother years ago. Perhaps I could have turned him from his path of self-destruction.”
“You cannot carry the guilt of that, Betsy. You did what you could,” Xavier said as they all finally came to a stop in front of Typhoid Mary’s cell.
The woman’s hands and ankles were shackled with thick chains that appeared almost inhumane. She ate gingerly from a plate of underprepared food. Xavier had to keep from scowling at the attendants. Emma and Betsy showed no such control, but he would not admonish them for it. This treatment was barbaric. There was no other word for it.
“Let us have the endnote of this visit be a good one,” Xavier said, putting his hand to his temples. “Prepare to enter her mind.”
The three telepaths united their focus and entered into Mary Walker’s broken mind. Betsy grunted a few seconds into the exercise. “She’s resisting us. I thought you said she was a low level telepath, Professor?”
“She was. I believe we may be dealing with another victim of the Little Rock side effects.”
It looked like what was already going to be a challenge was instantly escalated into a much harder task. Successfully integrating Mary Walker’s mind truly was going to be a test of their telepathic mettle.
Sweat started to bead down Xavier’s forehead. “We will succeed. Concentrate!”
Mary walker began to thrash about her cell, her chains resounding loudly against the concrete floor. She howled like a wounded wolf and her mouth contorted like she was ripping loose some awful yodel. After her thrashing fit, she banged her head against her bed frame and was knocked unconscious.
Psylocke ran her hands down her face. “That was like fighting a bloody lion. The woman’s mind I so dangerously fractured.”
Xavier held his head down and tired to catch his breath. “But I do believe we have succeeded.”
Agua Buena, Panama
Firefist seemed to idolize and glorify the inferno he created around him. Flames swirled and roared around his body without any sign of the heat bothering him. His black and red armor reminded Typhoid Mary of some futuristic suit from Tron, and it struck her as a bit over the top that even his hair was red. The people in this part of the small town had already taken flight from their homes so Mary didn’t have to worry about collateral damage. She imagined that prospect would have probably given Firefist some measure of pleasure. He had all the markings of a murderous pyromaniac; Typhoid could say this with certainty because she was once one herself.
It was only because of Typhoid Mary’s own pryokinesis that she had survived her battle with Firefist thus far. Any attack he could concoct, she could merely deflect or redirect out of her path. She could see the frustration beginning to grow on her opponent’s face and welcomed it. If he was angry, then he would be off his game. An angry man was an easily felled one, especially for someone with Typhoid Mary’s skill. A good portion of her life had been spent perfecting how to end people’s lives. The fact her mind was no longer torn between three individuals only made her all the more deadly.
Professor Xavier explained to her that she was neither Mary, Typhoid nor Bloody Mary anymore. She now existed as harmonious combination of the three. Xavier had said that was the only he could think to ethically save her mind. He argued that all of the personalities had a right to exist and that to eliminate anything of them would have been tantamount to murder. So he, along with Emma Frost and Psylocke, had brought three personalities into one. He had saved her from a waking nightmare and all he asked in return was that she allow him to make her into a hero. One day she was trapped in Ravencorft and the next she had a man in her corner who wanted to solve all her problems. It still seemed surreal.
Firefist sucked all of his overblown, swollen flames back into the palm of his hand. He looked at Typhoid Mary with eyes devoid of compassion. The eyes were such a brilliant blue that it seemed almost insensible to have eyes that bright. He spoke with a tepid voice that seemed to play entirely opposite of his powers and eyes. “This really is beginning to become a torpid affair. I’m nearly about to collapse from boredom. Could you attempt to drum up the slightest bit of excitement into the mix?”
Typhoid Mary imagined that if he continued to talk she would continue to be bombarded with turgid language. “You must make all the girls swoon talking like that,” Typhoid Mary said, as she locked her lips seductively in jest. She dropped her body low to the ground and ran at Firefist, her athleticism allowed her to cover the space between them quickly. Pushing off of her knees, Mary kicked Firefist across the cheek. Those compassionless eyes went into state of gray-out as Firefist was sent skittering across the dirt road. She wished that he would have just fallen completely into unconsciousness, but it seemed like he was making a firm attempt to hold on. Next time he was going o have to not hold back. Why did she hold back? In some of her memories, she would have showed him no mercy.
She pulled out one of her knives that had an ovoid hilt and pressed it up against Firefist’s neck. The faintest trickle of blood started to come down it. One side of his forehead was starting to look tumid from where it struck the ground. “Tell me right now what Sugar Man has planned and I might just let you leave with a little scar.”
“Do I have a protuberant sign on my forehead screaming idiot? And a knife? Really? Are all your threats this full of hebetude?”
Typhoid Mary lifted her knife in the air, quickly turned it around in her hand and slammed Firefist across the face with the hilt. The man slumped into unconsciousness under the blow and Mary wiped her forehead. Taping her headset, she said, “This Typhoid. My target has been taken care of.”
Outside Shreveport, Louisiana (A little over two weeks ago)
John Wraith rocked back and forth on his wooden rocking chair that he’d had personally designed for him. It was supposed to be symbolic of the new, peaceful life that Wraith was going to forge for himself. He felt like after years dealing with the struggles of mutantkind he deserved some time to just enjoy tranquility and peace. Some soldiers never tired of the war, including many former comrades of his, but John couldn’t count himself among that category. Every night he was racked by the memories of the actions he had taken as part of the Weapon X program. He knew he would never be able to scrub those images from his mind, but he was determined to forge new ones centered on a peaceful existence.
He knew all those aspirations were for naught when he received two very unexpected visitors on his doorstep. One was an old friend he would have rather forgotten about and the other had heard about through the grape vine. Just to show the men his displeasure at their arrival, he greeted them with a rifle in his hands. Of course he wasn’t stupid enough to actually point it at them, he just wanted to get the point across that their presence wasn’t wanted here. His old friend caught the message almost immediately. “Look, John, you know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was important. Just hear us out, bub.”
“Trouble follows you everywhere you go, Logan. If you’ve managed to bring any to my doorstep, believe it when I say we’re going to have problems,” John said, sitting his gun up against the tiny cabin he had built. He wondered if the cabin reminded Logan of Silverfox at all. That woman was just one of the many spirits who haunted Wraith in his dreams. Could Logan say the same? “So go ahead and get it out, but make it quick. I have bacon and eggs on the stove.” John opened up the door to his cabin and waved the two mutants in. “You might as well come in and get something to eat too. Unless you feel like enlarging some mosquitoes. Ask your friend Gambit.”
“Mon ami, skeeters wouldn’t bite Logan if ya paid em,” Gambit said as he took the invitation to enter John’s home. “He got enough liquor in him to put Budweiser outta business.”
“Screw you, Cajun,” Logan said, walking in the cabin behind him. John and him exchanged the kind of look that could only be forged I the heat of combat. Decades of painful memories were exchanged with mere eye contact. “It’s good to see you, John.”
“Much as your ego doesn’t need it, it’s good to you too, Logan,” John said.
He prepared the two X-Men a good, long breakfast that made all of them sufficiently bloated and after it was over Logan finally got to why they had come. “You got a certain skill set, John, and you know how to handle a certain kind of person.”
John held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there, Logan. I’m not doing any more Black Ops work. I’m out of that game. If that’s why you’re here then kindly take the door.”
“No, John, that’s not why we’re here. I’m trying to help you make up for all the things I know that you want to make right.”
Agua Buena, Panama
“Whoa!” Wraith said as he barely teleported out of the way of Revanche’s katana.
He reappeared behind Revanche and tried to shoot her in the back with one of his plasma guns, but she dodged the ill-fated blow without any trouble. John was quickly gaining a healthy respect for this woman and her capabilities; she obviously had had a serious amount of training in hand-hand combat and with her katana. He couldn’t deny that he was concerned at exactly how he was going to land a blow on this woman.
“You rely too heavily on your mutant abilities, Wraith.”
John was taken aback by the woman so casually using his name. Then he remembered where these mutants had come from. The concept of alternate dimension s had never held much interest for Wraith. It was one of those thing she just figured he lacked the sufficient intelligence to properly comprehend. “So you must have a known a version of me back on your world?”
“Yes, you were my husband I’m afraid,” Revanche said with scary indifference.
That was the last answer that Wraith honestly expected to hear. This woman really was a fatal creature if she could look down someone who looked like her husband and not think twice about killing him. What sort of dogma could motivate someone to be that unrelentingly cold? “Husband, huh? We must have been in the middle of a pretty nasty divorce then?”
Revanche laughed it actually felt genuine. “You joke like him. Understand me, John, I take no pleasure in what I’m being asked to do, but I cannot go home. I will not. And Sugar Man has made it abundantly clear that’s what you and yours would do.”
John holstered his gun and held both his hands up, hoping he had in that moment understood the woman. “We’re not trying to send anyone back anywhere. We’re trying to stop Sugar Man. Read my mind if you want to, I don’t have anything to hide.”
Nodding, Revanche put away her katana and reached out with her telepathy into John’s mind. He felt a light tug as his memories were being accessed. So much of his life flashed before his eyes. Revanche was doing more than just seeing if he was lying…she was trying to see what kind of man he was. Part of him was angry about that and the other part was hopeful. Maybe she could see some go in him that he couldn’t see in himself.
Stopping the telepathic connection, Revanche laughed again and it almost sounded joyous. A trickle of tears came down her face. “You have no idea…you are so much like him it hurts. I believe you.”
John felt uncomfortable, but he couldn’t explain why. Still, now wasn’t the time for being skittish. “So will you help us?”
Revanche looked up and nodded. “Yes, I’ll help you. Sugar Man is planning on using the dimension smasher to bring everything forth that he needs to remold this world into something like his old home.”
John winced. “Well, I figured it was going to be bad. You know where he’s keeping it?”
“The dimension smasher? No, no I don’t. But I know which one of us might.”
Doctor Nemesis watched a red tear form in the air above Sugar Man and his counterpart, Doctor Death. Nemesis could only guess that the tear was grievously harmful. He looked at Sugar Man disdainfully. “You’ve altered my device.”
“Yea, yea…you could only bring one person at a time with your version. I gave it a good ol’ sugary upgrade. Sweet, huh?”
Doctor Nemesis groaned. “How long have you been saving that one?”
“Ahh shaddup!” Sugar Man shouted as he stomped his foot and flung one of his axes at Doctor Nemesis. He dodged out of the way, but the weapon still nicked him across the shoulder. The nick was enough to flip Nemesis on his back and redden a large portion of his white jacket.
Nemesis’ vision was turned up to the red tear in the sky created by his own device. He watched with indignant annoyance as a host of green and black cyborgs poured out of the dimension al tear. They were tall, bulky and heavily armed. One nearly landed on Doctor Nemesis, but he rolled out of the way. He got to his feet griping his shoulder and said, “You keep this up and you’re going to tear the world apart!”
Sugar Man threw his head back and laughed with a mouth full of razor teeth. “You’re stupid. This is my world now. Just deal with it.”
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To Be Continued...
Next: In Dark X-Men #4: See how Angel and Fontantelle became part of the Dark X-men. And what is the next step in Sugar Man’s plan?
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