All known X-men characters in this story are copywrited by Marvel
Comics. No permission was obtained, but no profit is to be made from
this story. It is purely for my personal enjoyment and those of its
readers. All other characters, concepts, plots, theories, technology
not seen in Marvel Comics belong to me.
Please don't distribute this without asking me; I probably won't
mind if you did, as long as it wasn't altered in any way. I'd just
like to know where it's going.
Please, enjoy this story, and send me your comments, be they good
or bad, to percy@atlas.webo.dg.com or jpercy@clariion.com
Thanks for reading!
John Percy
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Revelations - Chapter 2
By
John Percy
I decide that since the damage has already been done, that I can
take a shower before dealing with Alex. I quickly strip out of my
utility belt, boots, armor, and uniform, and step into the shower. As
I step in and turn on the water full blast and very hot, I get a
glimpse of my face in the mirror - with the visor.
I sigh again, and silently thank Mr. Sinister again for making the
visor waterproof.
I quickly wash off the grime and dirt of the past day, and step
out, turning off the water. I use another one of McCoy's inventions,
sone kind of fancy dryer, that dries not only your hair, but your
whole body in less then a minute. Probably a handy thing with a body
like his, but for me it's merely a nice touch.
Finally, I pull out a new uniform, and put it on. Looking into
the mirror, I again gaze back at my own visage: long brown hair, light
and shadowy beard. The visor gleaming back at me. I pull back my
hair, using the visor to pin it back, and tie it off in a ponytail.
Nodding slightly to myself at the completeness of my preparations, I
step out of the bathroom aclove that is attached to my quarters.
While I was 'talking' with Meltdown, I did my customary visual
check of my living quarters, checking for tell-tale signs of a
possible intruder while I was gone on my trip. I didn't catch
anything - and as I leave the bathroom, I do another quick sweep - and
I still don't. I do have a sophisticated security system that's a
personal design of Mr. Sinister, but I don't have much faith in
machines. I'd rather trust my own instincts.
I designed my quarters myself - basically a huge studio, it has
several areas partitioned off into functional zones. A bed with
wardrobe and a small table partitioned off by a thin curtain. A
workspace with desk and computer. A small kitchen and bar. A lounge
with a couch and several chairs. Very efficient, spread out, and
simple. Nothing clutters my quarters, save a spare visor here and
there, some files, field equipement, and a few small momentos. Most
would call it stark and bare. Mr. Sinister once said it was a
reflection of the person who lived here. To me, it's just the way it
should be.
Other Prelates scoff at my place, I know. The rest of them tend
to have the 'the best have the best' attitude, and their quarters
reflect it. The best in comforts, equipment, recreation; comparing my
quarters to theirs is like comparing the dump to Apocalypse's citadel.
If I cared what they thought, it might've mattered to me, but it
doesn't. I can't stand to live in a place clogged with things and
fancy comforts.
I guess my security measures where up to the task. Mr. Sinister
is known for his scientifical brillence, and I have no doubt my visual
inspections are a waste. I also know Alex and his group would love to
get in here, find some kind of 'incriminating evidence' to eliminate
me, or at least blackmail me, so I'm glad it works.
I check the time, and see that I'd better get moving. I sit on
the couch, pull on my boots, utility belt, and the few pieces of armor
I wear. I use it primarly on my arms, for hand-to-hand combat, where
I can use an edge. Normally, most would consider the power of my
optic blasts, not to mention my proficiency with them, to be enough in
combat. But my experience and teachers have taught me never to become
too dependent on anything, especially my power. I've spent years
developing my hand-to-hand and survival skills. Besides my visor, I'm
never without the armor or my utility belt. They, along with my my
training, have saved my neck more than once. Pragmatic and efficient
is what Mr. Sinister would call it. I call it staying alive.
I sigh, and stand up. Time to get back on the job. I walk out of
my quarters, the door automatically closing and locking behind me, and
pause. Making a quick decision, I decide to check in on McCoy's lab
first. I want to see what the incident has done to affect his
experiments. Plus, it has the additional benefit of making Alex stew
in his boots a little while longer. This little thought brings a
slight smile to my face, adding weight to that choice.
Decision made, I head off towards the experimental areas and
McCoy's lab. I pass several Infinites and lower rank Rooks, none of
whom I give a second glance, but all of which clear a path for me, or
at least give me wide berth. Word of my treatment of Meltdown must
have spread. Good.
15 minutes later, I find myself outside of the experimental area.
I pause and my mouth takes on a grim line. Though I believe in the
importance of the experiments that McCoy performs, it doesn't mean I
have to like them. This place is always filled with the stench of
death - and other vile things. Firming up my mind, I step into the
area, and head for McCoy's lab. He's almost always there.
I don't bother knocking on the lab door, and just walk in. Not
that I'm being rude, its just that normally, McCoy will be involved
with something, usually, and won't bother to answer. So I enter into
hell, unbidden.
McCoy's lab is a combination of technical brilliance, massive
disorganization, and Dante's Inferno. A huge 'gene pool', as he calls
it, sits in the middle of the large space. Several cages, holding
anything from farm animals to scared humans to useless mutants line
the walls. Every known piece of scientific instrument ever made seems
to have made its way here. Hunched over his main control panel was
this chamber's master, Dr. Henry McCoy.
Somewhat short, but very stocky and large, McCoy was covered in a
coarse blue fur. Fangs, claws, and an elaborate hairstyle add more to
his animalistic nature. He wasn't always like this - his own
experiments in genetics radicalized his own mutation, resulting in his
animal-like appearance. He seems to revel in his current condition,
choosing only to wear metallic combat pants, and usually putting
intricate beadwork through his hair.
It wasn't his looks that got Mr. Sinister's attention, though.
Besides Apocalypse and Mr. Sinister, there isn't anyone on the planet
who knows more about the science of genetics than Dr. Henry McCoy.
And even they won't do some of the experiments he does. His live
vivisections, strange operations, gene pool, and radical experiments
have earned him a name among the prisoners.
The Beast.
I clear my throat to get his attention, and hope he isn't doing
anything with a live specimen. I hate having to talk over loud
screaming.
He turns around slightly, his fanged mouth stretching into a
slight smile. "Ah, if it isn't the irredoubtable Prelate Scott
Summers, returning like the prodigal son. And how was the trip of
Mr. Sinister's favorite?"
I frown and make a sharp gesture with a hand. "I'm not here to
banter with you, McCoy, or to trade pleasantries. I want to know what
effect Alex's response to the attempted breakout has had on your
timetable and experiments."
McCoy turns back to his instruments, chuckling lightly. He flicks
some switches, or does whatever the hell he was doing before I came
in. "And you said you didn't want to trade pleasantries. I'm glad
your outing has improved your general demeanor." He flicks a final
switch and turns back to me. "I, however, am not in such a pleasant
condition, thanks to Prelate Havok."
I nod slightly. "I take it his slaughtering of the prisoners has
hurt your progress."
He folds his arms across his burly chest, and nods. "Though I
usually approve of Prelate Havok's policies and actions, in this case
he has indoubtably caused delays in my research."
"How bad will the delay be?"
He walks over to his gene pool and gestures. "I cannot be certain
at this time. Unfortunantly, the group of genetic material destroyed
in the outbreak attempt had several individuals I was planning to use
in my experiments. All that valuable material, wasted! I cannot
fathom the degree of effect its loss will have in the future."
"Nothing was salvagable?"
McCoy smirks. "As we both well know, Alex's power leaves little
left of his targets. And he is very thorough. What little I could
save was hardly worth using for my gene pool. Even then, it may be
damaged. As mother McCoy used to say, you can't make chicken soup
from chicken feathers."
I sigh and rub my head. "Do what you can, and I'll see to Alex."
The blue beast chuckles evilly. "Oh, I'm sure you will, Prelate
Cyclops. You and Prelate Havok always can work out you differences,
in an amiable way, just like Cain and Abel.
I frown. "What do you mean by that?"
He rumbles with laughter. "Nothing, Prelate, nothing." He turns
back to his experiments. "Just see to it that no more of my resources
are wasted. I'm sure Mr. Sinister would agree."
I nod, wondering what McCoy means, and head for the exit. Just
before I exit, I hear McCoy mumbling to himself, chuckling about
something.
"And Cain was jealous of his brother Abel... and slew him in the
field..."
**** ****
I leave McCoy's scientific grotto with a bad taste on my mouth.
As much as I believe that his experiments are important, the glee he
gets out of them is a little sickening. But he is right; progress
requires certain sacrifices to be made.
I start to head for security central - that's where Alex is most
likely to be. Along the way, I run into Terry and Jesse Aaronson -
the Bedlam Brothers. For the first time since I've gotten back, I
feel good about something.
Jesse and Terry Aaronson, two black brothers from Chicago, are two
of my most trusted compatriots. Elites like myself, they do their
duty and they do it well. The look alike, yet are very different.
Terry always has a somewhat hard look on his face; combined with his
bald head and goatee, he looks dangerous, and his mutant ability of
being able to fill someone's head with psychic 'static' makes him a
dangerous opponent, but in fact he is quite a charmer. His brother
Jesse, with his head full of curly hair, always seems to have a laugh
on his face, and it often does after his power makes machinery
inexplicably fall to pieces, usually at someone else's expense.
The two always seem to be fighting, and this time is no different,
since they are arguing over who was more impressive with the ladies
the previous night. But it's a facacde - each would gladly die for
the other. Their comradery and devotion to duty makes them
invaluable. And, unlike Alex and his followers, they see the big
picture. More importantly, though, they want to enjoy life. It's
this that makes me trust them. I walk up to the two brothers,
catching the tail end of their argument.
Terry jabbed his brother in the shoulder. "You are so blind!
Michelle was obviously making a play for me. You were just as
important as the silverware to her!" His grin was infectious.
Jesse glared back mockingly. "Oh yeah? Well, tonight we'll... oh,
hello Scott. Welcome back."
As Terry turned around and gives me a slightly smiling nod, I say,
"Jesse, Terry. It's good to be back."
Terry claps me on the shoulder and a nod. "Good to have you back,
boss. I take it you heard about what happened?"
"The official report, yes, but I want to hear what happened from
you two."
Jesse nods. "It all started on the night shift. Terry and I were
off duty, getting some drinks and food in Heaven. Apparently, some of
Alex's Rooks were lazy that night, giving the prisoners a chance to do
something."
Terry affirmed the story. "That's right. Apparently, a group of
the Beta-class prisoners have been planning this a long time. Storing
up food, making some make-shift weapons. Mostly, it was a few
prisoners who could resist the Brain Trust somewhat - they led the
others."
This bit of information gave me a start. The Brain Trust is a
group of genetically bred, bodiless telepaths that Mr. Sinister had
created. Their only purpose was to telepathically 'dope up' the
prison population, making even the thought of escape and resistance
difficult to do. The only way to resist it was to either have these
psychic shield chips that all of the Elite Mutant Force have implanted
in their skulls, or be a telepath of considerable talent. Or insane.
For these prisoners to resist the Trust at all is nothing short of
amazing. I make a mental note to check into this new fact, and nod
for Jesse to continue.
"When the breakout occurred, there were only 2 Rooks on guard.
They were stupid enough not to have any Infinite backup." Jesse
folded his arms across his chest. "The prisoners saw their chance,
and went for it. The Rooks were overwhelmed, and shortly a riot broke
out in B-block. 5 minutes later, Alex and his troopers responded."
Terry shook his head. "It was a bloodbath, Scott, Alex leading
the way. Half a dozen of Alex's crazy-man Rooks, backed up by 3
squads of heavy armor Infinites, and the prisoners where slaughtered.
By the time we got back from the emergency summons, there was hardly
anything left of them. All we could do was help clean up."
I grit my teeth as Jesse continued. "Alex really went crazy. He
destroyed half of B-block putting down the revolt, not to mention
splattering all the prisoners. I'd say he enjoyed it, too."
I utter a silent curse. "Damn. I never should have left."
Terry claps me again on the shoulder, in a supportive way. "Hey,
boss, the big man himself asked you to go. You know nobody could
refuse, least of all you. And you know this was going to happen,
sooner or later." His brother nodded in agreement. "Besides, you're
here now."
I nod, frowning. "I want to view the damage, firsthand. You guys
got some free time?"
Jesse looked at his brother with a small smile. "Free time?
Boss, we're made of free time. Lead on." He does some kind of
elaborate hand wave from God-knows what old movie, grinning. It
almost makes me want to smack that grin off of his face, but the sheer
absurdity of it almost makes me smile.
"Damn, Jesse, looks like you almost made him smile. You must be
losin' your touch." Terry chuckles.
I roll my eyes, which of course they can't see, and wave at them.
"Let's get on with it, eh?" and I start to walk towards B-block. I
hear the brothers following me, chuckling. I allow myself a small
smile; one they can't see, of course.
15 minutes later, we enter B-block. Or, more accurately, what was
B-block. This area normally held over 200 prisoners. Not just dreg
prisoners, or humans, but beta-level mutants. Mutants who were going
to be pivotal in the development of the next generation of mutant
kind. Now it was just big piles of rock, debris, and junk.
I kick a piece of stone and curse. "Dammit. How could he be so
careless?"
Terry shrugs. "It's like we said, Scott. By the time we got
back, it was too late. Alex and his goons came in here like a bunch
of reapers. There wasn't much left of bodies, much less of
survivors."
I slowly walk around, surveying the damage. "Even if there
weren't any important prisoners here, the material loss is
inexcusable! It'll take months to repair all this damage."
Terry and Jesse follow me as I walk around, keeping silent. I
know this wasn't their fault, but I wish they would've been here.
They might've been able to stop this. Who am I kidding? Alex
probably would've killed them too, if they'd tried to stop him.
I finally stop, hands on hips. "Dammit. Does Mr. Sinister know
what's happened? Has he seen this?"
Jesse and Terry shrug as one, Jesse saying, "I don't see how he
couldn't. The noise alone could be heard to the palace, from what I
understand. But I don't think he's actually come down here yet."
Terry nods, confirming his brother's words.
"And he didn't do anything?"
Terry shook his head. "Nope. Maybe he was out, or busy.
Security reports that he was in his lab."
"What about McCoy?"
Jesse shrugs. "By the time he pulled himself away from some
experiment, it was too late. He did protest heavily, but what could
he do?"
I grit my teeth. "Alright. Let's find Alex."
I scowl, cursing myself once again. I never should have left.
=00
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