All known X-men characters in this story are copyrighted 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 9
By
John Percy
I twist the throttle on the powerful bike as Grey's arms tighten around
my midsection. As the wind whistles through my long hair, I quell my own
body's reaction to her grip. Swallowing down what I know is just not
possible, I swing through the Pens with an expertise gained over the years.
Soon, we'll be at our destination: Heaven.
Not the actual Heaven, of course. It's named that not because it's on the
top floor of the second tallest building on the island, but because it's the
best nightclub around. Oh, there are others, to be sure. But none has the
refinement, food, and entertainment that Heaven does. It's the one place that
all the elite go. At least, those who can afford it. Alex and I have
standing reservations, of course.
About 20 minutes later, I downshift as we turn onto the street where our
objective is. Braking to a halt in front of the skyscraper where Heaven is,
I scan the makeshift parking lot. My cycle isn't the only vehicle here; it
looks like another packed night in Heaven.
After coming to a complete stop, I let Grey hop off the back first, and
then shut down the engine and swing my own leg over the cycle. With a nod to
the large parking attendant, I start to walk towards the lobby, appropriately
called Heaven's Gate. I don't wait to see if Grey follows, but I can hear her
footsteps, so I know she's right behind me.
The lobby is crowded; mostly it's elite wannabes, or those elite whose
status isn't high enough to get them inside right away. Fortunately for them,
they give way when I enter, allowing me to pass easily. Being leader of
the EMF does have it advantages; you never have to wait in line.
I do notice, though, that most of the men in the Lobby are staring at Grey.
For most, it's probably because they think she's a beautiful woman, and are
envious because they think she's mine. Very few, I'm sure, recognize the X
emblem on her belt, and see that this beautiful, seemingly harmless woman is
actually a dangerous X-man. The only thing they know for sure is that she's a
mutant, because of the inhibitor collar on her neck. They probably think
she's some prize of war or something. Whatever their thoughts, they all keep
it to themselves, as it's plain she's with me.
I stride through the crowd, not giving a hint that I actually see anyone
else in the room. I do have an image to maintain, after all. Ignoring the
elevator guard, I enter the empty car, knowing that Grey is following.
I hear Grey mutter under her breath, "With friends like those...." and
chuckle inwardly at her correct assessment. The majority of the elite out
there are power-grubbing opportunists who would readily slit your throat as
much as look at you. I consider none of them as friends; if needed, they can
be eliminated. Alex feels much the same way, only he gets rid of the
opposition at the drop of a pin. There wasn't enough left of the last guy who
looked at him wrong to even use in the gene pool.
Nice thoughts like these fill my mind on the relatively long elevator ride
to the top of the building. Heaven takes up most of the top floors, as one
would expect. Thankfully, there is no elevator music, and we arrive with a
soft thump at our destination.
We're greeted with sights and sounds that can only be associated with
wealth: the finest in furniture, food, drink, music, and other entertainment.
It looks like something right out of a movie or fantasy novel. It's nothing
new to me, of course, but I can hear Grey's slight gasp behind me. I suppose
that after being on the run for years as rebel that this must seem beyond
extravagant decadence.
"Come on," I say, grabbing her upper arm tightly, "Stay close, and shut
your mouth." I start to lead her through the crowd towards my regular table
in the back corner. I picked that particular table because it allows me to
keep my back to a wall while keeping a view of the entire room. You can never
let your guard drop, even in this fancy place. Heaven this may be, but it's
not at all a place of peace and rest.
I fight through the crowd, sometimes shoving people out of the way. Doing
something like that here usually starts a brawl. Most of the larger, more
powerful mutants don't like to be shoved at anytime, but the sight of my
flashing visor and well recognized face stop them in their tracks, often with
profuse apologies for their own clumsiness.
We finally break through the main crowd, and start to move towards my
table. I'm starting to get a little hungry, and am looking forward to a nice,
quiet meal, when that idea is ruined by a loud and clear voice shouting my
name, "Scott!"
I recognize the voice. I turn slowly, and see the owner of Heaven walking
towards me. Tall, muscular, and blonde, Warren Worthington III would be
striking in any life. Add to that fact a pair of large, white, angelic wings
that sprout from his back, and you don't need to wonder about his nickname:
The Angel.
Worthington was a rich industrialist, before the Ascension. Nobody knew
he was a mutant, of course; he was born into money, and his parents made sure
that it wouldn't be taken away from their son. They trained him in the
business world, told him to conceal his wings, and told him to concentrate on
the family business. Which he did, with gusto. Worthington became one of the
richest men in America.
As the conflict between mutants and humans grew, Worthington supplied his
mutant kin with both financial and material aid. Secretly, of course; he could
not sacrifice his business. Still, without his help, the war would have been
harder. Which is why he is now held in high regard by the elite. And why it's
known that if you need something, anything, chances are the Angel can get it
for you, usually on the black market, which he controls with tight fist. For
a large fee.
The elite rabble see him as the pinnacle of society, now. Successful,
rich, living well. And if he can get them the same things, so much the
better. What they don't realize is that for decades, Worthington has been
walking a fine line. While he did supply our forces with materials, he also
supplied them to anyone who could afford his price. Including the humans. All
in the name of his own survival and profit. And he still continues to do it
today, though his biggest commodity now is information.
Of course, having any dealings with the humans now is treason. I and a few
of the other high ranking Prelates know what is going on in Heaven, but we've
never been able to gather any concrete proof. Witnesses disappear, evidence
is tampered with, video tape becomes garbled. No doubt Worthington has his
own army of body guards, informants, and paid henchmen. Most of the loss of
evidence can be attributed to that. But, I know that some of the investigators
have been turning a blind eye to some of Worthington's activities. Whether
it's because he paid them off, or because they realize that if Worthington is
gone, so is Heaven, I'm not sure. I have to admit, I've 'overlooked' a few
things, here and there, mostly because I think they're harmless. And besides,
Heaven is the only decent place to get a drink anymore.
So when Worthington calls to me, walks over, and grins, I keep a civil
tongue. I must admit, over the years, we've gotten to know each other quite
well. Maybe even respect each other. "Warren."
Dressed to kill, and with looks to match, I don't have to look at Grey to
know her eyes are going over Worthington. Still, she must know who he is;
the X-men's intelligence is pretty extensive, according to the latest reports.
Maybe they've even had dealings with the Angel, or one of his underlings. So
I doubt she's going to fawn over him like some school-girl.
Worthington holds out his hand and I return the gesture, gripping his hand
firmly, as he says, "So, Scott, finally taking an evening off, eh? And with a
woman, no less! Do I see a little bit of Alex rubbing off on you?" He chuckles
lightly.
I grimace as I release his hand. "Please. I don't come here to get
insulted. And this is business, really."
Worthington looks at Grey appreciatively, his eyes wandering up and down
her body. "If that is business, I'd love to see the vacation."
I roll my eyes beneath the visor. "Warren Worthington, this is Jean Grey.
Jean Grey, this is Warren Worthington III, owner of this place." I hate
introductions, and since Worthington probably knows who Grey is anyways, I
feel pretty stupid doing it. Still, we have to keep the charade up.
He takes her hand gently, and kisses her knuckles as he bows slightly.
"Charmed, milady." She yanks her hand back with a look of disgust. "My, my.
Such temperament. Is that the reason for her lovely necklace?" He points at
the inhibitor collar.
I shrug noncommittally. "You could say that."
He smiles back at me. "You always do pick the good ones, Scott. She's an
X-man, correct? Last I heard, enemies of the state aren't taken into
nightclubs."
I shrug, considering that Worthington probably knows not only who all the
X-men are, but also where they mostly likely could be at any moment. "Mr.
Sinister's orders. She's to have all privileges."
Worthington hmms. "Interesting. Very interesting." He purses his lips a
moment in thought. "Well. Welcome to Heaven, Ms. Grey. Consider your evening
'on the house', as it were. Enjoy yourself." With a flourish bow, he turns
with a smile and meanders back through the crowd.
I shrug inwardly and sit down at my table. Grey stands there for a minute,
gazing out at the crowd, and then sits down across from me. I glance at her,
but she pointedly looks away and ignores me. This dinner is looking better
and better.
A few minutes later a serving wench comes up and I order two steak dinners
and some ales. Since Grey doesn't object, I guess she's as hungry as she
looks. Still, she ignores me and just watches the crowd. I sigh and do the
same, recognizing a few of the higher ranking EMFers and some of the
politicos, most of them either partly drunk or fat on the highlife.
Grey must be as equally disgusted with them as I am, because she turns back
and looks at me. I sigh and make up my mind to try and at least be civil,
maybe strike up some conversation. "So," I say, "Do you like being an X-man?"
I give a little smile to try and lighten the atmosphere.
Obviously it doesn't work, as Grey literally sneers at me. "So," she
growls, "Do you like being a genocidal killer?"
I scowl. "Don't you mean freedom fighter?"
She barks a short laugh. "I'm sure that's just what the Nazis thought."
"You've got your comparison backwards," I say, pointing a finger at her.
"You should compare me to the Jewish people in Nazi Germany. When the Nazis
were wiping them out, no one fought back, or protected them. That's what was
happening here years ago, only instead of Jews it was mutants. Only this
time, we fought back to survive, to prevent another holocaust."
She leans back and folds her arms across her chest. "Prevent one by
causing another? Do you have any idea how many innocent people, both human
and mutant, you and your murdering hordes have killed in the past years?"
I frown. "This is war, Grey, and you know it. In war, people die. And
there are no innocents. I know you and your X-men teammates haven't exactly
pulled your punches, either. Or were the dozens of EMF troopers you killed
in your last attack a hallucination?"
She shakes her head at me. "You have no idea, do you, of the difference
between us."
I smack my fist lightly on the table. "I know exactly what the difference
is, Grey. While you and Magneto sat back on your laurels, trying to follow
a dream that was dead, the humans were wiping us out: women, children, it
didn't matter to them. All that they saw were mutant scum. Apocalypse showed
us that it was time to fight back to survive. That we had to be stronger." I
lean back and point to the crowd behind us. "And I don't mean these piles of
crap here. I mean the soldiers, the real warriors. The ones who sacrificed,
who died to protect their families. I know what I've done in the past. I did
what had to be done, for the survival of my people. Maybe if you and your
rebel friends weren't so blind, we could've ended this war a lot quicker, and
a lot of your so-called innocents would still be alive."
I can tell I hit some mark from the look on her face, though I'm not sure
why. But she composes herself, and retorts, "I guess we're not all that
different then, Summers. Like you said, we're fighting for the survival of
our people. They only difference is, my people include both mutant and human."
I scowl, and am about to spit back a retort when the wench brings back our
food, along with a basketful of bread. I decide it's not worth it to argue
further and let it get cold. Besides, Grey looks like she's about to attack
the food like a wild animal.
So we eat in silence for a while, Grey eating ravenously, getting seconds
even before I finish my meal. After I finish, I just watch her eat,
occasionally glancing at the crowd. Eventually, she must have eaten her
fill, because she leans back and slowly drinks her ale.
We sit there in silence for a while, looking and yet not looking at each
other. I try to imagine why someone with such power, and with such obvious
intelligence, would pick the wrong side to be on in the war. And I can't think
of a single reason, other than she isn't as smart as she looks. But something
tells me that's not true, either. She seems to believe that she's the one's
who's on the right side; but then again, so do I. Could we, could this whole
war, just be a simple disagreement of philosophy? Of course, it's become much
more than just that. Much, much more.
I shrug to myself; leave the philosophy to the philosophers. I've always
went with my gut feeling, my instincts. And this is where they led me.
They've never led me astray before.
For the rest of the night, I just sit there and enjoy my ale, determined
not to let Grey ruin it. But her very face, the glancing looks she gives me,
keep reminding me of what she said. And seeing the revolting displays of the
politicos in Heaven doesn't help either.
Eventually, I can't take it anymore, and get up to leave, giving Grey the
choice whether or not she wants to come. Since she gets up right after me, I
assume she feels the same way. I force my way through the crowd, knowing
she'll be right behind me, and eventually get to the elevator, jabbing the
down button.
The lift soon arrives, and I step in and turn around, and am surprised to
see Grey carrying all the leftover bread from the table. I smirk and shrug;
I guess she was hungrier than I thought.
We ride the lift down and leave the building, shoving by several late
comers, and hop onto my cycle. Once again I have to shove down that reaction
as Grey wraps an arm around me, the other holding her bread. I sigh to myself
for that weakness, and rev the throttle hard and peel out of the parking lot.
I need to get out more.
I make my way through the streets, back towards the Pens and the guest
quarters where Grey will be staying. We don't see much; just the standard
riff-raff, rubble, and junk strewn around. I weave through the worse areas
with ease, hoping to get back to my quarters, and to sleep, as soon as
possible.
Suddenly, Grey grips my midsection and shouts into my ear, "Stop!"
Frowning, I yell back, "What for?"
She grips my midsection harder. "Just stop and turn around!"
Gritting my teeth, I curse Sinister's orders under my breath. Still, I
brake hard, screeching to a halt, and whip around hard. To her credit, Grey
leans into the turn with me, and manages to stay on with no trouble. Slowly
turning around, I wonder what Grey had seen or what she wants.
Cruising back the way we had came, I can tell Grey is looking for
something, but I'm not sure what. All of the sudden she exclaims, "Here! Stop
here!"
I brake to a halt, and scan the area, wondering what is so important as to
stop for in the middle of the night. "What?"
Grey doesn't answer, and hops off the bike and walks slowly to a
dilapidated building, where I see some huddle shapes; probably just some
low-life mutants or human slaves keeping close together for warmth. I sigh
and say, "Come on, Grey, let's just get out of here."
She doesn't even look back to me, and instead crouches low and approaches
slowly towards two of the smaller huddles. She begins to speak in soft, low
tones, and I can barely make out her saying, "It's alright, I'm not going to
hurt you. Are you hungry? I have some food here..." Close to the small
huddles, she holds out her bread to them. After a moments hesitation, one
of the huddles stands up and walks tentatively towards her. As the small form
gets up, the tattered cloak it wears falls partly away, and I can see that it's
a small girl, maybe 10, 12 years old. I can't tell if she's a human or a
mutant, but she is filthy. And from the look on her face, hungry, too.
Grey just crouches there, crooning quietly and reassuringly to her, and
finally, the little girl dashes forward, grabs the bread, and rushes back
to the other huddle, who sits up and looks like a boy, younger than the girl.
She gives him some of the bread; he's probably her brother.
Grey smiles at them, and then slowly walks back to me and hops on the
cycle. I look at her a moment, and she looks at me, and says, "What? Never
see a moment of kindness before?"
I shake my head and rev the throttle again, kicking the bike into gear and
peeling away, back towards the Pens. I have seen acts of kindness before; it's
just been awhile. And I can't remember too many mutants being kind to humans.
I try not to think about Grey and the little kids when I drop her off at
her quarters, and she obviously doesn't give me a second thought as she walks
in and closes the door without a look back. I sigh and drive back to my
quarters.
Later that night, the daily reports done and the lights out, I lay in bed
with my hands behind my head, thinking. Only this time, it's not about Jean
Grey.
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