hero_you_forgot

Serum, 100,000 times more powerful than Cap's serum
Robby steals it to get high, kills friend in ensuing confusion

Serum moves Robby's molecules an instant ahead of current timeline, causing his body to glow with the energy of the "movement" between temporal lines. This allows him unlimited speed, strength, endurance, with an ability to project the energy given off by the speed of his particles moving.

Imagine getting hit in the face with a baseball moving several times faster than the speed of light. Somehow, Robert is able to contain the reaction of the movement through time from destroying his immediate surroundings within his body. This same control allows him to fire the energy at will.

When Robby drinks serum, he is initially "stretched" ahead of our timeline, filling him with the powers listed. The reactions present in his body and troubled adolescent mind cause rifts in his mental and physical state.

The undocumented powers of the serum give strength to the pieces left reeling in the space-time continuum. The furthest pulled piece of Robert contains the energy and raw power of the reaction, and Robert's feelings of happiness and wholeness of being are compressed into the being.

The second piece of Robert is caught in the wake of chaotic energy from the temporal maelstrom, filling with Robby's nightmares and rage, along with the turmoil in his heart and mind. This form developes with malevolence in its core. It sees the future and the current, knowing both the motives of Robert himself and the being of light formed from him.

With the ending of the reaction, the forms are pulled into Robert, existing in an anomaly with his every cell. They are every bit as real as he is, and perpetually linked to him. He is confused and filled with power, and in his escape from the lab, he kills his friend.

In dealing with what has happened, Robby rejects the events ever happened. Collapsing in an alleyway, his mind shattering, The two entities manifest from him. The being of light tries most to resemble him, taking his form and pursueing the goals and dreams of Robert Reynolds. The Void is disgusted with the frail form and rejects it. Taking the form of the shadows around the boy, it feels through its memories, his nightmares, and changes infinitely within itself, a shifting being of no real discernible image or shape.

Robert awakens with almost no memory, feeling nothing but an all consuming need for another fix. Something has to dull the pain, the confusion. It's almost all that's left inside of him.

His mind is broken, lost to the two other forms now existing in our world. He wanders the streets, succumbing to the need for drugs any way he can. In his dreams, he is a hero or a monster, and he feels joy and horror at every moment. When the high wears off, there is nothing but the numb feeling of being lobotomized.

Decades later, barely alive in a broken and ailing body, Robert is meeting a dealer for either a job or a hit, whatever he can score. Once engaged in conversation, he notices a young girl dancing near her mother across the street.
The street is relatively quiet, with few cars speeding past. The girl keeps getting closer to the traffic.
In his gut, he feels a desire to push her back to her mother, it would only be right, wouldn't it? A wave and a smile and he'd just fly away...
In his mind flickers a grizzly image of the girl being rammed by a car, her body bursting and breaking in a shower of gore. He smiles, then chokes it back, confused. The dealer is talking louder now, frustrated with Rob's lack of attention.

He holds out a wad of money and a small packet of heroine. Rob watches the girl moving into the road as a car speeds ever closer.
The image of her dying is in his head, and damnit, some sick need to see her die fills his mind. His heart pounds and he wants to save her. Never has he felt more confused. Well, perhaps, not since... something that happened when he was younger.
He sees the car, hears the dealer talking. The hand offering relief from the world and money for a job is being retracted. The girl is singing and smiling. She looks like Lindy....
Rob bolts for the child and feels heat engulf his body as the sunlight wraps around him. His ankle cracks loudly and he is sent speeding toward the child faster than he's ever run.
He feels like he's done this before, and he hears in his mind his own voice. "...only hope!"
The girl is passing a parked car, into the street, her mother is noticing now. They're moving so slowly as Rob runs so quickly, pain pounding through his leg.

The girl is in front of the car, just feet now before the hit. Robert slows to grab or catch her, but it doesn't work right, he slams her out of the street, into her mother who catches her, toppling over and crashing a sales cart to rubble while the vehicle slams into Robert, shattering his leg, hip and some ribs. He's moving so quickly, he feels and sees it all happen in slow motion. The way his body bounces down the street until everything is eaten by shadows.

Stephen Genhain was the strongest, fittest nine year old boy one could hope to find. He won all the games on the play ground, and never gave any mercy in any sport. The middle school boys even pulled him into their games from time to time. He was a little boy legend.
It was a bright Wednesday afternoon during recess that Stephen first found out that he really was special. He plodded along the edge of the elementary school’s wide walking track, far away from the other kids, far from his brother Alex, who was running after a few kids, pretending to be a superhero. Stephen didn’t want to play today, he just wanted to enjoy the sun and being alone, which was a very mature notion for someone so young.
The sun was shining bright and beautifully, and Stephen smiled to himself as several little girls went running past, giggling at him. They adored him, something he wasn’t quite mature enough to understand just yet. The fine gravelly track crunched quietly beneath his sneakers, the dust in the girls’ wake wrapped up around his ankles. His shirt had a large picture of Spiderman’s mask, and a tiny quote on the back: “With great power comes great responsibility.” He hated the shirt, but his mother bought things for him and his twin brother at the same time, and their wardrobes tended to overlap.
The black fabric made him sweat a bit, chilling him when the wind would blow. He was far from the other kids now, making his way into a shady rest area that most kids didn’t bother running to. There was nothing over there that was worth playing in, and adults were generally there, smoking their cigarettes away from the security cameras around the school. Stephen found it quite empty today as he sat down against a tree.
“Hey, little buddy. You like Spiderman?”
The voice was low, with a hint of something Stephen couldn’t quite make out.
“ . . . What?”
A man moved from out of the bushes nearby. He was wearing a dress shirt like the computer teacher of the school, and thin, stylish glasses. Short, sandy blonde hair framed his face, and his smile was narrow and malicious. Stephen pushed away from the tree, facing the man.
“He was okay, but my brother likes him more. I think he cried too much.”
“A lot of them did, in the end, I heard.” The man laughed, and then trailed it into some sort of pity. “Some of them made it, though. I guess we have something to be thankful for.”
An awkward few seconds passed by.
“Um . . . I’m going to go play with my friends now.”
“Wait, wait. I wanna talk to you for a minute.” The man had a studded, leather wristband on, that partially disappeared as he reached inside his pocket for a moment. It looked like he was moving something around, squeezing something, then his hand returned, holding an action figure. It was a character from a cartoon, but Stephen didn’t like cartoons.
“Want this? I have a whole lot of them.”
Stephen’s senses sharpened. He remembered all the videos and lectures from the school about talking to “People You Don’t Know!” and how some strangers will offer you things to try and steal you away from your family. Stephen turned and tried to scream, but the little girls he encountered earlier shrieked with delight some distance away. The man’s hand covered his mouth and Stephen felt his body lift up from the ground. The man was strong.
“Little fucking kid. I tried to do this the easy way.”
He held Stephen in a bear hug, carrying him into the woods. The shady area disappeared and was replaced with trees. He knew no one could see him from here. The realization dawned on him, and he struggled with all his might.
The man’s grip was tight, and smothering. Stephen’s muscles were strong for a kid his age, but against this man, he might as well have been paralyzed. His heel connected with the meat of the man’s leg, and there was an aggravated growl from gritted teeth. Stephen hit the ground, and immediately caught a powerful kick into his ribs. He doubled over and rolled across the pine needles and small plants.
“Oh you’ve fucking done it now.” The man started to remove his belt. There was a glinting silver buckle. Stephen’s adrenaline pounded through his veins. Instead of heightening his reflexes, making him more aware, he was dulled for a moment, the glinting silver distracting him. It was a child’s reaction.
The buckle caught him across the face and tore his cheek open. Blood seeped from the wound, and he felt a loose tooth inside his mouth release, and the metallic taste of blood fill his cheek. There was a bulge in the man’s khaki pants Stephen didn’t understand.
“You are so gonna regret hitting me, boy. I’m going to fuck you against that tree right there, then break your little fucking neck. Understand that?”
Stephen wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. His skin suddenly felt alive, like static building around him. He had to get away.
He jumped and punched at the man, but his fist was nothing but a distraction. The hit landed, and before Stephen even fell to the ground, vice grips tightened around his wrists. The man was savage now, slinging Stephen’s tiny body against a tree. He took both Stephen’s wrists in one hand and pinned him to the rough, grey bark. It tore at his back, making everything seem so much more real. The man fumbled with the fly of his pants, the bulge even bigger than before.
“You’re gonna get it, you little shit. They’ll never fucking find you.” He reached inside the pants, and Stephen fought back even harder, letting out a scream that shook the foundations of hell.
His skin around his arms bristled, then felt warmer, a light glowing from within the flesh of his hands and wrists. Suddenly, there was a light like a light bulb turning on. A strange simmering sound came from over Stephen’s head. He looked up and saw his arms glowing with a blinding white light. The tiny metal studs of the wrist band fell and bounced off his head, making his face wrinkle up. He couldn’t see through the light.
“What the . . . You little mutie fu- Oh fuck!? FUCK! NO!” The man recoiled from Stephen, his back to the boy, now kneeling painfully on a root, trying to get his breath. Some dust floated down around his head. It was like snow, and Stephen was mystified by it for a moment.
The man screamed in horror, and slowly turned back to face Stephen. His hand was gone at the wrist. A wet powder and mist floated out of the wound, as though he was deteriorating. Stephen stood, looking at his hands, confusion setting in. The light was still glowing, and traveling up his arms, with an aura appearing in front of his chest, and starting to glow around his feet. He was a super hero.
Stephen’s smile grew from the chaos of his mind. He stood like one of the heroes from the newspaper clippings. It was a child’s gesture, imagination and fantasy proceeding over reason.
“I’ma fucking kill you!” The man grabbed a tree branch lying on the ground and rushed at Stephen’s tiny, glowing form, swinging in a rage. The light surrounded Stephen’s body, glowing like a shield. In patches all over his body, you could see him inside, the clothing lit by a brilliant white-gold glow. The light glimmered and burned more brightly, following his body, as his arms blocked the wood. It exploded into a shower or fine dust, taking some of the man’s fingers with it. They evaporated into a thick red mist. He screamed again, and tried to turn and run.
Stephen took off after him, sprinting at his top speed. The light flickered and dimmed, still moving with his body in perfect tandem. The man struggled over a fallen tree; his mission was the shady clearing. Stephen jumped, feeling so much lighter with the adrenaline in his system. He cleared the tree and kicked off from its surface, landing on the man’s back. Cloth, skin and meat burst into a red cloud. A shrill, panicked creak exploded from the man’s lungs. Stephen fell back away, letting him get back up and run. He followed the man, but more slowly, watching the wounded body slow as he neared the shady clearing.
Stephen’s glowing armor shimmered for a moment and faded away, a powerful fatigue setting into his system, just as the man burst into the open expanse of the track. Stephen lost sight of him while he caught his breath, but could hear the man’s scream for help. Children screamed and sounds of entropy erupted for a brief moment, and then cut off. Stephen stopped. There was an eerie silence just passed the tree line. As the little boy climbed out into the field, finally feeling the pain of the beating he had taken, he saw the field was completely empty, all except two people. Just past the field, there was a massive grouping of adults and children, looking on in horror and silence, save for a few calls from teachers for children to get back inside. Stephen saw Alex standing near some play ground equipment, the only child still standing close to the field.
“No! You’re dead! All you fuckers are dead!”
“Join us.” The voice was dark and evil.
There was a sound like a car wash spray. A decompression and a whoosh, but instead of water, fire erupted and covered the injured man. His skin crinkled and blackened, hair burning onto his head. The clothing he wore cooked into his flesh, until there was nothing but a charring husk left writhing inside the flame.
Stephen had been walking closer without realizing, his curiosity getting the better of him. The fire died down until it was just wrapped around the body and the grass around it. A man stood over the corpse, his long black coat moving gently with the breeze that blew through this surreal moment. Stephen took the sight in. Grey hair was slicked close to a rugged and ancient looking face, the jaw line still strong. The body was growing frailer with the many years, but was in perfect human conditioning for a man his age. A dingy, white skull, terrifying in the power it conveyed, was displayed on his black shirt. It seemed to scowl at the burning flesh. He hunched over slightly, the flame thrower on his back pulling at him. He gripped the nozzle in his hands tightly. Stephen could see one hand was a prosthetic, its intricate workings moving the fingers with an unnatural realism. His legs were still strong, his stance unshakable. He walked to Stephen with a steady, powerful gait that one would find in a man half his age.
“You’re...” Stephen’s voice was a million miles away.
His voice was dark and troubled, like he had been breathing fire for years. “He was a killer. You are lucky.”
The man turned back to the crowd, looking them over, before he ran toward the woods. The world was silent again, all but the crackling of the man’s skin at Stephen’s feet. Stephen ran away from the blackening body. He was lucky.

The clock ticked away painfully slow as the teacher droned on and on about nothing Stephen gave a flying fuck about. He tried to relax in his chair, eyes focusing on the clock, wondering if he could speed it up with his mind.
“ . . . And so you see, if Washington hadn’t . . .”
The teacher’s voice felt like acid seeping into his soul, burning it away. Stephen rolled his eyes, and his attention fell to a girl sitting next to him. She was one of the school’s beauties, infinitely popular, with legs that went on for miles. She was a track runner, and just loved wearing the skimpy little shorts all the time. Stephen made a kissing face at her, and she blushed, feigning innocence, looking around to see if anyone noticed.
Right, like you give a shit. Stephen turned away from the girl. He knew her type, he’d been there enough. Ever since his first day here, he had been a phenomena; good at all sports, intelligent, witty, everything a person could hope to be in school, Stephen Genhain was the exemplary. Still, it didn’t hurt to flirt.
The class room was full of anxious teenagers, shuffling about their seats, looking at one another, whispering and passing notes behind the teacher. Stephen scratched his head, ignoring the teacher’s sudden silence, until someone mentioned “a fight outside.”
Alex.
This grabbed his attention. Sitting up, he watched the portly, middle aged woman waddle over to the door and crack it open. She peeked timidly, her face losing all emotion. The door clicked softly, and she turned to the class, cold and stoic, feigning the act of composing herself. Her voice was patronizing and all too friendly as she spoke.
“Class, please remain in your seats. Earlier a student reported a possible . . . a possible mutant infestation of this school, and I had no choice but to report this to the proper authorities. Someone is confronting the mutant outside. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. I believe the real authorities will be here any minute.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “We will have no mutants in this school.”
She smiled with her massive, too red lips. Her make up was caked on, trying to hide the ugliness inside. At that moment, Stephen hated her more than any thing in existence. He felt his skin cover with static, but, exhaling, he kept his power in check. Ever since he was nine, he had been practicing with his powers, getting better. He had read up about his abilities, their nature, and how it all worked. He could cover his body in heatless plasma shielding, like a glowing outer shell that could disintegrate nearly anything it came into contact with. He still had trouble with large, dense objects, but so far there was little he found he couldn’t decimate completely. No one could have possibly known, though. He never practiced anywhere near school, and hadn’t told a soul.
There was a sound of screeching tires outside, and a few shouts, muffled by the heavy windows of the school. Stephen stood, looking out at the numerous government vehicles. They were surrounding the school.
“Genhain, sit down, please.” She smiled with that hideous face.
“Who was it?” Stephen stood strong.
“That . . . That doesn’t concern you, we’ll all be better for this.”
“Why won’t you tell us? Shouldn’t we be . . . ?”
“Trust me, your family will be-“
Stephen exploded across the room, knocking over a skinny guy and his desk, the teacher moved to intercept him, but he shoved her out of the way with a strong arm to the face. He felt his shield shimmer and flash around him as he forced his way through the door. It exploded into dust and large chunks, the glass shattering and blasting out into the hallway, spattering a crowd of people. The shield shut down, the density of the door forcing too great a stress on him. He felt a bit of exhaustion, and knew his shield was going to be down for a moment. It happened every time he over exerted himself.
There was a crowd of students in the hall way, surrounding a boy who was stumbling backwards, now screaming at the top of his lungs as his skin was apparently bubbling off his chest. His leg was smoking, with dark red blood stains growing across his thigh. A few students stared at both Stephen and the boy, whom Stephen recognized as Rex Carlson. He was a douche bag; someone had just done the world a huge favor. The heavy footfalls of someone running caught Stephen’s ear and looking up, he saw his brother barreling down the hallway, his arm exposed, a tiny trail of smoke following him. Something had burned his arm?
Sprinting forward, Stephen bashed through the crowd, his powerful arms and legs moving the people easily. His eyes were locked on Alex when something bashed hard into his side, smashing him into the wall. A few paper letters pinned to the wall fell loose, gliding to the floor. Stephen got his balance and looked to his right, the left side of his body pressed to the wall.
“Fucking mutant scum! Just like your brother!” One of Rex’s friends swung a book at Stephen’s head, but missed completely as Stephen crouched down, throwing a vicious uppercut into the boy’s gut. He doubled over, choking, and then vomited horribly all over the wall. Stephen kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him into the floor, vomit spattering all over the kid as he fell. There was no time for this, he had to help Alex, whether his brother wanted it or not.
The smoke trail was gone, and so was Alex. Which way had he gone? The hallway split in two directions. If Alex was trying to get away, would he try to evade through hallways, or go straight out the front door? Stephen ran forward, and then turned down a hallway, nearly tackling several students who lost their footing and fell out of his way. He entered into a long hallway that was parallel to another building. The narrow space between each building was known as the “Green Alley,” after the vibrant green grass that grew in the earth and shade of the two buildings. Many students were lined up against this wall, chatting and talking between their classes.
Gun shots rang out; three quick thuds in rapid succession.
“Alex! For fuck’s sake!” Stephen looked in every direction, hoping with all his might he would see Alex.
There were more gunshots, this time a sustained burst. Eyes were glued to the Green Alley, with windows popping out here and there so some could get a better look towards the front of the school.
“Is that Alex Genhain? He’s a mutant?” The girl speaking had a confused look on her face, her blonde and brown hair hanging down the side of her head. Stephen sprinted down the hallway and forced himself between several people. He leaned over and peaked his head out of the window just as Alex went sprinting past. The sleeve of his jacket had been burned off, but the skin was perfectly fine. His hair was moving wild with wind. Stephen looked past Alex and saw several of the much lauded cape killer soldiers chasing Alex down the narrow stretch.
“Run, Alex! Go, go, go!”
Alex blazed past, ignoring his brother’s words. Had he even heard him? Stephen tore his over shirt off his body as he ran towards the nearest exit door. Someone screamed a “Woo!” at him, but he ignored it with the tiny tacking sounds of buttons hitting the floor. His grey, sleeveless undershirt clung to him as he moved through the people, finally pushing through the exit door. With only a few steps, he turned the corner outside and saw his brother disappear into the basement window of the opposite building.
“Alex.” He breathed the name, instantly realizing he made a mistake by not screaming it. Before he could dwell on this, the bizarre sight of several soldiers simply standing at attention in the midst of a mess Alex must have created caught his eye. They were living statues, armors dull and scarred from battles past. Was that one of Alex’s powers, to freeze people?
Stephen took a few quick steps, still staring, and then began to run, when he was hit square in the face by a rifle butt. Blood trickled from his nose and lip. He looked up and saw two cape killers aiming their weapons at his chest.
“It’s the brother. Detain in accordance to the Stryker Protocol. We’ve gotta get the whole family.”
“Try it, boys.” Stephen growled as he willed his powers on. He felt a flash of light cover him, then vanish. Shit.
The two men glanced at each other, and then burst out laughing.
“Wow, that was real good, kid. I needed that.” The man shakily removed a tazer and began to aim it at Stephen.
“No!” Stephen shoved forward, wrapping his arm around the man’s weapon arm, he locked it up and forced it at the other soldier. The tazer fired, the twin, tiny needles bouncing safely off the armor, but distracting the man such that Stephen could get a free kick to the man’s visor. It stunned him, sending him reeling back.
Ducking under the man’s locked arm, and twisting it into his back, Stephen forced the soldier face-first into a wall. He focused and let his shields flash again, hopefully they would do at least a little damage. He had never quite gotten passed the long cool down period. Dust and a bit of electricity burst from the man’s back as an energy cell finally succumbed to its damage, exploding. The burst knocked Stephen back into the other soldier, who was getting to his feet. Stephen threw an elbow as hard as he could into the man’s visor, knocking the man’s head into a painful angle. Sharp pain burst through Stephen’s arm, and blood trickled from wounds on his arm caused by the angular helmet the soldiers wore. The cape killer had his bearings back, though, and grabbed Stephen around the waist, slamming him into the brick wall behind them. The rough surface tore at his bare arms, flashing memories of tree bark and someone stronger from so long ago.
“I’m . . . not . . . weak . . .” Stephen forced each word, pushing his hands and one foot against the wall. His muscles bulged and strained as he created leverage.
“Not . . . anymore!” His muscles won the struggle, throwing him and the man both back into the grass, next to the incapacitated soldier. Stephen rolled over quickly and placed both hands on the man’s visor, willing all of his power into his hands. The shielding flashed all over his whole body, destroying some grass, burning off the outer surface of armor on the man’s leg, and burning the visor such that one couldn’t see through it. The man screamed, and struggled to find a hand hold on Stephen, but the boy was already up and sprinting away.
He felt drained, but still he forced his body to respond. Muscles ached, and his arm was still in agony. Spitting blood, he growled as he turned the corner of the building and saw several soldiers closing in on the gardening shed. They were all at ready. Alex had to be there. Suddenly, a commotion broke out. Splattering liquid covered one man, who subsequently was tackled into another. These soldiers were at their best, and simply backhanded who Stephen could now recognize as Alex away like a pesky child. Stephen began to walk quickly, too terrified to run. Tazers were raised.
There was a distant puffing sound as the first tazer connected; followed by several more barely-audible puffs as three more tazers pierced his brother. Alex lay on the ground convulsing as the electricity rocked his body. Stephen was close now.
Suddenly, somehow, the tazers must have broken, as the men were taking steps back, raising their rifles.
“Get him.”
“Get away from him!” Stephen roared with all his might, his plasma shielding reacting with unmatched fury.
The chain link fence surrounding the shed exploded into millions of glimmering particles of metallic dust, blinding the soldiers long enough for Stephen to get a free, vicious tackle on the lead soldier. The man’s armor burst into clouds of swirling dust as his armor’s systems shut down. Alex was beginning to stand.
Stephen unleashed a rage filled upper cut into the next man’s face mask, which burst into a swirling red and black mist, a dry choking sound forcing tiny puffs of the dust away from the now ruined mouth. Stephen didn’t think he killed him. He looked back at his brother, the shielding fading away. He smiled. It was a stupid mistake. Warm metal pressed to the back of his head, and a keening whistle filled his ear. He thought he was dead.
There was a wet thud, and Stephen spun his head back around, eyes locking onto the bloody throwing knife hanging out of the closest soldier’s throat. The body was locked up like a statue just before it fell over, but Stephen ignored it. His shields burst back on with a level of power he had never quite felt before. He was enraged that his family, his brother would be victimized like this. The last soldier opened fire into his chest, but they exploded into tiny black spots of dust that wrapped around his waist, as though someone sprinkled ash on him.
Behind him, Stephen heard his brother jump onto the soldier he had tackled. There was a sizzling sound, and Alex muttered something to himself, before a wet ripping and crackling sound issued from the ground. Stephen’s last soldier didn’t move, he just stood, immobile, aiming at Stephen like a good soldier. Stephen pressed his hand to the gun, letting his shielding destroy it. Pulling his fist back, he punched through the man’s helmet, knocking him onto the ground, his face grazed badly, but not fatally, by the shielding. His shield faded away, and he turned to his brother.
A voice filled his head.
"I have them. Their defenses were better than usual, but I worked my way past it. David, if you will."
A man in black tactical gear and wide red sunglasses seemed to coalesce from the wall, clicking a button on a device hanging from his belt. He walked with an inner calm, closing the distance between himself and the boys. There were numerous pouches and weapons dangling from the various belts and bandoliers of his body. “Well, I must say . . .” He removed the glasses, revealing wide, intelligent eyes. He motioned toward Stephen. “You were unexpected.” Stephen raised an eyebrow, perplexed.
“Guys, you are mutants, as I’m sure you now know. I am with a special school for people like us. It’s safe there. Stay here and you will fight alone. Come with me, train with us, and you can really live. Decide now . . .”
Stephen looked at Alex, the brothers’ rivalry absent in a most rare situation. They spoke together. “Get us out of here.” Stephen had waited for this since he was nine years old.. He was going to be the hero . . .

Outside, the rain beat down on the darkened features of the old house. The night had enveloped the sleepy little town, lulling the inhabitants into slow, meandering dreams of their innermost desires.
The window was as a mirror, reflecting back the light from the variety of burning candles spread all around the room. The few of them that were scented left a brisk, perfumed aura about the bedroom. It obviously belonged to a teenaged boy, the walls covered in posters of metal bands and buxom super heroines, offset with a few of the more infamous vigilantes’ various newspaper clippings and magazine articles posted to the wall haphazardly all around them.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, honey?” Alex’s voice trembled. He was incredibly nervous, a tiny bead of sweat already on his forehead.
“Sweetheart, of course. . . I have been looking forward to this for so long, like you wouldn’t believe.” She was so beautiful, so full of youth and potential. Her skin was pale and smooth, with long dark hair, and the greenest eyes you could imagine. She was everything to him.
His eyes lingered on hers, and his heart pounded the blood through his veins. There were a million feelings flying around the room: the trademark Teenage Awkwardness, the “hormones going insane” as Alex’s mother had said so many times, the adrenaline making everything move slower and seem unreal….
Alex’s shirt lay on the messy bed next to him, and his jeans were adorned by a ridiculous Wolverine belt buckle, the tiny hero displayed in a diving charge. The light glinting off the buckle made it seem exaggerated, almost as though there was a light glowing at his crotch, which could have made the situation farcical. As many teenagers in their position though, Alex and his darling didn’t care.
The first kiss was almost explosive, their bodies meeting, her skin moving against his as their arms held each other close. She was wearing a small, spaghetti strapped shirt, with her favorite light blue boxers. Her body was too perfect, his mind was shattered by the situation, but there was no going back.
The house had been left in his charge when his parents left for their almost biweekly vacation. Stephen was off at basketball camp, or football camp, or something really fucking pointless like that. Alex smiled into the kiss as she pushed him onto his back, her body moving on top of him. She straddled his hips and pressed her nails into his bare chest. Spider webs of electricity cascaded down his body. Kisses started on his neck, the passion rising. There was giggling, cuddling, and the clothing slowly came off.
This night was magical at this point, perfect, in every form of the word for the two lovers. She slid beneath the disheveled blankets and looked up into his eyes. Her hair was beautifully tussled, the candle light making her body glow with a strange, unearthly light. Alex positioned himself over her, adrenaline fighting down all the anxiety of the moment. His hand found the prophylactic on the nightstand, at the same time brushing off a pile of comics and horror movie magazines to the floor. There was a nervous laughter, but the mood held strong.
The feeling was so new and powerful, sensations of pleasure like he had never imagined washing over him. It was their first time, and it was beautiful. She bit her lip with the initial pain, and it slowly changed to a smile, her body beginning to enjoy this new forbidden delight.
Sweat beaded on Alex’s forehead as he made love to his beloved for the first time. Then, she screamed.
Alex opened his eyes, and what should have been reality came burning into focus. She was screaming, and there was some kind of smoke, what was burning? He struggled to stand up from her, and he noticed green sweat all over his body. . . And more was forming. As he stood, he felt strips of her skin tear off onto his body. Alex screamed and clawed his way to the floor, a vibrant; neon green perspiration pouring off of him, onto the screaming form that was so beautiful only a moment ago.
Her skin was missing from most of her body, replaced by searing, wet wounds, the raw meat was bubbling. The middle of her body was getting worse; the green fluid was carving into her body, opening her up…. Her throat burned away, her screaming becoming a horrendous gurgle, filled with terror and confusion. Convulsing, she died, unable to stop the disgusting sounds issuing from her throat. Her whole body was destroyed, all but her face, only singed by the bad dream. Her hair, her lips, those eyes, they were perfect.
Alex shrieked and clawed at his skin, falling into the wall behind him. Posters and clippings burned away into nothing, the scent of burned flesh, paper, wood, cloth. . .
“What the fuck is going on?!” Alex slapped and dug his nails into his flesh, drawing blood, fighting to get the chemical from his skin. His eyes were locked on her face, the world was roaring, the blood pounded loudly in his ears. He tried to stand, tried to scream for help, and he felt cold wrap around him. One last glance at his girl, and he saw her beauty eradicated by this impossibility. Her body was burned into a bloody, wet lump, the skeleton visible all throughout; even her face was burning at the chin now, this dark chemical working its magic.
Everything was so cold now. He fell, eyes locked on hers, and as his body hit the floor, all he could hear was the burning of the walls, the bed, the floor, her . . . skin.
The last thing he saw before losing conciousness was a large hole burning through the wall, rain from outside pouring in. The air chilled him as his eyes went dark.

It was every high school movie cliché one would expect. The sea of people parted, their stylish clothing and backpacks pressing into one another as they crowded the locker lined walls to do what exactly? Escape him? Alex glanced back and forth at the whispering wall of faces and bodies. As far as anyone knew, Alex was the victim of a mutant assault. He was with his wonderful girlfriend in the middle of an innocent date when this creature poured into his room and melted her.
No one believed it. No one wanted to. The absence of mutants for the past few decades had made them almost mythical to this generation. The authorities had been in his home, had taken scrapings, had “investigated” the general area, and couldn’t find any residue of the agent used to kill “the victim.”
Alex had been forced under psychiatric evaluation, and a continued series of exams. Each stay was more difficult than the first. Couldn’t he just forget, and be okay? That’s what adults did with problems, right?
“Watching a girl get melted right in front of you, that’s gotta be harsh, right?” said one intern at the ward Alex had stayed. Alex broke a dinner tray over his back. That didn’t help his situation.
As he walked down the whispering hallway, Alex tried to huddle inside his dark blue jacket and green shirt. His jeans made soft swooshing sounds with each step. He felt sweat on his forehead, and for a moment, pure panic at the thought of . . . No. That wasn’t even possible. It wouldn’t happen again.
Alex stopped and looked at a bulletin board on the wall, covered in the usual errata of pamphlets for student clubs, graffiti, and in one corner, a whole shrine to the girl he had killed. His heart stopped in his chest as he stared into those eyes again. Her skin was so soft, so beautiful, and what had he done? He gently touched the picture, leaning on a hand against a wall, the group of people clearing his immediate area. Fuck! He thought to himself. Don’t you people have class or something?!
His head fell in his hands, his books sliding out of his backpack. A comic slid out on top. Sobs rocked his body, and the whispering died down into silence. No one spoke, no one stepped forward to speak to him. Not until . . .
“Fucking mutant.”
Alex’s tear-filled eyes jerked up and scanned the people around him. Everyone’s chatter immediately started, whispers of “mutants in the school” and “always thought something was weird with him.” Alex pressed his back to the wall, and pushed himself up with his legs, letting his arms hang down. He felt heat rising up his spine, and his face flustered.
“What?” he growled. “What was that?” Tears stopped on his cheeks as his anger welled up inside his chest.
A large boy stepped out from the crowd, followed, of course, by his two boon companions. Alex recognized them from the regular fist fights that took place about the campus.
“I said: Fucking. Mutant. Hey, how’d it feel burning her skin off, freak? Dragging her down into your little dungeon. Have some fun and then off her?”
Alex’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Shut . . . up . . .”
“Go ahead, mutie. Fuckin’ do something.” He motioned as though he was offering Alex a free punch. “We all know you did it. We all know what you are. Is your brother a freak like you too?”
Alex hadn’t even thought of his brother, Stephen. Where was he? Normally he had to be front and first for every altercation at the school. He was the “hero of the school,” and had been since his first day through the doors. Everyone went to him for help, for advice, for everything. Alex didn’t, but right about now, he wouldn’t mind some of the back up.
Looking over the crowd, Alex realized he had no such luck. The buffoon in front of him, the mouthiest of the lot, pranced back and forth on each foot. He was wearing a tight white t-shit and jeans with a wallet chain. Alex could have smiled at the lack of originality, but his system was quickly trying to deal with the fear electrocuting his brain. With another quick glance, he saw a teacher looking through a barely open door, her eyes wide. She was his only hope. He looked at her, his eyes pleading for a moment, his hand waving her over. The door closed with a gentle click. He was alone on this one.
“Stop looking for help, bitch. You killed a friend of mine, I think it’s only fair-
“I didn’t kill her!” Alex let it all go at once, and nearly stumbled over the words. He looked at everyone, who had now moved even further away, and noticed their silence, and terror filling their eyes.
“Oh, really? Guess who’s getting a house call tonight anyway. I called them. I reported your ass. After we’re through with you, they’ll drag your ass out into the hills and burn you alive.”
Alex breathed deeply, and he focused. He had to be faster, there was no way he was walking out of here if he failed.
“Leave me alone.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me too?” He threw his punch, a practiced motion, strength and speed meeting for a powerful blow.
Everything seemed to slow down for Alex. He jerked his body back, feeling like he was made of clay, droplets of sweat were freed by the motion, flying into the air. He lifted his arm to slap the fist away, but the weight felt different, like his arm was heavy with liquid.
Then, the smell hit his nose. An acrid burning of cotton and polyester filled his nostrils and jerked him back into reality with a jarring impact. The fist caught him in the face, but the bully faired so much worse. A long whip-like formation had poured from Alex’s arm, decimating the sleeve of his shirt, and had sliced across the boy’s chest like a barbed lash. Every tiny cut smoldered for a moment, just before the skin opened in large, painful chemical burns, the meat raw and wet, disappearing as the organic acid seared the flesh. The tiny droplets of sweat landed sporadically on the bully’s leg, and tiny holes burned into the denim. The world was screaming just like before, but Alex wasn’t going to wait and see what followed.
He was already running, people falling over each other to get out of his way. The soft colored white walls and checkered, tiled floor streaked past him, like a moving, dizzying Rorschach test. Someone screamed for help, someone screamed for others to chase him; some were just screaming and clutching the walls in panic. Alex’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could smell the burning of his clothing getting worse. He is a mutant. He is a freak.
As Alex burst through the entrance to the school, he tripped over the threshold and tumbled down the few stairs. Kneeling, feeling his joints aching and every painful impact of the fall, he looked out into the parking lot and saw numerous government vehicles, armored transports, with troops wearing the “cape killer” equipment the government issued to stop people with superpowers, mutants.
“There he is! All squads on us! Form up and move out!”
Alex felt panic seize his throat; a scream caught half way out, choked to a chirp. There was suddenly a brief burst of steady thuds as the nearest soldier opened fire with his rifle. Alex fell back and brought his arms up in a futile attempt to block the bullets, and the wet feeling returned, this time the weight was greater.. Bullets smacked into something wet just in front of him, and as he opened his eyes, a gleaming shield of thick, dark green sludge fell to the ground; particles of shattered bullets sprinkled his face at incredible speed. Tiny cuts formed and bled, but Alex didn’t hesitate. He was on his feet, bolting for the corner of the building.
Other soldiers opened fire, but the shots hit the wall just behind him. He rounded the corner and sprinted through a long and narrow stretch of grass that grew between the main building and an auxiliary building. Windows flashed by, people looking out, ignoring the alert that was now sounding through the school. No one was following the proper instructions for an “Attack” drill. Alex barely had time to notice the faces, but one caught his eye, his brother leaning out of a window, a confused expression on his face. He didn’t know Alex was a mutant, but he had heard the rumors. Shame gripped Alex as he ran past, his brother’s voice roaring something unclear at him.
The distraction proved beneficial, as Alex’s foot caught in an exposed water meter, and he tripped, slamming hard into the dirt. As he fell, there was a three round burst fired behind him, and bullets zipped past his head. People gasped and screamed from the windows around him, and they finally took cover behind the brick walls.
Alex scrambled to his feet, tearing his now burned jacket from his body. His shirt was missing large patches of cloth, but was still covering him. Alex clutched at the fabric over his chest, feeling his beating heart as he looked at the cape killers chasing him down the miniature alley. As they neared, screaming at him to stop moving, he noticed a large power pole extending about 15 feet from the ground. There was a power meter and a locker full of spare landscaping supplies hanging from the pole. Concentrating, Alex felt the dark liquid respond under his skin. He tried to will the chemical out, and let it wrap around the power pole. Nothing happened. The men neared, shouting. Alex pressed both hands out toward the pole, as though he were pushing it with his mind, and the liquid merely shifted beneath his flesh. FUCKING WORK! Finally, flicking his wrist, a blade of bright green liquid arced out. This acid tore into the brick and wood, burning faster than any he had seen since his dear . . .
Bullets ripped him out of his revelry, a slug tearing a sliver of flesh from his arm. Blood trickled down his body, glowing bright green as it seared the fabric of his jeans away. Alex recoiled, but the agony turned to joy as the first cape killer caught the damaged power pole in the face as it fell, gardening equipment spilling out over him as he was crushed beneath the wood’s weight. The next cape killer leapt over his comrade and brought his rifle swinging at Alex like a bat. Alex blocked instinctively with both arms, and the details of the rifle tore into his skin, tearing the flesh away in several bloody cuts all along both of his forearms. The gun’s casing burned until it fell into pieces.
The man glanced down at his weapon, confused. Alex screamed and swung his arm like a dead weight into the man’s neck, his blood coating the weakly armored throat. The thick, padded body suit began to bubble and burn away into the soft skin beneath, causing the man inside to scream and stumble away from Alex. The other cape killers came bounding over the damaged power pole, but seemed to hit an imaginary wall, stopping at attention, their weapons down. The fallen men stopped screaming, the others stood silently, looking forward at Alex through dark visors that hid their features.
Cuckoo.
“What?” The words had simply appeared in his mind. The voice was a mixture, more than one people speaking with the same monotone voice.
“Who are you? Where...?”
Alex Genhain. Do as we say and you will live. Fail to follow our instructions and you will die.
“Help me... Please.”
Follow this Alley until you reach the small window to the basement of the next building. Burn through the window seal and slide inside. Run across until you reach a rusty grey door.
Alex was already on the move, seeing a clear image of the door in his mind. The soldiers still stood at attention, ignoring him as he distanced himself from their numbers. The window was set close to the ground, the glass already cracked; the framing was rotting wood that had been ignored for far too long. Alex started to kick the window out, but thought about the voices’ warning.
“Follow your instructions, right.” He leaned down and pressed his hands to the window seal. Focusing, he felt the thick substance under his skin slide toward his fingers, sliding just over the bone, and finally though his finger tips, making the rotted wood smolder. Splinters burned and curled together, until the glass finally shook and burst, sending splinters and glass tumbling to the floor.
Hurry. Now.
Alex slid inside and landed with a crunch on the glass. The room was dark and dusty, filled with long stored teaching supplies and broken desks. A box of ancient calculators tumbled to the floor as Alex rushed past to the door on the opposite wall. Alex pressed the quickly drying blood on his arm onto the locked door’s handle, and it turned an ugly dark color, warped, then tumbled to the floor, leaving a rusty hole. Alex jerked the door open. He heard the men’s voices again, roaring orders, and an echo in his head of a woman’s voice. I lost them. He is on his own until David . . .
Alex, sneak into the chain link fence area, you will see a man in large sunglasses there, he will-
They blocked me! Get him movi-
They know where he is. He has fifteen seconds.
Alex, run to the fenced area now, call for David.
Alex broke into a run. He barely remembered this part of the school. It was generally reserved for the maintenance staff, but it wasn’t uncommon for students to cut through here on the way to class. There was nowhere in which to get lost, but right now that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The chain link fence in question was nearby, surrounding a shed full of lawnmowers. A very large metal box was sitting next to the fence, just underneath a wide, rotted hole in the wood of the roof. Alex remembered it housing tools for the landscaping machinery.
Convenient.
Alex sprinted toward the box, and jumped. His foot connected and he propelled himself once more, leaping into the rotted hole. The wood cracked and gave with him, and the top metal beam of the fence protected him from the jaggededge of the chain link. However, he landed with a painful crunch on top of an old lawnmower. The fiberglass body cracked and sagged on the chassis. Alex bounced off the mower and hit the dirt. He felt like his insides were about to explode.
“Da... David?” No one answered. The sound of footfalls was getting louder in the grass.
“He’s in here, I think I heard him!” Bolts on rifles clicked as they readied, the debris in the cluttered shed protecting him for these few more precious seconds.
Where is David?
David, help him.
What do you mean, “curious?”
There was a jingling of the lock on the fence door, and a tiny, abrupt crack of a small charge detonating on the locking chain. Alex could see the cape killers walking toward him. It was now or never. He grabbed up an open can of paint and rain water, and hurled it with all his might at the first soldier. The paint covered his visor, and he recoiled, wiping it from his vision. Alex roared and jumped into the man, knocking him off balance into another soldier, who caught him, and back handed Alex off of his companion. Alex’s mouth filled with blood. The taste took him off guard. It was all wrong...
Not bad. The voice was male this time, filled with amusement. You definitely got some heart.
Don’t encourage him, David. He needs help.
Females again.
Hang on, honey, someone else comin’.
Alex started to stand when the first soldier drew a tazer and fired it into Alex’s throat. The pain was instant, the charge frying his senses, but the overwhelming electricity ended as quickly as it began. The barb of the tazer melted inside Alex’s skin. He forced a look up, and three more tazers fired into him, grounding him completely, his screams deafening him, along with the pain, but soon, all the barbs melted away.
“Get him.” The guns raised.
“Get away from him!” Stephen’s voice exploded, as he came charging through the fence, a burning light covering his body like an aura. As the light touched the fence, the chain links exploded into silvery mist. He slammed one soldier into the ground, the man’s armor turning into a swirling dust as he hit the ground. Alex began to stand again, blood running from his nose.
Stephen came up with an upper cut into the next surprised soldier, the man’s face exploded into a cloud of wet, red mist and particles of face mask and visor. There was an awful gurgling rattle as the body fell. Stephen looked back at Alex for a moment, ignoring the remaining two soldiers, and the light faded. He smiled. He was a mutant too.
Alex stared at him, confused, elated, horrified as the other soldier raised his weapon to his brother’s head. There was a whistling sound as a blade flew threw the air and struck the man’s throat. The armored body seemed to lock up for a moment, and then, simply fall, like a tiny plastic soldier tilting off balance. Stephen’s shielding came back up, and the last soldier fired a burst into his chest, black dust disappearing as it floated around Stephen’s waist. The grounded soldier whom he had tackled raised a hand gun, but Alex pounced on him, pressing his bleeding hands onto the man’s visor. The plastic goggle melted and conformed to the contours of the man’s eyes and nose. There was muffled screaming from the man under his mask. Alex concentrated like he did at the window, this time ignoring his brother pounding the other soldier into submission on the ground.
Alex put his hand over the melted visor, concentrating hard on that feeling below his skin. There was a surge of warmth from his muscles as thick, green liquid covered his hand like a glove. The glove lightened in color, and in doing so, melted, instantly burning through the man's visor, his face, and deeper... He struggled for a moment beneath Alex before jerking once and becoming still.
I have them. Their defenses were better than usual, but I worked my way past it. David, if you will.
A man in black tactical gear and wide red sunglasses seemed to coalesce from the wall, clicking a button on a device hanging from his belt. There were numerous pouches and weapons dangling from the various belts and bandoliers of his body.
“Well, I must say . . .” He removed the glasses, revealing wide, intelligent eyes. He motioned toward Stephen.
“You were unexpected. Guys, you are mutants, as I’m sure you now know. I am with a special school for people like us. It’s safe there. Stay here and you will fight alone. Come with me, train with us, and you can really live. Decide now . . .”
Alex and Stephen looked at one another, the brothers’ rivalry absent in a most rare situation. They spoke together. “Get us out of here.” Alex placed his hand on the bloody grazing on his arm. He breathed deeply, finally feeling a peace inside that had been lost since he last felt her kiss.

Estelle Riviera held some of her books to her chest while the rest pulled her shoulders down from her aging green back pack. It wasn’t a lovely color, vaguely reminiscent of mold or dying grass, but she loved the pack. She had kept it since first coming to the Xavier Institute. The pack had small tears here and there, with pockets hanging open to reveal stowed pencils and pens, even her useless, broken calculator. The ink blacked out the screen in a weird pattern and she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.
Class had just ended a few moments ago, and the halls were filled with kids bustling about. Many were trying to decide what to do with the rest of their day, the choices being exploring the grounds, playing ball outside, studying, sleeping. A few students had even started a little sparring group after school, for the kids who thought they could grow up to be big, strong X-Men.
Estelle had no such aspirations. She wanted to figure out how to control her gift, get good grades, and advance to a big college. Besides, the life of a masked avenger was nothing for her. With a very small frame, soft features set into her tan skin, and a general aversion to sports, she was not hero material. Her powers could only serve such groups in a pedestrian way. Estelle could dream the future.
Most people would immediately ask, “What’s in my future?” Sometimes the questions were morbid. “Do you see people die?” She didn’t like talking about her power. It was generally useless. Dreaming an uneventful day of school, then living it, was hardly material for a fun story. Occasionally she dreamed of people she had never known, speaking languages she had never really heard. Sometimes these people would be in trouble, or most often just in some kind of mild distress. She often dreamed the future of a middle eastern woman who had lost her husband in a car accident.
For the most part, however, her dreams were boring. Her power was boring.
Noticing two older boys arguing, Estelle awkwardly stepped out of their way. Alex Genhain was an unassuming boy with dark hair that lay unkempt about his head. His clothing, a wilted dress shirt, black tee, and worn, ripped jeans, had tiny trails of smoke puffing from random places all over his body. It seemed his power was getting the better of him as he mouthed insults back at his brother. Stephen Genhain looked the opposite of Alex; strong and handsome, his hair was neatly styled, and his clothing was clean and new. Stephen was trying to drive home some random fact. Estelle waited for them to be down the hall before she moved. It wasn’t uncommon for two mutant teens to decide to throw down. Generally, if you weren’t careful, you could get hurt.
Her feet aching, and her mind exhausted by a strenuous lecture from Ms. Kincaid, Estelle just wanted to get to her room. Sleep would be the perfect way to waste the day. It was only moments before she was back to her dorm room. Obviously belonging to a twelve-year-old girl, the walls made no attempt to hide their owner’s love of pop music, dreamy young men, and even a hint of school pride. Curling up on her bed, her favorite stuffed animal against her stomach, Estelle closed her eyes and felt sleep setting on nice and easy . . .

The danger room hummed to life with a disturbing crackle punctuating the power surge. Alex and Stephen Genhain were suddenly standing side by side in the midst of a great urban battlefield. There were bodies strewn about, sometimes fading into translucence, then flickering back into reality. The earth was charred black sporadically, mostly around the great decimated buildings that may have once housed families and soldiers alike. Destroyed vehicles crowded intersections, while others were piled into massive heaps on the sidewalks; the way had been cleared for tanks and convoys.
Distant and nearby gunshots interrupted muffled screams of terror from frightened women and dying men. With the sky darkening from clouds of ash, and the entire world going to hell, the stage was set for their Applied Mutations mid-term exam.
“Alex, get behind me. I’ll draw aggro. You can melt their faces or tie them up while I clear a path through the buildings. When I’m exhausted, we’ll switch off. I fight while you burn.”
“. . . Duh?”
The mission was simple: a mutant was trapped and needed extraction, this part being played by Delaney Ryder. She had volunteered after becoming something of a test of the boys’ mettle in their day to day lives. She simply wanted to make things difficult for them. So instead of playing the part as others, and hiding from the patrolling soldiers in the area who were hunting any wayward mutants, she was actively fighting and sneaking throughout the course. She had told their instructor, “We wouldn’t be sitting still. Let them . . . save me when I am actually in some danger.”
Stephen and Alex sprinted toward the building closest to them, taking cover in some debris lying near a massive hole blown from the ground. There was a choking stench of melted asphalt and burned dirt wafting up from the rubble, but Alex and Stephen leaned close to it, appreciating the safety as a swarm of soldiers moved by slowly. They swept their rifles around dutifully scanning the area.
“Better play this safe, ‘bulb.’” Alex’s chuckled at his own joke as he began to draw a large circle with the bright green, liquid acid he had come to produce. It immediately began to eat through the wall.
Stephen scowled. It was not very humorous. Alex was probably the only guy to have ever laughed at his jokes. Stephen lay against the rubble, facing away from the soldiers, and pressed a small, soft rubber button on the goggles he was wearing. Lights burned from nothingness into a digital readout attuned to his eye movements. A red heartbeat sensor swept through the screen twice, registering multiple enemies on the other side of their ruined soon-to-be shelter. A blue sensor swept across the screen from the opposite side, registering a blue tag a few blocks from them. This was Delaney, and she was on the move. The tag seemed to be descending a building, or she was climbing down a fire escape or something.
“I’ve got her. You almost done?”
“Get ready…” Alex stepped to the side as the burning section of wall began to fall loose. He and Stephen caught it just as it released, allowing them to gently place it on the ground.
Moving quickly inside, the two brothers stayed close to the floor, letting the damaged and hastily rearranged furniture block them from the shattered windows. A large section of the roof had burst and allowed some of the upstairs to spill into the room, providing even more cover along the far wall.
“Are . . . you with the bad men?” The small voice moved from behind a damaged bar. Apparently, this had once been a pub.
“Um . . . No?” Alex looked at the simulated survivor, a gaunt little girl, maybe twelve years old. Her hair was in blonde curls, filthy with ash and grime, while the rest of her faired much worse. A torn dress, covered in dirt, seemed to cloak her in the darkness.
“Please help me; I don’t know where my brother went. He was supposed to come back . . .” Stephen looked over his shoulder from scanning the windows.
“Alex, we can’t take her with us yet. Our priority is Delaney. If she can stay hidden here-“
“If you can stay hidden here, we’ll be right back for you with our friend, okay? We’ll get you out of here and try and find your brother.” Alex liked to pretend he had been made leader. He really just didn’t like having to obey his brother like they were kids.
The ticking of small mechanical legs grabbed the boys’ attention as they spun to meet the maker of the sound. It was a robotic spider, about the size of a water melon, shining a red light at the both of them. Stephen turned to check on the girl, whose face had melted away into a soulless, robotic mask. A large, segmented sphere, glinting with steel from where her eye should be, shined a red laser into the back of Alex’s head, as it raised a frail looking arm. The arm ended with a pulse cannon: something designed specifically to counter “Infirm Hostiles;” the code name for mutants with a stretchy or liquid like structure. Like Alex.
“Alex, down!” Alex turned, with a crouching motion as the pulse cannon blasted a vibrant green charge at him. Soft padding on his uniform erupted into molten plastic as some of his skin burned away.
Stephen lunged backwards, igniting his shield as he threw his arm above his brother. The energy charge caught his arm, exploding into a thousand tiny green sparks. Clearing Alex, he swung his arm backwards through the weapon arm of the small sentinel, the synthetics and metal exploding into fine powder that clouded around the wound. A keening sound began inside her throat, just as a spike of bright green acid sliced through her skull. The acid burned through instantly, popping out the back of her skull like a raunchy, infected pimple.
“Alex, are you –“
“It’s Acid, and I’m fine.” Alex shrugged the wound on his shoulder blade. A dark, thin green film covered it, shaped roughly like a big, square band aid. “I’ve taken worse.”
Stephen wrinkled his nose as he considered reprimanding his brother for just being a dick. Looking down at the broken sentinel, frozen on the ground in a standing position, he noticed the cable leading from the base of her spine to the spider bot on the window. Its light was still on, “staring” at Stephen as a chittering sound burst from an ill conceived throat. The small bot leapt at Stephen’s face, thirsting for blood. It exploded on his shield into a small dust cloud, forgotten from existence.
“Show off.” Alex smirked. Stephen grinned and trotted over to a broken door way. Delaney’s tag had stopped moving, and was low to the ground. Was she hurt?
“Let’s move, Base.” Alex crouched by the door way, then sprinted across the street, taking cover in some rubble. He motioned an all clear to Stephen. As Stephen stood, a rumbling took hold of the area. His eyes caught Alex’s. What the hell was going on?
Chunks of the wall above Alex quivered and began to fall. They burst on the sidewalk as a Sentinel, over twelve feet of mutant killing robotic evil, stood next to him. The building fell from around its body, hydraulics squealing as its glowing eyes moved down to lock on Alex.
“Get some, mother fucker!” Alex jumped onto the robots leg, Acid wrapping around his own extremities. His touch burned hand and foot holds into the robot while he climbed to its chest. Stephen ran toward his brother as Alex dug his left hand deep into the armor on the Sentinel’s breast plate. He punched and slashed again and again with his right, screaming, thin green acid spilling from his mouth and eyes as he let his powers warm up. The armor hissed and crackled as it melted away.
There were some gunshots from Stephen’s right, the rounds bursting on his shielding. The white hot plasma glimmered. He breathed deeply, letting the oxygen fill his lungs. As long as he wasn’t tired, the shield would hold. He had to let Alex handle the Sentinel. His brother couldn’t block bullets quite like he could.
With rounds exploding off his shielding, Stephen sprinted headlong into the soldiers, their holographic skins shimmering and exploding, leaving behind the Danger Room robots in crumpled, moldering heaps. More came running around a corner, blasting heavy rounds and shrapnel cannons into Stephen’s glimmering shield. The armor decimated the blasts, with a few of the larger pieces tearing through and cutting his legs and left wrist. Forcing his breath deep within his stomach, he forced his shielding to burn brighter.
The nearest soldier closed the distance between himself and Stephen, slamming his rifle into the glowing boy’s face. Stephen smiled, unmoving, the shielding destroying the weapon, and its wielder as his own momentum carried him to destruction. The other soldiers took up a line and unloaded at Stephen as he ducked behind some cover, gasping as the shield over took him. It flickered and vanished, leaving one exhausted Genhain, bullets sputtering around the decimated vehicle and rubble protecting him.
The Sentinel had wrapped its steely hand around Alex and lifted him up to its face. The ever open mouth began to charge a sonic blast, the ringing of which had already begun to build in Alex’s ears. Alex gritted his teeth and shoved his fist into the Sentinel’s maw, causing sparks and smoke to spew. With an unrelenting robotic will, the Sentinel jerked Alex away, shaking him violently as the burning areas in its armor and face began to reform. The vice grip tightened around Alex’s waist, and he felt his ribs begin to crack from the pressure. He couldn’t breathe.
An unholy laugh tore through the city street, shattering window and stone alike as Delaney burst from beneath a pile of debris, her powers blasting out in full force. The soldiers’ heads burst into sparks and shrapnel, their holograms flickering and disappearing. Tiny sensors all over the Sentinel flashed white hot and ruptured, sending a cascade of light and sparks in every direction. Stephen clutched his ears as the goggles shattered from his face. His shield flashed on and off momentarily. Rolling onto his side, he tried with futility to protect his ears.
Alex screamed against the pulse, acid of every shade of green, of every kind of potency exploded and poured from his pores. The Sentinel’s hand was engulfed and melted away, letting Alex hit the ground as he screamed and fought against the pain. Acid bubbled from his entire body, damaging his uniform, despite it being designed to resist his powers. The ground hissed and popped, sinking Alex into a puddle of green muck. The Sentinel struggled for a moment, more acid splashing and bursting from Alex’s body onto its legs, until it broke down to one knee, then toppled onto Alex.
“No!” Delaney hadn’t expected Alex’s reaction to her power to be so violent. She knew what happened when she laughed around him, but it had never been to this degree.
Stephen pushed passed her with incredible speed, and just as he reached the falling Sentinel, his shield ignited. A crackling, hissing pop resounded from the Sentinel’s body, Alex standing up through the wreckage. His uniform was resisting the acid now, dull and matte with burns and scratches. He brushed his hair from his face. A trickle of blood dripped from his ears. Despite any façade he was trying to put up, it was obvious Alex was close to his breaking point.
“Alex, I’m . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“Alex, man, are you alright . . .?”
“I’m fine . . .”
They stood among the wrecked and bubbling Sentinel parts, and among the destroyed robotic bodies of the soldiers, still smoking from the damage they sustained. Alex's heavy breathing muffled out the hissing of materials burning away, his corrosive ichor eating them away. Powdery clouds swirled around chunks of sentinel and danger room robot alike, marking every step Stephen had made. Delaney's sonic laugh had overcome all sensors, bursting the sensitive equipment. The street was calm, though. It was time they pressed on.
Ducking into a ruined building, they collected themselves. Breathing hard, wiping sweat and debris from their brows, they calmed their bodies and discussed moving to the extraction point.
“Is everyone okay?” Prodigy’s voice came over a commlink pressed into their ears.
“We’re fine. Moving to the extraction point now…”
“Really now?”
The room flickered for a moment, and then the world vanished. The torn war zone was replaced with high steel walls covered in small squares. Lights hummed to life, illuminating their plain, blue surroundings.
Prodigy’s voice was playful, if not a hint condescending. “You guys did good. A little rough around the edges and all, but you handled things well. Never seemed to let panic set in, you kept your cool and took care of things. Take a breather, throw on some new gear, and come back. I’m going to load the Sentinel training sequence and add some soldiers for fodder.”
Looking at one another, then the control room high above them, the three young X-Men silently debated walking out the door and failing the midterm.
“Is that alright with everyone?” The condescension was there in full force now, blocking the teens’ disrespect before it could manifest. “Now go.”
Walking slowly toward the locker rooms, they already felt the long day ahead of them.
Before the doors sealed behind them, Prodigy’s voice boomed from the control room. “Get some, mother fucker!” It was followed by a roar of his deepest, hardiest laughter.

Marcus crossed his arms, watching the drunks in the corner rambling louder and louder about the ills of the "New Ministry." They were treading a dangerous path.
The patched and torn plaid shirt clung to his body in the heat and humidity of the bar. Many cigars burned with the beat of glass mugs and bottles returning to their condensation soaked places on each patron's respective table. He scanned around the room, noting several of the Ministry's enforcer's listening in on the drunken rants and ravings of the men fighting imaginary Death Eaters in their dark booth. They were waiting for the right moment to drag the drunks outside and flay the skin from their bones, or remove their bones entirely . . . one at a time.
Marcus began to breathe deeply, forcing the air deep within his stomach, letting his muscles tighten and relax. He had to be ready when this went down. The bastards at the bar would decimate the bar and anyone who got in their way if they decided it was a good day to brawl with the outspoken drunkards. Marcus cracked his neck, seeing the enforcers stirring.
The Ministry enforcers stood, letting dark robes wisp back as they stepped towards the drunks. Marcus was already on the move. The Ministry Enforcer in lead raised a wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
A small burst slapped the wand from the enforcer's hand as Marcus' boot came across his aristocratic face. Falling hard with the hit, Marcus used his momentum to tackle the enforcer into his friend, who was quickly arming himself.
The Ministry enforcer locked in Marcus' grip roared and fought back as an arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him onto his back and on top of his attacker. The Enforcer left standing sprayed a stunning spell into the pile at his feet, knocking the air from Marcus as his captive took the brunt of the blast.
As the enforcer in his arm shook with the loss of blood to his brain, Marcus punched the foot descending towards his face away, his eyes meeting the standing attacker. He was fighting the burning pressure and blindness of losing his breath. He was nearly feral, unrelenting. With a snap of his wrist, he brutally grabbed the crotch of his aggressor. The crippling pain brought the man to his knees, mewling in agony. After taking a vicious punch to his face, Marcus twisted violently, then grabbed the man's throat as the pain forced him to lean forward.
The other enforcer rolled to the side, losing all coherence as he slipped into unconsciousness. Standing, Marcus lifted the strangled man back to his feet and slammed a punch into the bastard's neck. He crumpled to the floor and gurgled hard.
Marcus grabbed the collars of both men, and dragged them slowly out to the front of the bar. Leaving them in the dirt, he lifted one man's face to a sign hanging by the entrance.
Between breaths he said "No . . . Fighting . . ."
Walking back inside, wiping the sweat from his brow, Marcus adjusted one of the bandages on his hands. As he picked up the two wands from the floor, followed by his own, he stumbled back to the opposite corner of the bar. He dropped the ministry wands into a bin, knowing they would be recovered soon. No one in the bar had even begun to notice the fight. Or care. The drunks in the corner simply continued their bitching and moaning, swallowing their drink.
Marcus took a long draw from his beer, thinking about the fight, the rush, the fun had from the impact of knuckles on bone. This was his life.
He loved nothing more.

Cross slumped down into his aged leather chair, a few oil lamps burning sporadically through the room, lighting the ordered and yet comfortable interior. Sometimes even superheroes and JSA members had power outages, as outrageous as that could seem. He adjusted his glasses with one hand, his body sticking uncomfortably to his chair.
His goggles, specially designed to help him see in almost any spectrum, lay on the small desk in front of him, weighing down several medical journals. They were printed in braille, for the keeping up of appearances, of course. Tonight his mind was not on medicine, however.
As he reclined in the chair slightly, his hands clasped in front of pursed lips, he went over the events of the past three nights.

After chasing three drug dealers through the back alleys of Portsmouth, he had descended to the street level believing he had cornered the petty criminals. What he found waiting for him raised the hairs on his arms, even at this moment, in his study.
The drug dealers all lay dead, an emaciated form in a stylized black leather straight jacket standing over them, a smile stretched across its face. The skin was pale, bloodless, the eyes dried and yellow. Tilting its head, black spiked hair unmoving, it made no sound, except a gentle clicking as it tapped long razor blades on a studded belt. A blue chemical dripped from the pointed tips.
As he had reached for his glaive, the man . . . The creature leaped over him and left several deep slashes in his shoulders, the force of the blow forcing him to one knee. The thing was gone before he had recovered. It moved so fast.

His quarry that night had been murdered. Cause of death was aided by the many punctures and lacerations to the torso and chest, but was ultimately found to be exsanguination. The men had bled out impossibly fast. The blue chemical samples he had recovered turned out to be a highly potent anti-coagulant. It nearly forced blood out of a body, rather than simply thin it.
They were not the last victims of this new psychopath. There had been seven more sites found, each one as bad as the last. Addicts, couples, families. Even in one case, a day care van. The newspaper had dubbed the new killer "The Blood Letter." Catchy. They always come up with the best names.
Scratching at the knitting wounds on his shoulders, Cross pondered the city's current state of affairs. A curfew, city wide lock down, law enforcement on every street corner. If this Blood Letter really wanted to keep playing his little game, he would have the odds stacked against him. An incoming message beeped from the comm in his goggles. It was Nite-Lite.
Cross stood, grabbing the goggles and heading towards his costume, still slightly damaged and laying on a chair next to his study door. His contacts were brave, but not invincible. They had information that could stop this once and for all.
Tonight, The Blood Letter had the odds stacked against him, and they just got worse.