X-Men Mafia Scenario: Days of Future Past

Imagine all the people, sharing all the world.
--John Lennon




When the door to Logan’s truck opened, he looked up to see a woman wrapped in a long yellow coat tumble in with the rain. She curled up into the passenger seat, hugging her knees to her chest and rubbing a pair of trembling hands together. “It’s freezing out there.” she said. “Common, let’s get this heater running!”

“You wanna close that first?” Logan asked, pointing at the open door with a lit cigar clenched between his fingers. She looked down and noticed that the rain had followed her in, and had begun to collect in a pool beneath her feet.

“Oh, yeah,” she stammered. “Sorry.” Jubilee felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment as she pulled the door shut behind her. “Raised by wolves, you know.”

She let out a nervous giggle, and immediately wished she hadn’t, as it was followed by a long, akward silence that went on for days. She should have seen that coming. Logan always had a way of making you feel both perfectly safe and completely alone. The tip of his cigar glowed red in the dark cab of the truck, and as he turned the key in the ignition, the engine let out a defiant roar before sputtering to life.

Slowly, the truck began to push its way through the grim weather, and Jubilee crossed her fingers that the junker wouldn’t break down and leave them stranded somewhere. Looking out the window, she saw a pair of teenagers, huddled together beneath a tiny umbrella as they hastened to get out of the rain. Behind them loomed a massive retaining wall, blanketed in graffiti, and below all the gang tags and lewd public commentary lurked monstrous crimson letters: Mutants Die Bloody. She really didn’t want to get stuck out here.

Time seemed measured as the world outside rolled past her, and she soon found her thoughts, and eyes, to drifting over to Logan. He just sat there, stoically chewing on his cigar, and watching the road as wispy sheets of rain were pushed back and forth across the windshield by a pair of lethargic wipers. After all these years, she almost didn’t believe that he was really here again, sitting beside her as though nothing had ever happened-- as though nothing had ever changed. She noted how little he had aged; aside from a few new wrinkles around his eyes and the occasional strands of grey, he was just as she remembered him-- rough, careless, but concealing an underlying wisdom, a softness that betrayed his outward appearance, like a dog-eared novel you never tire of. She imagined, that given the chance, he would have a good run at living forever.

“It’s good to see you again,” Logan said, finally breaking the silence. The guilt hit Jubilee in the gut like a bag of doorknobs. Good to see you again.

“I didn’t think you would be coming back.”

“Yeah, well...”

She stood accused, staring guilty at the dashboard as the air between them dripped with unspoken words. You used to trust me, kid. The radio called to her from the corner of her eye, and she reached for it in an attempt to fill the space with something. Anything. As the dial turned in her fingertips, the speakers cracked and hissed to distant electrical activity, and when the tuner found its mark, a young woman was in the process of reading the news--

“...known only as The Wolverine, broke into the South Bronx Internment Facility late last night, freeing several members of the terrorist organization The X-men. Among those killed during the escape was mutant Eric Lehnsherr, more commonly known by his alias, Magneto. Only recently incarcerated at the Bronx facility, Lehnsherr has personally claimed responsibility for several deadly attacks on U.S. soil, including the assassination of Senator Robert Kelly, famed proponent of the Mutant Registration Act. Though the Registration Act itself was deemed unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in 2004, many feel that Kelly’s death, and subsequent impersonation, led to the eventual enactment of the Genetic Purity Act some 15 years later, ensuring the continued safety of mankind against the growing mutant threat. At this time, it is unclear if the attack on the facility was designed specifically to free Magneto, or if those that escaped were in fact the intended...”

Jubilee frowned and chewed her lip. She didn’t need to hear any more. She knew how the story played out, had watched it unfold over the years. Front row seats to the main event: Mutant Genocide, get your tickets while they last! She turned the radio off, and the low rumble of the truck’s engine rushed in to fill the void, followed closely by the slow, dragging squeal of the windshield wipers.

“Magneto. He’s dead then” she whispered, barely audible. Her voice suddenly growled with a deep hatred. “You know, they should have given him a medal for all he’s done for...”

“He stayed behind,” Logan interrupted. “Stayed behind to hold off the sentinels and cover our escape. He wouldn’t let me help him, kept yelling for me to make sure the others got out.” He chewed on his cigar a moment before softly adding. “He traded his life for ours.”

Jubilee closed her eyes, suddenly cold again. There was accusation in his voice, though she was unsure if it was real or imagined.

“Logan. I wanted to be there...”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” he said. “Not to me.”

“But I do,” she insisted. “I mean, sometimes I wonder, if I had been caught-- if it was me in that camp, and someone else was in my place. Would they have come for me? Would they have risked their freedom to give me mine?”

“Blaming yourself for what happened to the others isn’t going to change anything.”

“I know.” she said, mournfully, “but It should have been me.”

“They would have wanted you to live, you know that damn well.”

Jubilee was suddenly furious with Logan for stating the very obvious. Of course she knew it, but that didn’t change the fact that she had run away scared when they had needed her most. She was an X-men, and in a pinch she had left them all to die. Never looked back.

She felt the truck come to a halt, and looked up to see a stoplight, glowing red through the falling rain; the streets were empty in all directions. “Why the hell is this red?” she snarled. “We’re the only ones on the road for Christ’s sake!”

“Well, I could just run all the lights.” Logan suggested. “But getting pulled over probably isn’t...” before he could finish his thought, the sky filled with a brilliant white flash of energy. “Get down!”

Jubilee had barely enough time to cover her face before the hood of the truck exploded, followed closely by the windshield-- showering her with glass. Stunned, it took a few moments of breathing in smoke before she realized the truck was on fire. She reached for the door, but it wasn’t there anymore and instead she tumbled from the burning wreckage onto the cold wet pavement, hacking and coughing. She tried shouting Logan’s name, but the explosion left nothing but a high pitched whine buried deep within her ears. A moment later she saw him, bloody and twisted in the street. She wasn’t sure if he had been thrown from the truck, or had crawled out, but he wasn’t moving.

“ATTENTION! REMAIN STILL AND PREPARE TO BE PROCESSED.”

The voice came booming down on her just as her ears had begun to adjust, and when she looked up she saw it, twenty feet of towering steel, like a nightmare come true. A Sentinel. The rain glided effortlessly over its polished metal body, and its eyes flared with an inner malice that would have seemed almost alien in nature, if it hadn’t been so human. Jubilee resisted the urge to close her eyes as an oppressive blue light filled her vision The retinal scanning was over almost as soon as it had begun. It would all be over soon.

“UNREGISTERED MUTANT, IDENTITY UNKNOWN.”

The Sentinel took only a moment to decide her fate. It lifted its massive arm outwards, as though it were reaching to pick her up, and Jubilee could see the high capacity energy coils embedded in the palm of its hand begin to glow as the weapon re-charged; at this range it would not only vaporize her, but also remove a sizable section of the street-- it wasn’t taking any chances. Jubilee closed her eyes, and turned her head away. For some reason, she thought of her parents and wished she could have heard their voices again, just once more. Instead she was greeted by another sound, one she hadn’t heard in years.

SNIKT

“Hey bub, why don’t you pick on someone your own size.”

She opened her eyes in time to see the Sentinel turn to assess this new threat. Before it could react, Logan raced towards it, claws unsheathed, with a primal roar in his throat, a bestial creature, feral and hungry. The Sentinel tracked his movement and punched a hole in the street, but Logan wasn’t there. He moved too quickly, leaping up onto the machine and sinking his claws in knuckle deep-- climbing the Sentinel as though it were nothing more then a rock wall at the gym.

Jubilee watched in horror as the Sentinel tried to get a bead on him-- swatting at Logan like he was some bothersome insect. It would only be a matter of time before he wasn’t fast enough, before the Sentinel got a hold of him. When that happened, she doubted even Logan could withstand one of those energy blasts point blank. Someone had to do something. Someone. This time, there was no one else but her.

Steeling herself, Jubilee rose to her feet, and immediately felt her legs try to buckle under the weight. There was some residual pain from the earlier blast, and it made her light headed for a moment, but it was manageable. She wasn’t going to run away this time.

From where she stood, she could see Logan slashing, the Sentinel’s twisting to reach him. Sparks erupted from various parts of its body as rain seeped into the wounds and played havoc on the Sentinel’s electrical systems. That alone wasn’t enough to knock it out, she thought. The systems were highly redundant, but if she could agitate the damage to any one place...

Jubilee moved closer, and from her new vantage, could see that the Sentinel’s knee joint had sustained a considerable amount of damage during Logan’s climb; bits of exposed wire spewed outwards from the wound, and electrical energy washed over it in breif, pulsing waves. Score! Arms outstretched, she concentrated and loosed a prismatic stream of spark and flame from the palms of her hands. The wires immediately begun to melt under the heat, and after a few moments of concentrated fire, the metal joint began to glow red, then white. The Sentinel sensed the temperature change, and once again turned to face this new, unexpected threat, but it was too late. Its kneecap exploded, severing it’s leg at the joint, and sending out a shockwave that threw Jubilee backwards into the burning wreckage of Logan’s truck. The Sentinel struggled to maintain it’s balance for a moment, but was unsuccessful, and careened into a nearby building.

Jubilee winced as she leaned forward and felt the back of her head with her fingers. She had hit it pretty hard, and it was wet with blood. Not good. She watched as an increasingly distant image of Logan furiously sunk his claws into the Sentinel’s neck. Holding fast to consciousness for as long as she could, Jubilee soon couldn’t help but allow the darkness to envelop her like a distant song.

~:-:~

Months Earlier...

The group waited in a cold and sterile interrogation room. The quiet was pervasive and insistant, smothering any conversation that may have had the boldness to spark. A ceiling fan spun lazily; it did little more then to cast deep shadows in stark contrast to the bright flourescent lights that hummed overhead.

They had been waiting for hours with only the security camera to watch them with its intrusive lens and blinking red light. Each minute was torture. They hated being here, waiting for the orders. They hated what they had to do more. But, each kept their misgivings to themselves. It didn't do anyone good to complain. They had no choice. Work for these men and they, along with their loved ones live, refuse and they die. Simple as that. Simple, right.

A door opened. A suit walked in, looking like just about every other suit. His features were sharp and somewhat dark, alluding to the evil intentions he held in the manilla folder in his hands. He placed it on the stainless steel table and took a seat, scrapping a chair across the floor to sit down. The file, covered in red ink with important-looking stamps labeling it as 'Top Secret', 'Confidental', and 'For Approved Eyes Only', was thick. The man opened it carefully and the group huddled around to see what was inside.

He motioned for them to sit, explaining that their mission, titled Misdirection, would be described in detail. They complied, stoic and detached as the reality of the situation fully struck them.

~:-:~

Yesterday...

Decades-old fluorescent lighting flickered on and off in a small room, as a man watched the proceedings through a one way mirror. In the other room, half a dozen men in white lab coats were gathered over an operating table, performing their work on the subject. A plethora of machines and instruments monitored every aspect of the subject’s physiology, and an even wider assortment of technologies was being used to modify it.

He had been the one to come up with the idea, and he had been the leader of the team that developed the techniques to be used. The development had been the hard part. Actually implementing it on to a human was the easy part – he stopped himself. He had done it again, referring to the subject as “human” in his own inner dialogue. That was one of those things he had to watch when he talked to the boss. Over the last few months of research and tests, he had begun to develop sympathies for the mutants, and regrets for what he had done. He had come to the realization that he might very well be remembered as the Dr. Mendel of the 21st century for what he did here today. He had decided to supervise the procedure, rather than participate, because this way the blood was not literally on his hands.

He had been the one to give birth to this new tool: A hound that didn’t know it was a hound. The perfect sleeper agent. The only mutants their conventional hounds were catching now were the minor, weak ones. Any mutant of significance that had not already been captured probably never would be captured unless they changed their protocols. This new hunter would, in all their conscious thoughts, believe that they were just another mutant trying to survive the xenocide. However, deep in their subconscious, something sinister would lurk, just waiting to emerge and take control for a time, then vanish again, leaving the subject unaware of the things they had done. It was a nearly flawless idea: a highly trained, unquestionably loyal mutant assassin that firmly believed in its own innocence. Only the most powerful telepaths would be able to delve deep enough in to the subconscious to see what truly lay there. Any other mental probing would reveal only an innocent conscience. This was actually one of the most important points of the design, because telepaths were very common among mutants. Among any sizeable group, you could expect to find at least one or two, although they were usually weak by comparison to the ones of days past. The last telepath of any considerable strength was Charles Xavier. Xavier was gone now, and the world would probably never see his equal. Mutants usually didn't live long enough to reach their potential these days. A lack of powerful telepaths was aboon for project however, because any true telepath would see straight through the Hunter’s facade, while the minor ones can really only see the surface intentions and motivations. So, at the very least, this Hunter would be immune to discovery via telepathy. When the time was right, the mutant would transform into their agent, kill its mark, and return as it was without a clue as to it happening. The right time, in this case, would be whenever the hunter found one of the mutant leaders.

This hunter would be different from the others. The others were tasked merely with finding mutants and either bringing them in, or exterminating them. Any hound could find the weak, leaderless, and demoralized mutants that barely even knew what they were. No, this hunter was after only the big prey: the mutants who had been a thorn in their side since day 1, and were truly a credit to their kind. The kind that were nearly impossible to find, and even harder to kill. That was this hunter’s target. The efficiency and genius of it still astounded him.

However, where the doctor once felt pride at his achievements, he now felt only shame. He sometimes wondered if his deeds had made him more inhuman than even the most exotic mutant. When he looked at his own life, he wondered what good he had wrought in the world. He was a brilliant scientist, yes, but now that genius was being used in the systematic extermination of an entire species. If humanity survived long enough would future generations look back on him as a force for good in the world? He doubted it. There were mutants, though, that had not only the best interest of their own kind at heart, but that of humans as well. When he was processing new prisoners, he met a mutant that had the ability to heal the wounds of others, in addition to their primary powers. This mutant spent their time seeking out the sick and the injured, acting as an angel of mercy to those in need. Humans had been sainted for less, but now this mutant was confined in the camp with the rest, and would probably never save another soul before they eventually met their end. Some mutants were dangerous, yes, but were these kinds of losses worth it?

*CLICK*

The doctor’s musings were cut short as the holoscreen behind him flickered on. He turned away from the operation room and faced it, seeing the all too familiar mechanical visage of the supervisor sentinel for the prison camp. There was no greeting, no small talk, no formalities. Only questions, answers, and the cold, malevolent eyes of the sentinel.

The sentinel plainly asked, “Is it done?”
The doctor drew a deep breath as he braced himself for the coming conversation, as the near-interrogation constantly forced on him by these machines always tested the limits of his fortitude.

“No, but it is-“

“When will it be done?” the sentinel asked again, in its monotone mechanical voice.

“Within the hour,” the doctor replied, hoping that would be the end to the questions, although he doubted it.

“When will the mutant be ready for insertion?”

This was a difficult question to answers, and depended on many variables. He prepared to explain the complexity. “It is difficult to give an exact time, but we estimate that-“

“ANSWER!” the sentinel demanded, as the speakers of the holoscreen crackled with feedback.

“Alright, alright… Eight hours after the operation is done, the mutant should be ready to go, maybe less. I wouldn’t cut that time back by much, though. They need time for proper… ‘programming’ if they are to do their job properly.”

“That is unacceptable. The mutant MUST be ready for insertion by 0200 this morning.”

“Why 0200?” the doctor asked, inquisitively.

“IT IS NOT YOUR PLACE TO QUESTION US,” the sentinel replied, the intensity of the words echoing inside the doctor’s skull.

“Very well. It will be done.” There is no arguing of deadlines with the Sentinels. The doctor would prepare the mutant as best as he could, and, ready or not, it would be inserted at 0200. He only hoped that that was enough time to thoroughly imbed the mutant’s mission into his subconscious, or else things could go terribly wrong…


~:-:~

Present...

When she came to, Jubilee saw the Sentinel staring back at her, it’s eyes vacant and unholy. She felt her aching body tense, instinctively struggling to back away from it, but as the world around her became more clear, she was able to fight off the instinct to run. There was no life there, not anymore. She could see the rest of the Sentinel on the other side of the street, leaking a viscous grey fluid from where the head had once sat. Logan was crouched next to her, dressing her wounds.

“How long was I out?” she asked him. Her whole body felt like it was one big bruise.

“Not long,” he answered. She reached to touch the back of her head, but Logan stopped her. “Don’t mess with it. It’s just a cut, but a pretty nasty one.”

“No kidding,” she muttered under her breath. “Now was it just me, or did that guy shoot first and ask questions later. He was ready to stomp us before he even got a retinal scan.”

“Yeah,” Logan replied. “I’m starting to think the government isn’t in control of these things anymore.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Listen, can you walk? We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I think so.” He gave her an arm to hold as she pulled herself to her feet. When she got there, she was assaulted by a sudden onset of dizziness, and she had to lean on Logan for support. He shot her a doubtful look, but she just smirked back at him and straightened herself out. “See? Good as new. So what’s the plan, we meet up with the others and hit the Canadian border?”

“Not we,” he said darkly. “Just you.” There was a strange finality in his voice that troubled her. She looked to his eyes for some hint of emotion, some telltale sign that she had heard him wrong, but there were none to be had. Just shadowed pools of blue.

~:-:~

Storm led the group of escapees through a zigzag path of alleys and abandoned buildings; finally, after hours of running, the weary group reached their safehouse.

The abandoned church had reached a state of disrepair, but it was obvious it had once been a place of great comfort. That, too, had been worn with time. No longer did the stained glass, now dusty and cracked, evoke a feeling of peace and security; instead, it reminded them of the changed times, and their lack of faith in the human race.

Storm had reluctantly agreed to start a small fire in the corner and light a few candles. Although it was risky, she knew everyone was worn ragged and what little comfort such things could provide would help in the long run.

Secretly, she was just as scared as the rest, but she didn't let her concern for Jubilee and Logan show. They days of relative peace had been turned to dust years ago, before the Professor died. She bit back her urge to sob. She finally let the exhaustion overcome her and got some rest, lying on a broken pew in a forgotten church.

~:-:~

“I don’t understand,” Jubilee said, pulling her coat around her for warmth. The rain had stopped for the moment, but it was replaced by a strong, chill wind.

“There’s a church, not far from here, a couple of miles. That’s where Storm will have led the others after the escape.” He paused before going on. “I need you to get them out of the country, you can head north like you said.”

“That part I get,” she said defiantly. “But what are you going to be doing?”

“Storm and I are going to hit the Baxter Building. The Sentinels wont be expecting an attack this close to the prison break, and especially not on their own headquarters. It’ll draw their attention, and buy you and the others some time to get out of the city.”

“Of course they wont expect that,” she screamed. “It’s suicide!” Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and in a moment of vanity she thought she could keep them there. “No, you’re going to come with us; we can all get out of here together.”

“Someone has to try and make things right.”

“Yeah,” she cried. “But why does it always have to be you?”

Wind tore through the broken streets like an unwelcome memory.

“Because there’s no one else.”

He was right again, of course. There was no one else-- precisely why she didn't want him to go. Reaching out with a rough hand, Logan wiped the tears from her cheeks, and Jubilee closed her eyes no longer trying to hold them back. The world around them danced with the scent of promise and growth. Jubilee breathed it in, but didn’t believe a word of it. The world was a cruel, unforgiving place filled with monsters and madmen. She wrapped her arms around Logan and held onto him for as long as he would let her. “You can help those people, you know, but you have to let me worry about the rest. If you think you can’t make it to the church...”

“I can make it.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “You’ll be okay, kid.”

“I know,” she replied. It was all she could manage as Logan pulled away from her. He didn’t say goodbye, but she should have expected that. Perfectly safe and completely alone. She found herself taking comfort in that. If anyone could pull it off, he could. As she started towards the church, she turned and saw his silhouette disappear into the dark recesses of a nearby ally. It was the last time she would ever see him.

~:-:~

Unnoticed by the other refugees, a group of mutants huddled together in the safe blanket of darkness. Darkness, a thing of fear to many and a place of safety for conspiritors.

"What now?" asked one. "They said this would happen, and I had almost forgotten about it, rotting in that prison. I thought for sure they had forgotten us, or betrayed us. But then the prison break-out happened, just like they said it would. What do we do now?!" The mutant was getting aggitated, the last thing any of them needed.

"First, we all need to calm down. It will get hotter then Hell in the summertime if we draw unwanted attention our way." The leader of the group chimed in, authority behind the quiet command. "Then, we just sit and watch. We were told we would know how to report back. They haven't lied to us about something like that in the past. We follow their orders and pray to God this is the last time."

The other mutants nodded in agreement. The last time. One last betrayal, and then the sanctuary of seclusion. It would be paradise, not having to look over a shoulder to see who or what might be chasing you.

Peace.

The single word - something so revered by those who lacked it and so ignored by those who didn't - could drive men to great or terrible things. Things like treason.

~:-:~

Elsewhere...

The man talked into a computer terminal, one hand on the button labeled 'Transmit' in bold, mechanical letters. In the other a forgotten Parliment burned close to the filter. His forgettable face was bathed in a red light from the 'Secure Line' indicator, the only light in the room.

"Yes, sir," he paused, listening to a voice coming from a headset.

"Yes, they have been inserted successfully; their desperation and fear assure compliance. They know what they have to do to live, regardless if we intend on keeping such obligations."

Pause.

Sighing, "I don't think we can string them along much longer, one way or another we need to terminate the operation after this mission."

Smoke trailed lazily from the cigarette.

"Yes sir. I understand, I will begin making preperations now," he answered the speaker on the other end of the line.

The light winked out as the line was closed. Taking a deep drag from his smoke he hung his headset up and shutdown the terminal.

"It has begun..." he whispered as he exhaled.