Mystique

Erik Lehnsherr, my partner, leader, and dear friend, fell back into his chair, numb with grief. He'd waved John away the moment he was finished with him, leaving us alone in the privacy of his office.

"He never could take no for an answer, could he?" he asked.

"Only when it came to us."

Erik nodded, massaging his brow. "As much as we fought, I always believed Xavier could do more. He could've been more aggressive, more domineering, more demanding. I didn't realize how much he's been doing for the movement behind the scenes."

"I didn't think he had it in him," I said. "Charles never struck me as the overly aggressive sort."

"He is not, but he's fiercely territorial about what he considers close to him. I suppose fear and history were the primary reasons why he never went any further with members of the brotherhood," he said numbly.

"Having a telepath on Grey's level doesn't hurt."

"I suppose so," Erik said numbly. "To think he's been ahead this entire time. He certainly had the power to change the world. He just lacked the stomach for the ugliness."

"This won't go unanswered for," I said in a cold voice and Erik nodded in agreement.

"Somebody needs to fill the vacuum left by Xavier. The world leaders, the politicians, and the organizations he placated will be coming for his protégés' heads very soon, and I'm certain thousands of mutants will get caught in the crossfire. We need to consolidate power and gather Xavier's hatchlings," he said. "It's the humane thing to do."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Erik was such a good bullshitter, I feared he believed his own lies.

"And what about Jean Grey and the Dante boy?" I demanded. I didn't blame Erik for being unemotional. Xavier was a lifelong rival who had just one-uped him in ways words could not describe. It was understandable that he was trying to overcompensate and succeed where Xavier had failed, but we had a code, a way.

"There's no question. They need to be brought into the fold or eliminated before they become beacons in the community."

"To even entertain the idea of bringing them in…" I raised my voice without meaning to. "They killed Charles. He was one of us. You know what that demands," I said, firmly placing my hands on his desk. I peered down at Erik, who seemed entirely unaffected.

"No, he is not," he said with an intensity that easily dwarfed mine. "He made his bed so he can lie in it. He tried putting a leash on an Omega-level mutant with Telekinesis, Telepathy, and fire manipulation, apparently. He had it coming."

My chest tightened, and I twisted my lips in defiance. "This is not over," I declared, storming out of the room.

"Yes, it is," came a calm voice behind me.

The door slammed shut behind me with a mental tug from Erik.

---

Senator Robert Kelly

One minute, I was kissing my daughter good night; the next, I was on the floor screaming as memories came pouring in. Months of meetings, research, and lobbying came back in a wave, driven by a singular, almost obsessive goal—Mutant registration and control.

It came back to me vividly. On the night before I pushed the bill at senate, I was visited by Charles Xavier himself, head of the Xavier School for Mutants, an institution that has enjoyed favors from the four presidents so far.

It was no secret that he had…unnatural abilities and some have accused him of using them to aid the mutant cause, but most discarded that line of thinking, calling it an exaggeration.

Charles Xavier was not guilty of anything besides outstanding rhetoric and oration, and so was I. He would try to change my mind, and I'd remain as unconvinced and steadfast as I'd always been.

If communications broke down, I highly doubted he could harm me. He was a cripple. What true harm could he pose?

How wrong I was.

The conversation started pleasant enough. A bulky, feral-looking, short man had wheeled him in and departed.

"Senator, I implore you—"

"We've had this conversation hundreds of times, Charles," I cut him off as I poured us both a cup of Joe. "You're not changing my mind. I've read the literature, and America has witnessed how dangerous your kind can be when unchecked. The very least you can do is register your abilities. We need to be able to track and, when needed, punish mutant criminals. This is not an issue of prosecution," I said. "It's a matter of safety."

I turned to Xavier, who'd been listening closely, and offered him a cup.

"The reality of the matter is, Charles, you do not need protection from us. We need protection from you."

Charles took his cup and set it on the table. "It seems you've made up your mind. Come tomorrow, you're going to push for that bill, and it's likely going to pass," he said, massaging his brow. "Twenty years I've been paying for trusting Lehnsherr, policing mutants, and fighting for the freedom and the rights they deserve. Fighting the government feels like holding back a rising tide. Eventually, it consumes you."

I felt oddly sympathetic for the Old man. His life was a mirror of mine. Like me, he's been fighting for America since he was a teenager in high school. He made all the right decisions, shook the right hands, and found himself looking back at the twilight of his life, wondering if he'd truly made a difference.

"Maybe I don't need to push the Bill," I found myself thinking out loud.

What! N—But the thoughts kept forming themselves.

Out of respect for Xavier and the people he's fought for his entire life. He did a decent enough job as is. It's been decades since the last major event. What he had in practice clearly worked.

Xavier smiled. "It does, doesn't it?" He took a tentative sip from his cup. "It might be imperfect, but between SHIELD and my team, we can effectively police the national mutant population. There's no need to raise a panic when they're an already effective strategy in place."

My mind fully opened up to him, and his thoughts became mine.

"No need to ruin a good thing," I said in a monotone voice.

"You won't push for the bill tomorrow, and I'll visit you every other day for a month to help you forget you even considered it at all. It's best to be thorough. I wouldn't want you gaining the attention of the wrong sort of people."

That night started it all, and true to his word, I forgot over the month, slowly changing my politics and life without ever understanding why.

I fell out of favor with my supporters shortly after I announced I'd be changing my stance, and I almost did not get reelected. Since then, my reputation never recovered. Even my wife did not look at me the same way. I suspected that was when the cheating started.

I nearly lost everything over the previous year and had to reforge myself mentally and financially and fight for my daughter.

It drove me to madness, realizing that all of my pain had been inflicted intentionally by one man.

I don't know why or how I came to be released from his old, but I was going to make a fucking stand so that he could never touch me or mine again..

He could twist me in knots and manipulate me, but he couldn't do that to everybody everywhere.

"Daddy," I heard my daughter call, her stubby hands shaking me. I rose with a groan and swept her up in the tightest hug. "I think I am, for the first time in a long time. Your daddy is going to change the world."

Maddy, my girl, blinked at me dumbly, then giggled, clapping her hands. "Yay! Daddy Happy!"

I smiled back, her laugh infectious. I was happy indeed. I was going to call a press conference, gather the biggest names in journalism, and blow this conspiracy wide open. This would light a fire under all of America and would be the exact push I needed if I was ever going to make a play for the presidency.

Charles Xavier had shown me the true face of mutantkind. I will not forget his lesson.

---

Logan

I tossed back my third beer for the night, cursing my luck, and slammed the empty mug on the table of a rundown bar.

Hitchhiking through states was the worst. In the last 48 hours, I'd ridden with hippies, fat truckers, and pervy groupies who were in Phili for some concert or show or something…

I'd barely slept, was irritated, and even more trouble awaited me back in New York.

"Come and teach, he said. You'll change lives," I grumbled. "What an asshole."

I climbed down from my stool and settled my tab. Just as I grabbed my jacket and approached the door, I saw a drunk guy approaching a girl seated in the corner of the bar. She'd been nursing a single drink all night, hands covered in long black gloves, eyes darting around the place.

I knew a runaway when I saw one. In a different uniform, I might've approached her and offered her a place, but now I didn't even know if I had a home to return to.

I decided to stay back and watch, just in case. Helping her deal with an undesirable was the decent thing to do.

She saw him approach, and she almost fell off her stool, trying to put distance between them. He grabbed her bare shoulder before she even got a word out, and the response was as terrifying as it was immediate.

He dropped to the floor, face pale as snow, spittle dripping out of his slack mouth.

The bartender dropped a bottle. The entire bar turned to her, and all hell broke loose.