TM-169: Fragile
[OOC: This takes place in the House of TM. This post should pretty much explain what Hank’s life is like in this universe.]
Fragile
If there’s one common misconception I’ve never been able to comprehend, it’s the pervasive idea that mutants are, as a group, naturally resilient creatures. It's this idea, I think, that leads to much of the "hate and fear" that we face - the idea that we're naturally more equipped to cope with the hardships of this world, and therefore must be either arrogant or dangerous. Of course, there exist plenty of mutations that invest the bearer with greater resistance to injury. Super-strength, force fields, hard-skin mutations, and at least a dozen other power sets certainly offer their protections. And since the mutants who possess these particular powers are those most likely to become X-Men, I admit that my own compatriots may be complicit in the spread of this misinformation.
However, in my capacity as the world’s leading expert on mutant anatomy and genetics (or so the papers have been known to call me), I’ve encountered a number of mutants whose bodies offer no more protection than that of a baseline human - and an even greater number whose bodies provide far less protection.
Imagine, if you will, a boy whose body consists only of hydrogen gas. A boy who can only communicate telepathically, who can’t physically feel anything at all, who must contain himself within an airtight, fireproof bodysuit to avoid exploding at the slightest spark or fading away entirely on the breeze. Imagine a young girl whose leathery pterodactyl wings are threaded with the most intricate bone structures yet known, bones that can break into painful splinters upon the slightest contact. Imagine another girl, no more than two inches tall, confined to a dollhouse in her parents’ home to avoid being crushed in a terrifying array of potential accidents. Imagine all of that, and then try to tell me that mutant bodies are not, indeed, some of nature’s most fragile vessels.
The misconception shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. But, a very long time ago, I experienced something I have heretofore confessed to very few individuals, and it might help to explain why the topic is so near to my heart. In my youthful days as a budding scientist, during a temporary leave of absence from the X-Men, I worked for a company known as the Brand Corporation, attempting to discover the chemical cause of mutation. While mutation is primarily a genetic phenomenon, I suspected that certain chemical combinations could produce similar effects, and I worked diligently to discover those mixtures. On the night of my breakthrough, however, I happened upon information concerning underhanded activities in the corporation’s hierarchy. This led me to do something brash and, I can say confidently with my present wisdom, insanely reckless: I used the chemicals on myself, in order to disguise my appearance and stop the corruption. They worked like a veritable charm, covering my body with a thick blue fur and rendering my countenance and posture apelike. The transformation was equal parts jarring and grotesque, but I did my best, using that new body to do what I’d set out to do and take down the criminals.
In the aftermath, however, I discovered that my alleged “antidote” did not function with the efficacy as the first chemical. My body was, for all intents and purposes, transformed permanently. Terrified and completely out of my mind, I ran away, scaring civilians all over the city in the process, until Tony Stark came onto the scene in all his knight-in-shining-armor glory and stopped my madness. After figuring out who I was, he took me back to Avengers Mansion, and offered me the three things that would set me on the path to normalcy once again: an image-inducer, newly developed by Stark Industries, to hide my appearance temporarily; a position on the Avengers (of which I am still a reserve member), to give me back my confidence; and full access to his corporation’s scientific facilities, to develop that sought-after “cure.” After a year in that blue, furry body, keeping the image inducer on at all times to hide my shame, I finally developed a functional antidote, drank it down, and was able to look at my original face in the mirror once again.
As a doctor and an X-Man, trained to help others to accept their mutations for what they are and live with them as best they can, I can’t possibly express my anger at my youthful self, my embarrassment at the shame I felt then. I’d been so proud of my own subtle mutation up until then, so pleased with my ability to “pass” with the help of little more than big shoes, and the transformation hit my psyche in a way that nothing had before and nothing has since. In some ways, I wish I could go back and reverse the change, and learn, as I have taught so many mutants since, to accept my body for what it was. But eleven years have passed since I took that antidote, and, in retrospect, I’ve finally realized the one important lesson the experience did teach me - the one important lesson that has allowed me to become the person, the scientist and hero, that I am today: that no matter how confident we may be in our own strength, we are all fragile, and entirely mutable.
Mutation is not something that happens only to a lucky few, or an unlucky few; it does not happen to the “chosen” or the “damned.” Human and mutant alike, we are all one step away - one bad decision away, one spilled chemical away - from brittle dinosaur bones or metal skin, telekinesis or gaseous cells. And the sooner we accept this, the sooner we will be able to understand how similar we all really are. In essence, despite all the great strides we have made, it is only when we understand this one, simple fact that mutant acceptance - from within the mutant community and without - will be a fully realized goal.
Fragile
If there’s one common misconception I’ve never been able to comprehend, it’s the pervasive idea that mutants are, as a group, naturally resilient creatures. It's this idea, I think, that leads to much of the "hate and fear" that we face - the idea that we're naturally more equipped to cope with the hardships of this world, and therefore must be either arrogant or dangerous. Of course, there exist plenty of mutations that invest the bearer with greater resistance to injury. Super-strength, force fields, hard-skin mutations, and at least a dozen other power sets certainly offer their protections. And since the mutants who possess these particular powers are those most likely to become X-Men, I admit that my own compatriots may be complicit in the spread of this misinformation.
However, in my capacity as the world’s leading expert on mutant anatomy and genetics (or so the papers have been known to call me), I’ve encountered a number of mutants whose bodies offer no more protection than that of a baseline human - and an even greater number whose bodies provide far less protection.
Imagine, if you will, a boy whose body consists only of hydrogen gas. A boy who can only communicate telepathically, who can’t physically feel anything at all, who must contain himself within an airtight, fireproof bodysuit to avoid exploding at the slightest spark or fading away entirely on the breeze. Imagine a young girl whose leathery pterodactyl wings are threaded with the most intricate bone structures yet known, bones that can break into painful splinters upon the slightest contact. Imagine another girl, no more than two inches tall, confined to a dollhouse in her parents’ home to avoid being crushed in a terrifying array of potential accidents. Imagine all of that, and then try to tell me that mutant bodies are not, indeed, some of nature’s most fragile vessels.
The misconception shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. But, a very long time ago, I experienced something I have heretofore confessed to very few individuals, and it might help to explain why the topic is so near to my heart. In my youthful days as a budding scientist, during a temporary leave of absence from the X-Men, I worked for a company known as the Brand Corporation, attempting to discover the chemical cause of mutation. While mutation is primarily a genetic phenomenon, I suspected that certain chemical combinations could produce similar effects, and I worked diligently to discover those mixtures. On the night of my breakthrough, however, I happened upon information concerning underhanded activities in the corporation’s hierarchy. This led me to do something brash and, I can say confidently with my present wisdom, insanely reckless: I used the chemicals on myself, in order to disguise my appearance and stop the corruption. They worked like a veritable charm, covering my body with a thick blue fur and rendering my countenance and posture apelike. The transformation was equal parts jarring and grotesque, but I did my best, using that new body to do what I’d set out to do and take down the criminals.
In the aftermath, however, I discovered that my alleged “antidote” did not function with the efficacy as the first chemical. My body was, for all intents and purposes, transformed permanently. Terrified and completely out of my mind, I ran away, scaring civilians all over the city in the process, until Tony Stark came onto the scene in all his knight-in-shining-armor glory and stopped my madness. After figuring out who I was, he took me back to Avengers Mansion, and offered me the three things that would set me on the path to normalcy once again: an image-inducer, newly developed by Stark Industries, to hide my appearance temporarily; a position on the Avengers (of which I am still a reserve member), to give me back my confidence; and full access to his corporation’s scientific facilities, to develop that sought-after “cure.” After a year in that blue, furry body, keeping the image inducer on at all times to hide my shame, I finally developed a functional antidote, drank it down, and was able to look at my original face in the mirror once again.
As a doctor and an X-Man, trained to help others to accept their mutations for what they are and live with them as best they can, I can’t possibly express my anger at my youthful self, my embarrassment at the shame I felt then. I’d been so proud of my own subtle mutation up until then, so pleased with my ability to “pass” with the help of little more than big shoes, and the transformation hit my psyche in a way that nothing had before and nothing has since. In some ways, I wish I could go back and reverse the change, and learn, as I have taught so many mutants since, to accept my body for what it was. But eleven years have passed since I took that antidote, and, in retrospect, I’ve finally realized the one important lesson the experience did teach me - the one important lesson that has allowed me to become the person, the scientist and hero, that I am today: that no matter how confident we may be in our own strength, we are all fragile, and entirely mutable.
Mutation is not something that happens only to a lucky few, or an unlucky few; it does not happen to the “chosen” or the “damned.” Human and mutant alike, we are all one step away - one bad decision away, one spilled chemical away - from brittle dinosaur bones or metal skin, telekinesis or gaseous cells. And the sooner we accept this, the sooner we will be able to understand how similar we all really are. In essence, despite all the great strides we have made, it is only when we understand this one, simple fact that mutant acceptance - from within the mutant community and without - will be a fully realized goal.