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Title: The New Mutants II, Volume XXIII: A New Beginning
Author: kanedax
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse, Spider-Man Movieverse, plus other Marvel ‘Verses
Spoilers: X3; The New Mutants I & II
Rating: PG-13 for language and mild content
Summary: Can’t Stop The Signal, Mal.
Notes: Nine months, forty-five chapters (plus one translation from German), and well over 100,000 words later, my vision of the future of the X-Men Movieverse is drawing to a close. It’s been a hell of a ride, but I think this is it for this universe for me. If anyone wants to pick it up and take it where I left off, feel free, I’d love to see what a fresh mind does with it, whether it be sequel, prequel, or, hell, erotica would be interesting. And if you’ve read the series and enjoyed it, but haven’t commented in the past, I would ask that you put a comment at the end of this chapter, at the very least. I want to know just how many people have gotten into it. As usual, I don’t own 20th Century Fox, Marvel Comics, The X-Men, Spider-Man, The Fantastic Four, Iron Man, The Avengers, The Incredible Hulk, or any of the other, I don’t know, two dozen super heroes or teams I’ve mentioned in this series.
Thanks again for reading.
Previous Chapter (Prison Break) / Return to My Fanfiction Page
No one stopped the signal, and, six months later, Ororo Munroe walked through the halls of Xavier Academy pondering the ramifications.
Within five minutes of Rogue taking Reed Richards down into the basement of the Baxter Building, the world knew about Tony Stark’s true intentions. Rogue, using Glitch’s powers, had uploaded the data into her brain and transmitted it into every broadcast satellite and antenna she could get her hands on. Everyone who wasn’t awake at two in the morning to see it broadcast live simply had to turn on the morning news, or log onto their favorite Internet service, the next day or the next three months.
Of course, even if someone hadn’t seen the video of Radio City, or of Tony’s confession in the lobby and the cold-blooded murder of Connor Jones, the hundreds of demolished robots standing in the middle of New York City raised more than a few eyebrows.
Ororo did a double take as she walked through the living room, where a dozen students were lounging around and watching television.
“Hey,” she said loudly, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
Lucas Bishop looked up from the television. “Remy and Theresa cancelled,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“He says his leg’s still acting up,” said Tabitha Smith, who was sitting on the floor and leaning up against Lucas’ legs.
“It is natural,” said Cecelia Reyes. “If a robusteza broke my leg in two places, I would probably be in a wheelchair for a year.”
“Yeah, well, I heard Bobby talking about going to a double date with the two of them later tonight,” said Tike Alacar, “so I’m thinking they’re slackin’ off a bit, canceling class to make sure they get ready. Not that you’re hearing me complaining, or anything.”
Ororo smiled to herself. Tike and Tabitha were just two of the more than thirty new students to come out of the woodwork since the events at the Baxter Building. The pair had forged a strong bond with their classmates more quickly than others, due in part to their roles in that night’s events.
Tabitha, in particular, had developed a noticeably strong attachment to Lucas. Bishop vehemently protested any relationship between he and Tabby, who he and Sam jokingly called Boom Boom while she told the others that her codename was actually Meltdown. But Ororo would catch him blushing slightly when he talked about the two of them, and saw the way that they looked at each other in class, and knew that he was probably lying through his teeth.
“Shouldn’t you all be studying?” she asked the group.
“Come on, Professor,” said Lizzie Braddock, “It’s a Friday.”
Besides, said Jono, who was sitting between Lizzie and (what was his name? Calvin? Kevin? Ororo couldn’t keep the two of them straight sometimes), the press conference is supposed to be starting in a half hour.
Ororo shook her head. Of course, the press conference.
“I’m going outside for a bit,” she told him. “Yell when it starts, okay?”
Jono stuck his thumb in the air and turned back to the television.
“And while you’re waiting,” she said, “It probably wouldn’t hurt you all to crack a few books?”
She chuckled as she left the room, accompanied by a chorus of groans. She made it no more than five feet before her name was called from the end of the hall. She turned around to see a tall dark-haired man walking towards her.
“What can I help you with, Jean-Paul?” she asked.
“I wanted to speak to you about this syllabus I’ve been writing out,” Jean-Paul Baubier said with a thick French Canadian accent. “For the introductory chemistry class.”
“Of course,” she said, shaking her head distractedly. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten around to speaking to you about it. Jeanne-Marie wanted to discuss her lecture plans, too, didn’t she?”
“Oui,” he said.
“I’m completely free tomorrow,” said Ororo. “The three of us can get together and talk about it then. I might ask Forge and James to come, too. We’ll make it a whole department meeting.”
Jean-Paul nodded. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” said Ororo. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”
“Yes, things are crazy,” said Jean-Paul, patting her arm. “Just let me know the time, and I’ll be there with donuts.”
“And coffee,” Ororo added wearily. “Please. Lots of it.”
“Of course,” he smiled, and walked off, scribbling notes on a notepad.
She sighed, adding another line to her mental checklist, and was nearly knocked to the floor as three blond heads flew past her, screaming and giggling.
“Guthrie!” she yelled.
The three stopped and turned around. “Which one?” asked Joshua.
Ororo looked between Joshua, Melody, and Paige Guthrie, and shook her head. “All of you,” she said. “Where’s your brother?”
“Outside,” Paige said. “Probably causin’ more trouble than us.”
Ororo rubbed her fingers on her temples as the Guthries walked off. “Lord, I hope not,” she groaned.
“This place ain’t fit for man or beast anymore, is it?” said Logan, walking up to her and squeezing her shoulder.
“Uch,” she said. “It’s bursting at the seams. Come outside with me?”
“Can I smoke?” he asked, waving his cigar.
“I’ll make sure you’re downwind,” she said, patting his arm as the two stepped out to the balcony.
“You know, I’ve been around for over two hundred years,” he groaned as he used his cigar cutter, “and I only had my claws for ten. But I still miss them when it comes to chopping these things.”
“Takes some getting used to, I’m sure,” said Ororo, leaning against the cement railing. She looked out at the Academy’s lawn, which was sprinkled with more than a dozen students. Sure enough, there was Sam Guthrie, just as his twin sister promised. He was sitting under a tree, its leaves starting to fall with the end of autumn, with Jimmy Cameron, Shiro Yoshida, and Barnell Bohusk. The four seemed to be playing a rather vulgarity-laden game of Hearts. Across the way, Bobby Drake, Kitty Pryde, Theresa Cassidy, and Remy LeBeau sat in a tight circle, with Theresa massaging Remy’s outstretched leg. No doubt planning their big night out on the town, Ororo thought.
“You look like you could use a puff,” said Logan, handing the lit cigar to her.
“No thanks,” she said, adjusting the wind so his smoke blew away from her. “You have boy germs.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, clamping it between his teeth. “So, any word from the other side of the pond yet?”
“Nothing lately. Moira said they’re still waiting on accreditation. She says it’s taking longer than normal, but none of us are really surprised.”
“Why would it take longer than normal?” asked Logan. “Aren’t they just filing as a private school for gifted students?”
“No,” said Ororo. “They’re filing as a school for mutants.”
Logan’s cigar stood up straight. “Wait, what?” he said. “Are you serious? Sean, Moira, and Kurt are going to go public with the school?”
“They are,” said Ororo quietly. “And so are we.”
“Say that again.”
“When the European branch of the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters opens its doors,” she explained, “we will both come out at the same time. I’m going to announce what we are. Why we’re here. Who we’re teaching.”
“You can’t be serious…”
“I am,” Ororo said, turning around and leaning back against the railing, facing Logan. “Professor Xavier envisioned a world where mutants and humans could coexist peacefully. That can’t be done while we hide. While we pretend that we’re someone and something that we aren’t. There’s been enough lies, enough deceptions in the past year. I’m through with it.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” said Logan. “The kind of backlash that this school could receive? Protests, media crucifixion, possibly even anti-mutant attacks?”
“We’re prepared to face whatever comes,” said Ororo. “It’ll take a while for us to be accepted, but I think it won’t be as difficult as it once was. Project Defender helped with that.”
“You’re prepared,” said Logan. “But are they?” He pointed out to the lawn. “The students that came here for guidance, for help? Do they know what you’re going to do?”
“They do,” said Ororo. “I spoke to each student individually, and every new recruit has been made aware of what’s going to happen.”
“And they’re fine with it?”
“Down to the last. If even one student had told me that they weren’t ready, then I wouldn’t even consider it.”
Logan nodded. “Okay, I can accept that. What about the X-Men? Are we still going to be based out of here?”
“I don’t know,” Ororo said. “I’m thinking we might have found a new site. The X-Men could still be recruited from the student body, but if we’re based on the island we won’t have to worry about fighter jets hidden under basketball courts or things like that.
“Besides, the renovation costs every time the Academy is attacked is astonishing. At least if the X-Men are on the island we won’t have to worry about putting the students in jeopardy.”
“So the X-Men are going to be outted, too? No more covert ops?”
“We’ll see,” said Ororo. “It depends on how things go today.”
Logan nodded. “So why the change of heart?” he asked. “Why make this decision now?”
Ororo smiled. “Asimov.”
“Asiwhat?”
“Asimov,” she repeated. “The Three Laws of Robotics that Rogue and Jones programmed into Stark’s Iron Men.”
“What about them?”
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she said. “The first law is, and I quote, ‘A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’”
“Nice memorization skills.”
“Well, I am a professor,” she said, leaning over to bump his shoulder. “When Rogue installed that programming into the robots, they stopped attacking us. We’re mutants, but they stopped attacking.”
“That they did,” Logan said, taking another puff.
“This whole time, for all the years that I’ve been here, all the years that I’ve knew Professor Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, whoever, they always said that mutants were the next stage of human evolution. We’ve always focused on the words ‘next stage of evolution,’ but always forget the part that says ‘human.’ When the robots learned the First Law, they stopped attacking us because they didn’t recognize us as mutants. They recognized us as humans.”
“Huh,” Logan said. “I didn’t even think of that.”
Ororo continued. “This whole time it’s been this battle between humans and mutants, the two sides seeing each other as so vastly different. But to the robots, there was no difference. They saw the X-Gene as one little gene in an entire string. To them, our mutations were no different than skin pigmentation, or having free or attached earlobes.
“We’ve spent so many years, so many decades, focusing on our differences. But if we come out into the world, if we let them know that we’re not hiding anymore and that we’re ready to become a part of the planet again, then maybe people will start to recognize the other 99.9% of us isn’t that much different than themselves.”
Logan nodded, and thoughtfully took another puff. “Homosexuals couldn’t gain social respect until they started coming forward,” he said. “Same with African Americans. Jews. Whoever. Why should we see ourselves as any different? Am I catching up?”
“That’s right,” Ororo said. “Trust is never gained when we stay in the shadows.”
“Probably doesn’t hurt that the line’s graying every day,” said Logan. “Now that there’s a permanent Cure? One that’s not being corrupted by our military?”
“Well, it hasn’t come out yet,” said Ororo. “That’s what we’re waiting to hear, though.”
“And you’re fine with that, right?” he asked. “I remember when Worthington brought their Cure out, you were railing against anyone who would even consider it.”
“I know,” she said, looking down at the lawn. “I’ve done more thinking, though, and I’m fine with it now. There are people who can’t live the lives they want with their powers, public acceptance or not. Getting the Cure is their only way.”
“Like Rogue.”
Ororo nodded. “Like Rogue.”
“Any word from her? Or Peter?”
She shook her head. “If she hasn’t called you, then she hasn’t called anyone.”
“I’ll let you know if I do hear from her,” he said. “She has my cell phone number.”
“You have a cell phone now?” she said patronizingly.
Logan shrugged. “Figure I might as well live in the twenty-first century for once. Don’t worry, though. No way I’m getting anything that plays music or anything like that. It dials, it makes phone calls, that’s it.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Pretty much now,” he said. “Or as soon as you’re done talking to me. This place is getting too big for its britches. Mutants, sons and daughters of mutants, brothers and sisters of mutants. Hell, we might even have a daughter of a radioactive spider guy if our theory about May stands pat. I figure we could use one less body, at least until Sean and the folks are ready to open up shop.”
Ororo sighed, and pushed herself off the railing. “You keep playing Carmen Sandiego and you’re liable to lose your bedroom one of these days.”
“Don’t worry,” Logan said, standing up with her and tossing the remainder of his cigar to the lawn below. “It’s a short trip this time. I promise I’ll be back, win or lose.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve pretty much accepted that I’ll never find out where I came from,” he said. “When I came from. But I just want a name. I don’t know if Logan is my first name, my last name, or just something I came up with after Stryker got a hold of me. But I know a few people who might have some inside information.”
“Like who?”
“Parker gave me the list,” Logan said, pulling a scrap of notebook paper from his pocket. “Wade Wilson, Frank Castle, Luke Cage, Nick Fury, David North, Garrison Kane. All of them were folks that apparently fought alongside me during Vietnam, and all of them were candidates for Weapon X’s Super Serum before Captain America snapped and the whole thing went to pot.”
“Nick Fury?” Ororo said. “As in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Nick Fury? But there’s no way he could have fought with you in Vietnam, that was fifty years ago.”
“Maybe they hooked him into some other project,” said Logan. “Right now, my brain’s at capacity when it comes to trying to get all these madcap schemes straight. All I know is that one of them may still be alive, and one of them may be able to tell me who I was back then.”
Storm sighed, and looked back down at the lawn, where she saw a single person sitting off in the corner, his head lowered into a book.
“Have you talked to Franklin?” she asked, pointing to Richards. “He might be able to fish something out of your brain for you. Save you the legwork.”
“I thought about it,” said Logan, “But, nah. Chuck was right. This is something I have to find out for myself.
“Besides,” he added suavely, “If I knew everything, my whole aura of mystery would be gone, and I’d be useless to the ladies.”
“Yeah, not likely,” Ororo teased.
“How’s he holding up?”
“Just fine,” she said, looking down at Franklin. “Moira dug out a few books that Charles had written before he died. Written specifically for psychics. I don’t know, just textbooks or something that might help him along his path.”
“Well, at least the man’s still with us in spirit, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Ororo. “He actually spoke with Rogue. Franklin, that is.”
“What about?”
“I guess he offered to help her with the memory thing. The multiple personalities. He figured that if he could get Johnny out of her mind, he might be able to do it with the others.”
“And?”
“He said she turned him down,” Ororo said. “She said she’d rather have the personalities than lose the memories.”
Logan nodded in understanding. “Jones and Jubilee. Even Erik and Allerdyce. She doesn’t want to lose them. And she’s sure that the Cure won’t take those out, either?”
“Probably not,” Ororo said. “Again, I haven’t heard anything from her since she left with the Reed and Susan. Franklin apparently talked to her about all this before he came back.”
“Well, she’s always been a tough nugget,” Logan said.
“Professor!” a voice yelled from inside. “The press conference is starting!”
“And that’s my cue,” Logan said.
“You have our number programmed on your phone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you left your number here with us in case we need to find you?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t get smart,” said Ororo as she pulled him into a hug, and surprised him by kissing him on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, alright? Don’t get into any trouble.”
“When have I ever done that?”
Ororo pulled back. “Do you want me to answer that question?”
“Please don’t,” he smiled, kissing her cheek, patting her arm, and following her back inside.
They parted ways at the main door, with Logan walking to the garage to grab a car while Ororo joined the others in the living room. She squeezed herself onto the couch between Victor Borowski and Madison Jeffries as Bolivar Trask introduced Reed Richards to the podium.
“I’m going to try to make this brief,” Doctor Reed Richards said to the media from the steps of the Baxter Building, “since it’s getting late, and everyone’s ready to go home and eat supper.”
A general roll of polite applause flowed through the crowd, and both Bolivar Trask and Hank McCoy chuckled from behind him. Susan Richards and Ben Grimm both exchanged rolled eyes.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind everyone of the events that have occurred in the past year regarding myself, Tony Stark, and Project Defender,” Reed continued. “When Project Defender first came into being, Bruce Banner, Susan Richards, and I had a vision. Over time, that vision became tainted. Became flawed. Petty self-interest and bigotry got in the way of what we originally strived to achieve.
“Today, we stand before you to reveal a new Project Defender. One with a simple purpose: to do its best to preserve and protect the people of this great nation, whether they be human or mutant. We do this now with the full support of the United States government, the United Nations, and S.H.I.E.L.D., while remaining an independent task-force that isn’t driven by big business, by ulterior motives, or by hatred.”
“Stark’s gotta be hating this,” Johnny Storm whispered to Jennifer Walters, both of whom were sitting in the crowd.
“Too bad they couldn’t pin him for anything more than tax evasion,” she whispered back, chuckling. “But I suppose he’ll have a good time trying to build his fortune back by flipping burgers when he gets out of prison.”
“One part of our new venture is explained in more detail in your press releases,” Reed continued. “Information on a new Cure, which we plan to have available for public release in the next few months. It will be completely free, completely voluntary, and completely reversible if the patient wishes to change their mind. We recognize that many mutants may want to turn off their powers. We also recognize that others consider it a part of who they are, and we completely support them in any training or therapy they need to seek out. Our cure will be a treatment, not a serum, so it cannot be used as a weapon like the Worthington formula.”
Hank and Bolivar exchanged glances.
Oooh, burn, Hank seemed to be saying.
Bite me, Bolivar returned.
“But more information will be given when the time comes. In the meantime, I would like to introduce the world to the new members of Project Defender.”
A tall, muscular man walked down up the stairs of the platform, dressed in the blue and white of Project Defender.
“I would first like to introduce Peter Rasputin,” said Reed. “Peter is a former member of the X-Men, as well as Project Defender’s first natural-born mutant. At this time, I should also add that Project Defender will be working in full cooperation with the X-Men, who have been fighting the good fight for the past decade.”
Reed walked up to Peter and extended his hand. Peter looked down at it for a moment, and then took it in his own.
“Thank you for doing this,” Reed whispered as the crowd applauded. “I’ve seen you in action, and Ben’s spoken very highly of you.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Peter said. “Like the Professor said, we’re trying to bridge the gap. Having mutants and humans working side-by-side is a big step forward.”
“I agree, son,” Richards said, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder as the crowd died down. “We won’t disappoint you.”
Peter nodded, and then, after receiving a hearty handshake from Hank, stepped in line beside Ben.
“Glad to have ya aboard, kid,” Ben whispered. “It’ll be nice to not be the only muscle that don’t have the brains of a preschooler.”
“Secondly,” Reed continued as he stepped back to the podium, “I would like to introduce… um…” He turned to both sides of the stage, waiting for someone who obviously wasn’t coming. The crowd murmured nervously, then gasped as Reed heard a whirring behind him, then a tap on his shoulder.
“Sorry, boss,” said the man, who was hanging upside down. “A good superhero always has to have a great entrance.”
“Of course,” Reed said, clearing his throat. “I would like to introduce you to Peter Parker.”
“Actually,” Parker said into the microphone, flipping to his feet. “Since there’s two Peters on this team, you can just call me Spider-Man.”
The reporters gasped and applauded. Except for one.
“Spider-Man?” came screaming voice from the side of the crowd. “Parker’s Spider-Man?”
“Oh, hey, J.J.,” Parker chuckled nervously, waving to the beet-faced old man with a severe haircut and an even more severe mustache. “Happy Birthday!”
“Parker!” J.J. foamed at the mouth, and had to be restrained by two nearby reporters.
“He and I go way back,” Parker continued, stepping back from the podium and towards Susan. “You might need to get him a paper bag, or something, though, the old man’s hyperventilating.”
“Calm down, boss,” said an older gentleman with glasses from beside him. “You know what your doctor says.”
“Cram it, Hoffman,” J Jonah Jameson fumed, but kept quiet.
“Well,” Reed said nervously. “That was fun.”
The reporters laughed in reflected nervousness.
“And now I’d like to introduce the final new member of our Project Defender team.”
Peter Rasputin looked over at Ben. “I thought there were only going to be five of us.”
Ben shrugged, and turned back to Reed, mumbling: “Maybe he wanted to keep us in suspense.”
Peter’s eyes bugged out and his heart stopped as he watched the sixth member step to the stage.
“I would like to introduce Marie D’Ancanto,” Reed said to the crowd. “Another naturally-born mutant and also former member of the X-Men. Known to some as Rogue, she has a multitude of powers that will greatly benefit our team.”
Rogue and Peter shared a glance. Marie smiled shyly, and waved to him. As the crowd applauded, Peter watched as Reed Richards held his hand out for her to shake. Rogue smiled broadly and took it in her own hand.
Her own ungloved hand.
The rest of the press conference passed by in a blur to Peter Rasputin. His eyes never left Rogue from the moment she left the podium and stood beside Peter Parker on the other end of their line. All of the questions asked by the reporters blew by him in a mumbled haze. Every now and then she would turn to him, smiling, and his heart jumped again.
Eventually, through the corner of his eye, in the far distance of his hearing, the press conference broke up. He vaguely saw Johnny Storm approach him, barely remember him shaking his hand and saying that he only wished that he could still be a member, but his powers were completely gone after Radio City.
“It’s alright, though,” Johnny said. “The promotional deals alone are keeping me afloat. I’ve had a few offers for work, too. X Games, WWE, whatever. I’m all good.”
As he crossed the stage, he saw Rogue walk toward him.
“Can I still wear the mask?” he heard Parker ask Reed. “You know, maybe in a blue and white?”
Finally Rogue stood in front of him. A million questions raced through his mind at once to ask her. Why was she here? How did this happen? Why didn’t she tell her?
He looked into her eyes, and she kissed him, and all the words vanished.
After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away from him, and the words came to him in bits and pieces.
“How?” he babbled. “What? How?”
“The Cure,” Rogue said, her arms still wrapped around his neck. “Reed and Susan talked to me about it after the Baxter Building. I volunteered.”
“You’re Cured?”
Rogue smiled, and her face shimmered briefly to organic steel before coming back to flesh. “Naw,” she said. “He only cured my primary mutation, not my secondary. I still have all the powers, all the memories. He just Cured the part that was getting in the way of the rest of my life.”
“You mean…?”
“Besides,” she said. “Project Defender’s a public gig. Really hard to do it if you can’t shake hands and kiss babies.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, grinning as his mouth moved closer. “The kissing babies part is a must.”
“An absolute must,” she chuckled as he kissed her. In the back of his mind, he could hear a crowd cheering. The two pulled back and looked around, trying to find the origination of the sound.
Don’t stop! said the voice of Franklin Richards in their head. CNN’s still showing you guys on camera, and the crowd’s loving it here at the school.
Peter and Rogue both turned to see a cameraman two feet from them. “Do you mind?” Peter said as Rogue wrapped her arm around his waist. “This is a private moment.”
Hey, come on! Franklin yelled as the two walked from the stage. Kitty’s getting all mushy with Bobby over here. Alison’s screaming for you guys to go all the way. She says the sexual tension’s been killing her. You even got Storm tearing up. Hey! Guys!
“I promise we’ll come visit sometime and let you all fawn over us,” Rogue said as she took Peter’s hand and walked toward the tinted cars awaiting Project Defender on the street. “But until then: out of my head, Frankie Boy. I don’t want you watching any of this.”
Fuck, stop throwing pillows, Jono, Franklin yelled, his voice faded from the minds Marie D’Ancanto and Peter Rasputin as they drove off into the New York sunset. I tried to get them to keep kissing, all right? Don’t kill the messenger. Ow! Theresa! Guys!
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