Chapter 14: So We Have a Problem
Isa Hayes lived his life on what he dubbed “scientific time.” Whenever he made mention of the term, others cocked their heads in confusion. Pity, those impatient masses who always wanted everything “Now! Now! Now!” couldn’t possibly understand the scope of a scientist’s vision, much less his sense of time. A researcher’s work stretched on for years, even lifetimes, and such increments of time--seconds, minutes, days--were simply too small to acknowledge. Keeping close tabs on the clock was like pawing for insignificant figures, like searching for exact numbers when rounded ones would do.
Sad.
Thus, for Doctor Hayes, “soon enough” meant weeks. A month. Two months, tops, but nothing less than a week. He didn’t expect “soon enough” to be one day after he’d vacated Frost Enterprises for the final time. By God, he’d just finished his tv dinner (and the newest episode of Battlestar Gallatica) when the phone rang. The caller? His mysterious benefactor.
“Come alone to this address,” the person demanded, all sounding much like those conspiracy movie masterminds. “You have thirty minutes and the clock is ticking. Don’t grow a brain, John.”
Well, he didn’t exactly say those words and he sounded much more sinister, but Isa wasn’t big on the details. It was enough that this sequence of events reminded him of an action-thriller he’d seen on the television. Speed or Commando or Scream or Ben-Hur or something.
The allure of his overactive imagination and the promise of his research returned led Isa to putter around Chicago in his Crown Victoria, aimlessly searching for the aforementioned address which he’d scribbled on the back of his hand. Between steering, dim lighting, and nervousness, finding one 1275 Bellcrest Road proved a challenge.
Wait, or was that 7215 Bellcrest Road? 1215 Bellerest Road? 7275 Beuerest Road?
Damn ballpoint pen.
After an hour of wandering, those ubiquitous AM/PM and 7/11 stores looked more and more attractive. His stomach rumbled; his throat ran dry; his windshield needed cleaning. He was late already, so being later wouldn’t hurt. One quick stop, just one quick visit to the restroom, a hurried bite to eat, a rapid grab of nachos for the road, a fast fill-up, and wow, even enough time to squeegee the windshield.
In a blazing twenty minutes, Doctor Isa Hayes, with tummy bloated and radio rocking, was back on the road. He was stopped at a signal light and in the middle of Hotel California when a beautiful (read: busty) woman tapped on his window. Of course, when lost in the middle of a barren, downtown Chicago intersection, the intelligent thing to do would be to roll down the window and see what the stranger wanted.
Naturally, Isa did the intelligent thing.
Ignoring his disturbing smile and obvious ogling, the woman leaned down (cue cleavage shot) and asked in a sultry voice, “You Doctor Hayes?”
“Uh huh, yes, that would be me, Doctor Isa Hayes, yup.”
Her fist careened into his jaw, and since he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, the good doctor tumbled face first into the passenger seat, his feet sticking up in the air and the rest of him very unconscious. Shaking her head in dismay, the woman slipped into the car, rolled up the window, and drove when the light turned green.
If anyone bothered to look, they would’ve seen the woman’s body ripple away, in its stead blue skin and shocking red hair. Mystique drew her tranquilizer gun from her holster and fired a dart into Hayes, just to make sure he was out. With not a small amount of distain, the radio got turned off.
She flipped out her cell phone and dialed a memorized number. When she heard the line pick up, she said, “I’ve got him.”
“Oh my, oh my, what took you so long?”
“He probably got lost. I found him at a stoplight a block away from the meeting place.”
“Astounding, Mystique. You are truly worth every penny of your services.”
“Easily impressed, aren’t you?”
“My fellow sister in blue, I don’t ask for much, only the world on a platter. But before I get too off-base, why don’t you drive the good doctor back here and I can continue with my plan?”
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Kuan-Yin Xorn’s attempt at meditation failed again. Out of frustration, he pounded his fists against the carpet of his room.
“Concentrate,” he chided himself. Ever since coming to the X-Men, his spirit frayed, almost as if his existence was coming undone. He turned a blind eye to his uncertainty, convincing himself it all had to do with his homesickness. What began as a nagging, empty feeling spiraled out of control, progressing to where he’d lose track of time or find himself forgetting what he did during the day.
No one else commented on his plight, so he suspected nothing too out-of-the-ordinary occurred whenever had those peculiar blackouts. Like today, for instance--from early morning till late afternoon, he had no idea where he went. A trip to the infirmary half an hour ago confirmed his good health. Nothing should’ve been wrong with him, but yet, something was.
He had difficulty focusing. His body occasionally tingled as if submerged in a rushing river. He felt... off, but why he had no clue. He didn’t feel comfortable asking the others for help--didn’t know them long enough, didn’t want to impose, didn’t want to seem like a bother.
Kuan-Yin Xorn was a healer for Christ’s sake! The ultimate insult wasn’t his inability to find the problem, but rather that it was his body that was afflicted. What a cruel predicament...
Which became even crueler when his entire being seized up, convulsed, and eventually curled into a fetal position. Screaming wasn’t an option: the massive onslaught of pain made every sound die in his throat. His hand pressed against the sides of his helmet as if the simple act could drive away the hurt. His muscles tightened to such a point that he’d thought they’d all snap like overstretched rubber bands.
Slowly, the pain subsided; the changes in his body type didn’t. Some muscles remained tetanized. He stood a little taller. His widened shoulders, straightened back, and broadened chest conveyed an arrogance he didn’t formerly possess.
Like so, Kuan-Yin Xorn was no more, victim of a Jekyll-to-Hyde transformation. Unbeknown to the X-Men, their newest member had very quietly assumed the mantle of Magneto, Master of Magnetism.
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- To be continued...
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