Chapter 36: Secondary Characters, Part 1
Not every mutant rebelled like anarchists. Not every human ran like chickens with their heads cut off. And while society did lean toward a strained cross species relationship, a good handful of beings did get along.
Even mutants had families and friends.
Take Marissa Ackerman for instance. Marissa was the twenty four year old, nine month pregnant wife of one Jack Ackerman. Marissa herself? Human. Her husband? Mutant. Despite the difference, the two adored each other, the gene discrepancy doing nothing to dampen their affections. Jack worked as an accountant at Frost Enterprises. Marissa, till her pregnancy, was an interior designer of no small fame. They shared a modest (and expensive) downtown apartment and kept to themselves, content to live out their dreams without worldly interference. Neighbors called them the perfect couple; colleagues envied their strong relationship.
Too bad the fairy tale ended tonight.
Halfway through her sleep, an odd hunger struck Marissa. Many mothers could attest to the sudden, and often outrageous, cravings for a peculiar food. Many fathers could attest to rolling out of bed late at night and fulfilling these cravings whether they be chocolate jelly beans, fried bananas, nacho cheese lathered hotdogs, or, in the case of Marissa, a seven layer burrito with extra sour cream. Being the dutiful husband, Jack slipped on his shoes, kissed his wife, and went around the corner to a twenty-four seven fast food joint.
For some odd reason the line was incredibly long, so long Marissa called his cell phone... twice, both times wondering where her burrito was. By the time his turn rolled around, Jack, hungry himself, tacked on two tacos to the order.
In hindsight, the tacos killed him.
Police sirens streaked by. The televisions started talking about a crashed plane in the New York Bay. Absorbed by the gripping news, the restaurateurs slowed their production of fine Mexican cuisine, not that Jack or his fellow customers minded since they too stood transfixed. They were wrapping up Jack’s tacos when livid mutants kicked the door down.
One of them, a young man who claimed to have been fired for his appearance (horn-like bulges in his forehead and scaly skin) angrily yelled at the owner of the establishment. The customers tried to leave, but the gang had none of it and attacked people with no remorse. Always a peacemaker, Jack stepped in to quell the disturbance.
The angry young man pulled out a gun and shot the meddlesome “flatscan” in the head.
No, Jack’s mutation wasn’t apparent: his forearm and calves had decent sized fins on them, good for swimming but a nuisance any other time. He hid the fleshy extensions as best he could, and tonight, he hid them too well. He died before he hit the ground.
His cell phone rang again but no one picked up.
Meanwhile, back at home, Marissa nervously watched the television talk about a mutant uprising in downtown Manhattan. A plane plunged itself into the Upper Bay. Some strange weather front appeared over Battery Park. Jack wasn’t answering his phone.
Jack wasn’t answering his phone!
Marissa threw on a jacket and waddled to the streets.
Outside, chaos reigned. Stampeding feet, piercing screams, and cries for help deafened her. People ran in all directions, occasional glimpses of vengeful mutants causing pockets of terror. Marissa waded in the Mexican restaurant’s direction when her water broke. A forceful shove from a passerby knocked her into a small, abandoned convenience store. She considered braving the crowds again, but her maternal instincts wouldn’t let her.
She tried Jack’s cell phone again. No answer. Voicemail only.
Fear for herself and their unborn child consumed her. No way could she get to a hospital now. No way could an ambulance get to her. No way she was going to let these violence mutants harm her.
Out of options, Marissa pushed a small ice cream freezer in front of the door. Wasn’t much, but at least it presented an obstacle for potential intruders. The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead showed too much of the store’s interior, enough for the perceptive to see Marissa wherever she hid. She hunted for the light switches but found the fuse box instead.
It would have to do.
Some flicks of the wrist later, the entire store darkened. Tiredly, the woman stumbled to the back where the fridge displayed beer, sodas, and ice. She could feel her child coming. She’d need water to keep herself hydrated and probably ice chips to gnaw on, or at least, that’s what the instructor said at the Lamaze class.
Whatever happened, she wouldn’t fail her child. Her back ached, her heart raced, and she had no idea what happened to Jack, but she wouldn’t fail her child.
She dialed Jack’s number again. Voicemail again.
“You’ve reached Jack Ackerman. Please leave a message after the beep.”
Marissa stifled her sobs. “Jack, where are you? I need you, Jack...”
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Too much power drove people insane: Lorna Dane was a perfect example. Between the regular doses of Kick and her secondary mutation, her mind splintered apart into incoherent slivers. Negative emotions, first at the mansion, now in the city, mingled with her body and simulated dangerous levels of adrenaline. Her cells fed from the hormone and worked overtime, processing it in ways a normal body couldn’t. Her bones increased in mass. Her muscles tetanized. Her skin renewed itself. She became stronger and faster, her physical abilities pushed beyond even the most impressive of mutants.
And the ability sustained itself. Lorna’s body hungered for more power and the hunger changed her mind. She became a battery store for negative emotions, and when she was fully charged, the excess bled off into the world to breed more negativity. Kick sped the process, increased her already massive energy capacity, and projected more excess angst and anger.
The more others fought, the more power she gained. The more power she gained, the more she made people fight. The more people fought, the more her mind fractured. The more her mind fractured, the less she cared about the consequences of her power.
Lorna stopped caring two months ago when she took her first hit of Kick.
Lorna was ecstatic when she stopped caring. Jean and Scott’s diabetes inducing marriage didn’t bother her. Alex rejecting her sexual advances didn’t wound her self-esteem. Everyone at the mansion just seemed so pleasant to be around when one ignored the tension and drama. Everything at the mansion just seemed so interesting when people were ready to pounce on each other.
Then Papa came and made life better. Said he didn’t die in Genosha; said he had a plan to use her newfound power. Help Papa and use power? How could she say no? That, and Papa had some good Kick. Not as good as the stuff that came in those mysterious packages, but good.
A long, circuitous route followed, and the end result landed her here on the Empire State Building holding a magnetic shield around the roof as Papa waited for their fellow mutants to gather around. Boring stuff, but the negative emotions swamped her by the second, so that made Lorna happy. Actually, much of the negative emotions came off of one source.
Let’s see: Bishop, Alex, Paige, and Charles were unconscious. Fantomex and Bobby talked while Esme watched Tessa lean against the railing, not a care in the world. Papa, with the ever present Toad, observed his people destroy the humans.
“Ororo,” said Lorna as she walked to the collared and restrained woman, “You’re very hostile.”
“You sicken me.”
Wow. No preamble, build up, or pretense of confusion--Lorna liked the no nonsense rage. She liked it so much she laughed. Weren’t the X-Men so much more enjoyable when livid?
In contrast, Storm didn’t find anything to laugh about as she chaffed against her icy shackles.
Lorna thought the effort cute. “Awww, Stormy wanna play?”
A kick shattered the ice. A mere thought and metal pipes strapping down her limbs straightened, freeing a powerless but angry Ororo. She might’ve been unarmed, but how many people had underestimated her resourcefulness and fighting ability? Too many to count, and Lorna looked to be among those. Mattered little she was a friend: anyone who attacked her team, her family, automatically labeled themselves enemies.
Instinct guided Storm. She palmed a sharp shard of ice and stabbed it into Lorna’s temple. Bobby saw the incident and tried to act, but Fantomex drew his gun, stopping any thoughts of rebellion. Magneto, Toad, and Tessa seemed unconcerned, each absorbed in their own musings and activities. Esme yelled a warning to Lorna.
Flesh should’ve given way under Storm’s attack. Blood should’ve squirted out. Neither happened: the improvised shiv powdered like it hit a brick wall. Smiling, Lorna rammed her fist into Storm’s gut, collapsing her in one blow. On the ground, Ororo gasped and wretched, her insides burning from oxygen deprivation. Lorna pulled two steel bars out of the Empire State Building and wrapped them around her prisoner, rebinding her arms to her sides and fastening her legs together. Using the metal as fulcrums for her magnetic powers, she stood Storm up.
“Fair is fair,” Lorna giggled, “You hit me, I hit you. Do you want to play again?”
Lorna was nuts. Somewhere in the back of the churning pain, Ororo knew Lorna was crazy. The steady, reliable Polaris no longer resided behind those eyes, killed by this imposter, this enemy. The damned collar around her neck became a source of never-ending frustration and hate. Mattered not where or how Magneto got these collars, how he so thoroughly ambushed the X-Men, or why he wanted to start his revolution here, Ororo would kill them.
No one preyed on her like this. No one.
And what about Tessa? She was free, but she did nothing. At least Bobby tried to help, but Tessa dispassionately stood to the side. She observed, or maybe she plotted, or maybe she hid--no one could ever tell when she assume her coldest demeanor. Was... was that a smile on her face?
Strong fingers closed around Storm’s neck, not enough to choke but enough to menace. “You’re no fun, Ororo. Where’s the leader of the X-Men? Where’s the bitch behind the broad? I always thought you were a lioness, but right now, you’re a kitty cat.”
The fingers squeezed and whatever retort Storm had sunk. She tried to kick her feet and move her hands but the metal bars held tight. Air, precious air escaped her. The world darkened, blotches wiping out her vision. No, this couldn’t be the end. She refused to lie down like a broken animal. Anger and desperation gave her one last gasp. She moved so much the grip loosened, but before she breathed a full breath, the grip closed again, its force redoubled. The collar pressed into her skin and drew blood.
Ororo’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as the darkness took over.
“My daughter,” declared Magneto, spreading his arms out, “Our army arrives.”
Below, hundreds of mutants, with more pouring in by the second, clamored for their saviors. Lorna let go and levitated Storm, her trophy, over the side of the building so all could see. Rain fell from the suddenly darkened sky, but no downpour could extinguish the flames of rebellion. Lorna smiled and took a hit. Her senses expanded and engulfed the nameless faces, feeding on them and their darkest impulses.
Life was good.
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- To be continued...
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