Henrietta Hunter smiled as if the whole world depended on it. In many ways, she believed that it did. She was a woman who had made her life what it currently was and had firmly forgotten where she had come from, for at least attempted to do so. It was so many years ago that she had been born to Cypriote immigrants in the poor tenement flats of the London Borough of Newham. She had sworn at the age of eight that she would make her life better than they had ever managed to do, and even when she had accomplished everything and garnered both fame and wealth, Henrietta had felt as incomplete as ever. Money did not buy her the happiness that she had imagined it would as a small girl watching those trains drive past at the tracks. Yet, she was positive that she would never return to the life she had abandoned. Henrietta may not have been any happier than the impoverished little girl of her memories but she was certainly more comfortable. She had a personality that forced people to listen to what she had to say and it had done her well in her years as a television personality. The Henrietta Show had just ended its seventh season of counselling the scum of society which she, like so many others before her, accomplished from her golden pedestal of wealth. Sometimes even Henrietta forgot she didn’t hold a psychological or behavioural qualification to her name. It made great television and that was all that mattered.

“Good evening America,” Henrietta crooned into the cameras pointed ahead of her. She was always happy to make good television, regardless of the subject matter. Her makeup and hair sat flawless, and the pink skirt-suit she had chosen for her clung tightly to her figure just as she wanted. Henrietta had found the opportunity of presenting a reality television show a little bit less enticing than she presumed the producers would have liked but she was happy to spend some time away from the cold and wet Seattle that had been her home for the last three years when her show was moved away from Los Angeles. Finally, she was back in the city that she had once taken by storm as a much younger woman. She was about to unleash a new brand of star and starlet upon it and that felt right to her. She couldn’t imagine anyone who deserved to present the next big thing than her. She had fought harder than any of them had to be where they were. “I welcome you to join me as we search for the next big thing in the world of marvels. Over the last twelve months, Gortin Studios and I have travelled the country to find the best and brightest of our next generation of marvels. Well, we have made our selections.”

The live audience that had gathered cheered.

Henrietta continued. “Tonight, we will be presenting you with the eight young marvels that we found and they will be duking it out for your votes towards making it into what will be the final five, and the winners of a place on the team that will be known as X-Statix. They have no affiliations with any other heroes for one simple reason, these guys don’t need them!” She was proud of her own ability to lie. The X-Men hadn’t even wanted the X to be used in their name and had offered places at the Xavier Institute to all of the mutant contestants. Henrietta may not have seen potential in them as heroes but for the length of the series at least, she saw profit and that was all that really mattered. “We have three nights to say farewell to three of our young contestants and then we will follow them for the first twelve months as they understand what it means to become one of the earth’s finest heroes.” She had to be careful with trademarked terminology but she made it work.

“First,” she paused dramatically to maximise intrigue amongst any of the fans watching from the comfort of their own homes. “We want you to get to know the guys that we have come to consider our very own family.” Lying came as easily as breathing to the Cypriote-British woman. “Get to know them before you meet them because in thirty minutes, they will perform for your pleasure and you will decide their fates.” Henrietta descended the steps as the cameras followed her. She tried not to frown in anger as the dirt stained her satin heels. There had been a soft rain earlier and the earth was still soggy. She had asked that the problem be sorted but like all things she would have had to have done it herself. She marched as elegantly as she could through the grass towards what had been designated as the training facility for the candidates. The fervour surrounding the show was similar to that of the Olympics and she couldn’t have been more excited at the prospect of another success. She saw a franchise in the making. Standing with the building the background she turned back towards the camera. “Join me here at the Prairie Compound in thirty minutes time as we meet our saviours.”

Henrietta allowed her smile to fade as the camera turned off. She was only as happy as the cameras forced her to be.

X-Statix in…

17 SECONDS

By Gavin McMahon

“We aren’t puppets that they can pit against one another in a blood sport,” exclaimed the easily angered activist Tike Alicar. He had spent so long fighting for his rights and the rights of others that he saw everything as a threat to the rights of someone. His paranoia and anger were uncontrollable but he saw no issue with it. In fact, he knew it was the only reason he had gotten as far as he had. There was no reason to believe someone who created acid from their hands was a viable team member and his personality made him even less of a valuable one. Tike was the antagonist amongst their ranks, everyone knew it. He had fought with everyone in the twelve hours they had spent together since arriving in Los Angeles. They had taken to calling him the Anarchist but they had seemed to be surprised when he had accepted it wholly and submitted it as his codename. “I am not a piece of meat to further their ratings agenda.” He scowled as he looked around at his fellow candidates, all of whom seemed to be less interested than the one before. They were an impossible bunch to know.

Peyton Cartier was the first to speak as she examined the nails she had freshly filed during his rant. Her cold gaze looked upon the African-American mutant with the same amount of interest she had held whilst speaking to him. She had none. “I don’t think that’s what they’re doing. This is a television show and they want ratings.” Her tone was blunt as she reminded him of the truth. “They want a small team to focus on, it’ll be easier and more cost effective. Besides, we all just wanna be famous so why would we care what hoops we have to jump through to get there?” Even Peyton’s smile was cold and calculating. It disturbed him. She was exactly what he would have expected though. He saw them all for the fame hungry wannabes that they were, and he suspected she’d only set down her pompoms when she’d graduated the year before. She was too young and fickle to have ever fought for anything in her life.

“Some of us want to use this platform to make a stand for what we believe in,” he reprimanded her as she rolled her eyes. “This is an amazing opportunity but I don’t think I should have to humiliate myself for their amusement, or the amusement of a nation. Can you honestly say that this is only about the fame for you?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I can.”

“Calm it, Captain Coconut,” smirked Darian Elliot, a rapper from the underground circuit known as the Spike, mockingly as he stepped from the dresser that had been allocated to him in the preparation area. His arm rested across Peyton’s shoulder but she pushed him off as she moved towards a mirror and focused on her own appearance. Twirling her fingers through her wavy blonde hair, which was pulled back messily into an up-do. Darian shrugged off the rejection. He knew she’d come around when the cameras were rolling, romances always meant screen time and Peyton was the only acceptable female candidate. “Your yappin’ is gonna solve nothin’ so just try hushin’ your lips for a minute or two. How’s that sound, bruv?”

Tike winced at the sound of the nickname. He had already been accused of being a coconut, black on the outside but white on the inside, due to the upbringing he had had. He wouldn’t accept such a statement from the walking stereotype that now stood before him. Tike believed him to be like so many of artists he had met during the competition, suffering from falling for his own hype. The Spike was as much a failure as all of the other people who had come before him or else he wouldn’t be struggling to make ends meet as he was. Underground music was what happened to those who couldn’t make it in the real world. Darian and Peyton weren’t worth his time. They had fallen for the promise of fame and glory without any of the decent intentions that accompanied being a superhero. He had noticed only one other person in the competition who had fought for anything in his life but he found the “good doctor” to be a difficult fellow to communicate with.

“Sounds like you’re from a Tyler Perry movie.”

Darian sniggered. “At least he knows his heritage, bruv.” The rapper, who was physically bigger than the young activist, pushed him back against the wall threateningly. He glared down at him with an expression that was hard to read, and not just because Tike’s glasses had fallen askew. Darian seemed like he was just another angry young man already lost to the world. Tike was lowered as the pampered princess intervened, he was surprised she’d even noticed whilst concentrating on her own reflection, but her features were stern and her motivations were immediately clear to everyone that was gathered in the room.

“Stop fighting. Don’t fuck this up for the rest of us,” she glowered. “If you have to go to the medical bay then we’ll be late.” She flounced off.

Moonbeam Goode, or Lily as she preferred to use her middle name, had watched the entire scene from the other side of the room. She was the Texan born songbird who had saw her life end on the mean streets of New York’s Mutant Town only to be reborn from the ashes like a phoenix. Although she was beautiful, it was a morbid and sombre appearance that unsettled most of the men that she had ever come into contact with since leaving Mutant Town. Her grey curls rested across her shoulder as she remained focused on what she was trying to accomplish. Bumbling detectives had ensured that she would never attain her chance at justice, but she could still make a difference and attempt to make her life worthwhile. She missed her home and she missed the women who had once been her only happiness but she had no choice other than striking out and starting again. The world was a large place but the prospect of immortality made her question whether she would ever find anything worth living for in it. She had become known as Deadgirl during the early stages of the competition, and it had been then that she learned how truly unique she was.

She didn’t belong on a television show, especially not a reality show. She didn’t have a large enough personality to maintain an interest but if she could make it through the next three nights then she would have a chance to make her mark on history. Lily just had to compete with the personalities of the three bickering stars that yelled ahead of her. It could be done, she told herself. Her clouded vision fell on the broad shoulders of the quiet reader to her right. Johnson Tally hadn’t spoken a single word in the twelve hours that they had been gathered other than to nominate his codename and his choice had interested them all. He had made no further information available on who he was or of what he was capable. Lily had tried several times to make conversation because she had felt a kinship to him due to their shared appearance, that of someone who appeared to be dead. She presumed he wasn’t quite as dead as she was. He hadn’t made her a reply and so she had given up and just sat in silence for the last hour, watching the goings on of her teammates.

Dee Milo had intrigued her for the shameless way that she had attempted to entice their cameraman and chief producer, Spike Freeman. He looked on them all as if they were nothing more than projects or dollar signs but that hadn’t stopped the African-American heroine from attempting to lure him into her grasp. She had the countenance of an asp and seemed as if she could be every bit as deadly. As Dee teasingly stroked the producers arm, Pierre Truffaut watched with distaste. The French-American man had a serious belief in honour and cheating by manipulating those in power was not honourable. His frustration was clearly etched in his features but as he met Lily’s eyes, he stomped from her curious eye line. She wasn’t surrounded by the friendliest of people but she wondered if this was what all superhero teams were like. Lily doubted they would all be so clearly chasing their own vendettas.

Tike and Darian were still fighting as a hand rested on her shoulder. She turned to look into the All-American features of Axel Cluney, a former army medic who was trying to make a difference by other methods this time round.

“Is this seat taken?” He pointed at the empty cushion beside her. She shook her head and so he made himself comfortable before speaking again. “I can’t believe this is the best they could find after searching the country for twelve months.”

Lily shrugged. “Perhaps they saw something in each of them that we haven’t. Ah like to think that there’s greatness in everyone. These guys just haven’t found their footing in that whole situation just yet. It wasn’t so long ago that ah was just a normal girl myself, Doctor Cluney and ah’m sure you were normal once too.”

“That’s a very charitable way of looking at it.”

Lily sighed. “Ah learned not to judge others. Let him without sin cast the first stone, isn’t that what they say? Ah know that ah’m not without sin. Ah once wanted to kill a man with every fibre of my being.”

Axel looked intrigued. “What stopped you?”

“He got away.”

Her revelation was somewhat chilling to the doctor and he struggled to keep his fate composed. It was a shock that such a delicately fragile wallflower as Lily would have willingly taken a man’s life. Yet, it brought her statement into perspective for him. He had judged the others because of their individual frivolity and accepted her because of her quiet nature. As far as he knew, she was the only one who held murderous thoughts that by her own admission had only failed to come to fruition because her intended victim had escaped her clutches. He didn’t want to startle her by moving away from her but, almost as if fate had answered his prayers, the light above the door shone bright. It was the signal that they had each been waiting for. It meant that the game was almost ready to begin and each candidate was stepping closer to their own fate. Abruptly, Lily snapped to her feet and she looked down on him with a genuine friendliness.

“Good luck,” was her parting words as she walked away.

Spike Freeman grabbed his clipboard. “C’mon. It’s time.”

Henrietta held the microphone close as she stepped into the spotlight. “America, I welcome you to the Danger Grotto where our contestants will fight for a place on the team you want to create!”

“Fame and fortune, here I come,” laughed Dee. Since the second month of the auditions she had been in a sexual and, she hoped emotional, relationship with the chief producer for Gortin Studios, Spike Freeman. She had heard a rumour that she was going to be cut from the list of candidates and so she had acted in the only way the Brooklyn girl had known she could. Dee had always been beautiful and though her abilities had left her slightly unstable she was normally able to retain the “human form” she had held before the radiation exposure had turned her into a marvel, even when outside of her armour for short periods of time. She straightened her long black hair with her fingers as she tried to make eye contact with Spike Freeman, but he was too busy to notice her. She was gathered beside the other two female competitors, Peyton and Lily, but she saw them as no threat. No matter what their abilities, she was cocky enough to believe she was better. They didn’t look like much of a threat but no one had overly telling physical appearances. It was tedious waiting for Henrietta to finish her monologue.

“Good luck.”

Her eyes met those of Lily as Peyton characteristically rolled her eyes. There was something sweet about the innocence that the young Texan seemingly possessed. She reminded Dee of a time when she had been less jaded but things always changed when reality set in. Dee didn’t fight because she wanted to. She had learned the hard way that survival wasn’t a given, it was an option and it couldn’t be allowed to pass you by. Her elder brother had died in the exposure of the radiation. He had shielded her and her twin brother. Both had lived but only she had made it to the final stages of the competition, as friendly as anyone could present themselves. She wouldn’t be fooled into letting her guard down. She was doing this to further her own ambition as much as she was to protect Dominico’s legacy. Her smile was forced and unfriendly.

“I won’t need it.”

The klaxon sounded and every contestant did exactly as they were told. They had been informed to rush onto the Grotto at the sound and face off against the threats that waited for them. It was their moment to shine and make an impression. La Nuit, the man known as Pierre, was the first to burst from the shadows onto the sandy surface of the scene laid before them. Two sentinels towered above them. It was immediately clear that this was a team exercise and they would have to work together but La Nuit knew that the rest of his fellow contestants would never stop from their own agendas and he didn’t intend to leave his behind. He chanted in an ancient language long forgotten, even on the shores of its original home in France, and the amulet that rested around his neck began to glow with black energies that he could manipulate. La Nuit was closely followed by the others and they each thought up their own strategies for what would successfully guarantee their continuation in the process. Their sob stories had already been told in the previous half hour of the televised broadcast, now it was time to prove their worth. It was only 17 seconds in when the first contestant fell.

Optic blasts had erupted from the sentinels eyes and whilst most of the candidates had scattered from the attack, Corkscrew had paused for a moment too long. Dust and smoke cleared to reveal the pale-skinned mutant lying face first in the dirt.

Peyton, who had taken the codename of Ocean, stopped beside him to check his stats. She rested her hand on his neck and ascertained he was still alive before she dodged a blast that thrown specifically at her. She passed by La Nuit with a smirk. “Some people are just so pathetic.” Her lack of empathy wasn’t surprising. He watched as she was the first to strike out at the sentinel. Her pale skin and blonde hair shimmered with hues of blue until she revealed her true form. She was as beautiful as one of the ancient Greek sea nymphs, and every bit as deadly. Her arms shifted into water cannons and unleashed fury across the sand. It seemed almost comedic to watch her efforts amount to wet sand at the feet of the sentinels but she wasn’t done. Ocean’s eyes shone brightly as the water burst to life, dragging the sand together in her attack and knocking the sentinel from its feet.

Her victory was short lived as its brother stomped his feet on the very spot she stood. Luckily, she liquidised on time.

The Spike forced the growths from his body as Venus Dee Milo transformed into her energy form at his side. Ocean quickly reconstituted and Deadgirl helped the Californian girl to her feet. Zeitgeist stood at the forefront of the group with Anarchist directly flanking him. La Nuit pushed through them and unleashed the mystical shadow energies into the air above the walking sentinel. As the fallen sentinel stirred, Zeitgeist and Deadgirl burst into action and rushed towards it. La Nuit’s shadow balls fell from their position in the sky and seemingly created a box that trapped the sentinel from moving any further. However, it was quickly shown that La Nuit held a connection to the construction as every hit from the sentinel knocked him to his knees. It took three hits before the shield fell and exposed them all to the wrath of the sentinel.

“Venus–”

She glared at the Spike. “Don’t you dare play leader.”

Venus Dee Milo thrust herself forward as her skin rippled and dissimilated into a mass of black bubbles. Scientists had tried to quantify and examine the energy she transformed into but it was like nothing previously recorded. She never felt more free from expectation than when she was flying through the air as she was but on this occasion there was a remnant of pressure. Dee couldn’t forget that she needed to impress or she would be on the chopping line again. Sleeping with the producer wouldn’t protect her this time. As her energy came to rest around the crevices in the sentinels armour there was an explosion of electricity. She was dispersed through the air momentarily before she tumbled landed heavily on the unconscious body of Corkscrew.

“Shit.”

Ocean smirked. “Smooth.”

“Watch how it’s done, ladies,” laughed the Spike heartily. Quills produced from his shoulder blades, the strain on his face told them all that it was a painful experience. No sooner had they formed than he ripped them out with an agonising roar. Utilising all of his strength, he launched them at the oncoming sentinel and struck hard. His quills tore through the robots head. One burst through the other side while another remained lodged in the eyepiece. He turned to them cockily. “See, bruv?”

Anarchist dived, catching Ocean and La Nuit in his arms, as he tumbled to the ground. An optic blast shot from the fallen robots eyes. It caught the Spike by surprise and plastered him against the way of the Prairie Compound that he had been facing as he mocked each of them. Anarchist readied himself as he pulled the fickle Ocean to her feet. He held onto her hand even though she tried to release herself. Angrily, she glared at him as he spoke.

“I need you to get me over there.”

She snarled. “Why would I help you?”

“If you do, you’ll have been one of the heroes to take out the sentinel. Surely they’ll vote for you.”

Ocean looked almost embarrassed as he mentioned her sole motivation but she nodded and attempted to rectify the situation for the cameras. “I also took out the last one but sure. I’ll lend a hand.” She returned to her blue hued form as she stepped ahead of him, pushing La Nuit from the way with her foot. She looked back over her shoulder. “I’ll get its attention and you do what you gotta do but be quick about it.” Her hair bobbed as she rushed forward, the sentinel shot another blast but her liquid body fell to the earth as it passed over her before it reconstituted.

Anarchist accepted the distraction. His mind was on Deadgirl and Zeitgeist, he hoped they had managed to disable the other robot but as it raised its hand in the distance that seemed doubtful. As his own threat stirred, Ocean knocked it back onto its side and within his reach. It barely seemed to notice as he hopped onto its leg and made his way onto the chest where he knelt. Pressing his hands against the metalwork, it began to melt under his touch and revealed the robots inner workings. He wasn’t an engineer and had no knowledge of robotics. He couldn’t do this like a professional so he would do it like a headstrong vigilante. Anarchist grabbed handful of wires and watched them melt through his closed fingers. The whir of activity died as the sentinel fell limp.

Ocean appeared beside him. “I suppose you’re gonna say we should help them disable the other one?” Her eyes were cold and narrowed.

“That’s what heroes do.”

The Sentinel’s hand smashed down from the air before either of them could anticipate the action. Deadgirl did the only thing she could think of under such pressure. With all of her strength, she forced Zeitgeist onwards and the robots hand struck down on her. It narrowly missed him as he panted, attempting to catch his breath. There was an etching of panic across his ruggedly handsome features as he remembered the young woman who had just given her life to save him. It brought conflicted emotions out in him. He knew he should pry her body free from the sentinel hand but he needed to disable it first. Zeitgeist readied to his feet and slipped onto the robots hand. Its eyes focused on him as he attempted to rush towards its chest and energy almost caught him except he was knocked further up the robot’s arm just before it struck where he had stood. Zeitgeist looked over his shoulder and settled his eyes on the forms of Anarchist and Ocean. They nodded as they played pawn.

Reaching the shoulder, he witnessed La Nuit, the Spike, Venus Dee Milo and Corkscrew rushing towards them. He imagined each was attempting to salvage the wreckage that was their performance in the task. Somewhat nervously, Zeitgeist displayed his ability for all to see and vomited up the corrosive acid that formed in the back of his throat. He didn’t have to actively search through the robots chest as Anarchist had done. The liquid acid he had spewed ran through the machine and short circuited everything it cut through. He was knocked from where he stood as a quill struck the sentinels back and shook him off. Zeitgeist landed with a thud. He looked to up to witness Deadgirl rising from the metallic hand. Her body had passed through it like a ghost.

Spike Freeman appeared as they all gathered. “Right guys, the public vote has opened. We’ll call you back out here in an hour to hear the results. Somebody will be going home. If your name is called, I just want you to go back into the preparation room and exit as you arrived earlier. We’re not making a fuss outta the exits. You just leave so that we can get on with making the rest of the team somebodies.” He looked at them all from beneath his cap and clapped his hands together as they seemingly understood. “Excellent. Good job.”

The Sentinels and the scenario around them faded as they followed the fast talking producer.

“Johnson Tally,” Henrietta called over the arena. “You have received the fewest votes in the competition and are therefore the first of our candidates to be eliminated. Today, we say goodbye to Corkscrew.” Her face became somewhat smug as she looked towards the camera. “The 17 Second Wonder!” His body slumped forward for a moment as the realisation sat in that he had become a laughing stock to everyone who had witnessed the broadcast across America. He could only hope his tremendous failure didn’t go viral. Henrietta offered no sympathy as she turned towards the camera and pimped out the show for what was to come in the next live broadcast. The candidates were equally as unsympathetic as they watched him collect himself. Johnson quickly realised that he was no longer one of them – not that they had made much of an effort before his elimination. Silently, he did as Spike Freeman had ordered of him but the irate producer waved his arms from across the arena to emphasise the need for him to leave.

Unwanted was but one way to describe how he felt.

It wasn’t long before he was walking through the parking lot in the subbasement of the complex, his bag over his shoulder, that the borderline sociopath felt uneasy about the entire debacle. He had been used to unusual behaviour having spent the last six years of his life as a porter and attendant in a nearby mental institution but with the discovery of his abilities, so weakly shown in the previous challenge, he had hoped to do something. It wasn’t that he cared whether it was good, bad or neutral. Johnson wanted to feel something that he hadn’t felt before. His entire life always seemed so numb.

It was a three hour drive to the shack he called a home on the outskirts of Los Angeles, he sighed as he opened the boot to put his bag in.

No sooner had Johnson leaned forward than the boot crashed down on his back. It sounded a tremendous crack as he let out a whimper. It was repeated and blood squirted over the subbasement, before concluding a third time – bisecting the body of Corkscrew two thirds of the way down his back and clicked into place. His lower half fell limply to the ground.

Footsteps sounded in the silence.