Medical Bay

“Hope–“

The Bostonian was sharply suspicious. “Who are you?”

The Irish beauty attempted a smile as her emerald eyes fell onto the stoic features of the wheelchair bound student. She had arrived at the school only four hours previously, having been manhandled by Sam at the bottom of the decadent staircase in the Institute’s foyer and being tasked with the situation she was now dealing with. After a brief stint with X-Force and flunking out of the University of Miami, Theresa Rourke Cassidy had moved back home, as all X-Men did at one point or another. She adjusted the green leather jacket as she placed her hands firmly on her hips.

Her long ginger hair was drawn over her left shoulder, cascading in a series of waves across her breast. It was strange for the older mutant to have to play a role quite so maternal when she was equally, if not more, as lost as the student.

“I was gettin’ to that,” her brogue was thick. “Hope, my name is Terry and I’ll be supervising your progress to–”

Hope frowned. “I don’t want you. I want Mister Guthrie.”

“Mister Guthrie isn’t available for today’s session,” Theresa lowered herself to make direct eye contact with the girl. “Doctor Reyes has–”

“Don’t do that.”

Confusion was clear on Theresa’s freckled face. Hope’s face developed a fresher layer of coldness. The girl had had everything but her life taken from her when she had been injured at the hands of Harpoon and it was a constant struggle to get her out of the dark place that her mind had fled to for protection. Theresa had been told that Hope had once been very similar to the trait her name prescribed but she saw none of it. All she saw was a sixteen year old girl hiding behind the disability and the fear that regardless of the therapy, she might never be able to walk again. It was easy to pretend that her ability of astral projection negated the pain she felt by allowing that mobility but, in a way, Theresa saw that as worsening it.

The projections were a constant reminder of her loss. Not that the Bostonian had used her abilities since the attack of the Marauders.

“Don’t lower yourself to me. Don’t pretend that you know me. I don’t know you from Adam and I don’t want to. I agreed to do this because Mister Guthrie demanded it from me. You think I want to play this? To remind myself constantly that I’m the victim? They talk about be in the halls because I’m the girl that can’t walk. I’m the girl that was fucked up by the Marauders. Jay gets all the sympathy because he’s in a ditch somewhere and I get the pity. Well, fuck that and fuck you.”

Theresa stood. “I understand yer angry but don’t–”

“Don’t what?” she snapped. “I’m not angry, Miss Rourke Cassidy. I’m reaching apathy. I just wish you people would leave me alone.”

“Hope, please–“

“No, I want Sam.”

THE WINDMILLS OF YOUR MIND

By Gavin McMahon

Common Room

“You get it.”

“No, you get it.”

Megan hesitated for a moment. “No, you get it.”

Victor and Megan were slouched on the couch, expressions of boredom and tiredness etched across what could in better circumstances been considered attractive facial features. Baggy t-shirts, sweatpants and Megan’s hair, which was reaching new heights of messy, displayed this even further. It had begun with watching one episode of Sex and the City, which turned out to be the start of a marathon, and now – two seasons, two movies and a sleepless night later – neither was willing to do anything more than breathe and even that was a challenge. Feebly, Megan outstretched her arm to push Victor’s face further from her. She knocked the half-eaten packet of crisps to the ground and both exchanged looks of despair, knowing they would be expected to clean it. However, their attention was only shortly distracted from their primary objective of retrieving the remote from the coffee table at their feet.

“You get it.”

“No, you–“

“Oh dear god,” groaned Cessily as she hovered to the left of where Victor was sprawled on the couch. “Move it, losers.”

She swooped by them, grabbing the remote on her way and causing looks of distress to cross the sophomore students’ faces, with her red hair bobbing at every step. She was a sight to behold. It would be hard to describe Cessily Kincaid as a girl who was particularly attractive in her human form but, since her mutation transformed her into a malleable living form of mercury, she was definitely eye catching. Her personality, arrogant and catty, left a lot to be desired but honestly, she wasn’t the worst of the “popular clique” at the school, still named “the Hellions”, after some student who had left the year before Victor and Megan had even transformed into the Xavier Institute from their previous schools.

“We were watching that?” Victor muttered defiantly.

Cessily furrowed her scarlet brow, her mouth slightly ajar, as she replied. “Really? You were watching QVC? Riveting.” Her words were laced with sarcasm as she continued to flick through the television channels, settling on a geological documentary. Clearly, she was brighter than frequently given credit for. As quickly as she had arrived, she sat on the couch with a crunch. Looking down, distaste crossed her silver face. “Someone had better clean that.”

Victor shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”

“Traitor.”

“Clean it, bug.”

“It’s Pixie.”

Cessily waved her off. “Whatever.”

Begrudgingly, Megan made her first movement from the position she had sat for the last five hours. Her messy pink hair standing on end. She absently rubbed her eyes in an attempt to properly waken them, still unsure how Friday had so quickly become Saturday. Looking at the broken crisps as Cessily moved her feet, she gave a second glance towards Victor but he was focused on the documentary and clearly not willing to assist her in her chore. It was then that rumbling in her stomach began, she had felt fine until she had moved but now it seemed like she was going to–

Suddenly, a bit of vomit dribbled down her chin. Her eyes widened as she realised, to her own embarrassment, that she may have eaten more than entirely necessary.

“Oh god,” Cessily covered her nose dramatically. “If I clean this, will you leave?”

Megan shuffled a bit more.

“Go!”

Recife, Brazil

The Hawaiian suddenly felt overwhelmed.

Her stomach turned and it was a struggle not to throw up the waffles she’d eaten for her breakfast several hours before. Alani had left an ocean paradise similar to the one she had looked at and it made her homesick, but she also felt a great deal of pressure to perform as Sam believed she could. He was training the next generation of X-Men and that meant showing them every aspect of what that required. She knew she had just been randomly selected but appreciated that he had attempted to make her feel special. Alani was a student who was closely watched and monitored, unbeknownst to her, because of her volatile ability. Under the codename of Loa, she had the ability of corporal intangibility whilst disintegrating any organic substance that she passed through.

The very incident that had brought her to the attention of the Institute was enough to prove her as a dangerous mutant. Sam wanted to make sure that she could operate on a diplomatic scale as well as a battlefield.

Her serene nature had thus far given him little cause for concern. Alani hadn’t been present when the Plague Dogs had captured several of her peers and she hadn’t experienced the pain and trauma that they had. Emotionally, Alani could be considered one of the most stable students at the school. Her powers were mostly in check but until she had perfected hers skills, she would always be a concern. Beast had put a message out to watch but not micro-manage her, for fear she would reject their teachings as so many individuals had done beforehand. It was to the detriment of the school that it hadn’t been able to reign in the mutants that would later comprise several generations of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Alani did not consider her ability a threat but had she thought about it, she may have understood how others could consider her as such. Although her power set was similar to Kitty Pryde’s, they were nowhere near as benevolent.

“Buckle up,” called the soft Southern twang of her mentor over the hum of the blackbird’s engines. “We’ll be landing in five.”

Alani moved away from the window. She had been watching as they drew nearer to the capitol of Brazil and closer to the coast. Cerebro had detected a new mutant’s presence and it was her job to bring the student to the school for training and guidance.

She wanted to throw up.

Xavier Institute of Higher Learning, New York

“Kevin,” murmured the smooth tones of Doctor Sean Garrison.

He had been brought in as a school counsellor of sorts but he was much more qualified for the post than that. It was his progressive stance on human-mutant relations that had first brought him to Headmaster McCoy’s attention and he had been only too willing to do his part in the aftermath of the attacks and subsequent kidnapping of Joshua Guthrie. Kevin wasn’t as affected by the former two scenarios but Sean was astounded by how incredibly fragile the youth was.

It was probably to be expected when your mutant abilities resulted primarily, if not only, in the death of anyone or anything that you came into contact with. There was a tremendous pressure mounted in his mind. It had taken a fair amount of time to win the youth around; Kevin had been reluctant of allowing a television personality into his trust. Sean had been compared to Jeremy Springer on more than one occasion but he was more capable than most believed. He held an innate ability to understand people. It was a gift that he had never publically acknowledged. Sean believed himself to be progressive but his career and wealth meant a lot to him.

“Come in and make yourself at home.”

The office space at the Institute was dingy and incomparable to his personal space in his Manhattan high-rise. He saw the end goal of his slumming and that allowed him to get through the two days a week that he spent at the school. He would happily have spent much less if given the opportunity but Sean found the method in his madness to be worth the long haul. Still, with his television currently on hiatus between seasons, he had found the time to spare when approached by the Beast. Most men of his profession would have found the value in helping individuals such as Kevin but, although there was no monetary gain, Sean’s interests lay far beyond helping people. Not to say that he didn’t find the traumatic histories of the students at the Institute to be wildly entertaining.

He smiled, gnawing on the pen lid as he looked over from his dimly lit desk. “I was told that you wanted to see me. I don’t have you scheduled until tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Kevin hovered silently in the doorway.

“You know how this works, Kevin. It will go a lot quicker if you take a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”

He shuffled forward. “It’s the dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” the psychiatrist reminded him. “It’s a memory and you have to confront it to overcome it.” Sean refrained from rolling his eyes at the clichéd words that rolled off his tongue in a monotonous New England accent.

“But–”

“You killed your father and it cannot be undone. We can only move forward and take the measures set up by Doctor McCoy and the staff here.”

They were disturbed by a knock on the door as it slowly creaked open. In walked a redhead in various shades of green and yellow as she spoke. “Apologies, but I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you, Doctor Garrison?”

“Of course,” he murmured as he followed her from the room, pausing only to speak with his client. “I’ll be just a moment, Kevin.”

“I’m Terry Rourke Cassidy. I’m a teacher here, sorta. I was just with Hope Abbott and she’s bein’ incredibly nonresponsive. I was told by Sam to come to ye if I couldn’t make any sort of head way?”

Sean nodded. “Leave it with me, Terry. I see her in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

As the Irish teacher departed, the psychiatrist returned to the dark gloominess of his office to continue the discussion of Kevin’s latest breakdown.

“Open this door, Nori.”

David pounded his fist on the solid oak for a third time but there was still no avail. He hadn’t seen her in three days.

“Hello, David.”

Sooraya Qadir, hidden behind the dark abaya and niqāb, answered the door. Her voice was accented and quiet, she spoke in little more than a whisper. David had never met anyone as passively submissive as the young woman that now stood in the doorway but he was also certain that this was the most he had conversed with her in the two years he had spent at the school. The Muslim was normally hidden in the bedroom, only communicating with Noriko and he was equally as aware that his other half, a staunch feminist actively rebelling against the customs of her own family in Osaka, didn’t hold the girl in high regard. Still, her very presence seemed to soothe his mind. In that moment he knew that, even though she was holding him at arm’s length, Noriko wasn’t alone.

“I think Noriko does not want visitors.”

He shrugged. “I’m not just anyone, Sooraya.”

“I know but in these days, she has wanted her privacy.” Her words were slightly jumbled as she formed a sentence in a language not native to her.

He adjusted his glasses.

“Please, I just want a minute–”

Sooraya’s hazel eyes focused sympathetically on the African-American’s distraught face. She felt for him but to wrong Noriko would have been a mistake that she was unwilling to take. Normally, she would have simply accepted that the Japanese youth was rude and abrasive with a tendency to make unsavoury choices, such as the romantic dalliance with the boy that stood ahead of her now outside of wedlock, but something was different. Noriko hadn’t left the bathroom for more than three minutes in the last few days and the food brought to her door each day was always taken away uneaten. For some unimaginable reason, the Arabian mutant was concerned.

Still, David could not enter. She shook her head as she closed the door, immediately turning to face the closed door ahead of her.

“Noriko,” Sooraya whispered at the bathroom door. “Please, perhaps talking–”

“Fuck off.”

Recife, Brazil

“This is a bit too close to Shark Week for comfort.”

Sam ignored her nervous rambling. At sixteen, he had been very similar to Alani and he had just needed someone to prod him in the right direction. She wasn’t being thrown into the deep end. Granted, Sam hadn’t known how volatile the new mutant was going to be but he was assured that Alani had enough control over her abilities to leave the situation unscathed. Thrashing in the water, thirty yards from where they currently stood on the beach, was a humanoid shark. Blood was clear on the water but the authorities had told them that no one was killed. One boy had very almost lost an arm but he was expected to survive. Not wanting to unsettle Alani, Sam had kept that information quiet. The Hawaiian would protect herself if the worst came to pass but the aim was to prevent injury to either mutant.

He smiled. “At least you haven’t seen Jaws.”

Alani’s widened eyes said all that he needed to know.

“Come on, we have to get this started before this gets out of hand. What are your objectives?”

Alani turned to him. “I have to observe her movements as I get closer and then I need to gain the upper hand of the situation and force her back to land without disintegrating her or anyone else in the water.”

“Good. I’ll give you a lift.”

Cannonball caught the student in his arms as they burst into the air, using his ability to project chemical energy to enable flight. As they flew over the danger zone, he loosened his grip and Loa felt the air pressing against her as she fell through the sky. Bracing herself and allowing the familiar tingling sensation to surge through her body, Loa collided with the water with no force. Her body was intangible until she solidified in the blue abyss. Her brown hair hovered around her face as she turned to look for the shark. Her given costume was similar to wetsuit worn by divers, but it was cut short at the arms and legs to allow her to move. The tattoos that stretched her skin, additional side effect of her mutation, make the young woman striking and vivid.

Easy prey for the shark that now launched from beneath her.

Fear rushed over her but she remembered what she had been told. This was not a monster. This was Iara dos Santos, a former environmental activist. Loa swam rapidly from her path as the woman, who had been transformed into a Great White Shark, burst through the surface of the water. It took Iara seconds to recover but Loa was already on track. In the watery element of the ocean, the shark-mutant would always have the upper hand but Loa needed to break the creature from its element. Her flurried attempts to swim caught the attention of her target, and the chase began. However, as suspected, the shark rapidly began to close in on the terrified Hawaiian who suddenly felt more out of her comfort zone than she would have considered imaginable.

Still, she swam on.

Her eyes shot skyward as she noted Cannonball hovering above her, supervising and ready to step in. He fell back slightly and she realised the shark must have been drawing near. Gracefully, Loa threw her body backwards in an underwater backflip and the shark surged underneath her. Quickly, she latched her hands onto the young woman and rode forward several feet, despite the mutant’s attempts to dislodge her. When opportune, Loa allowed herself to be thrown and she was thrust forward through the water until she had the advantage again.

The sand came closer to the swimmer until she could touch it and the student grabbed at it to pull herself out of the water. Her back to the beach, she turned to face the gnashing jaws of the shark that tore free from the watery depths. In fear, Loa outstretched her hand and closed her eyes as the creature attacked.

She felt nothing.

Opening her eyes, Loa witnessed Cannonball wrangling with the mutant in the distance. He arms were around her as the creature shifted through several stages until they both collapsed. Loa rushed over, thankful he had intervened and terrified about how the outcome could have be different.

“What did I tell you?” He accused.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yer lucky I always had it under control.”

Alani panted, embarrassed at the reprimand, as she looked over the Brazilian who had returned to a human form.

“I think you should come with us, Shark Girl.”

Xavier Institute of Higher Learning

“I can’t stand her.”

Megan shrugged. “At least we didn’t have to clean it.”

“Victor.”

The reptilian mutant and his fae partner-in-crime turned with eager eyes at the sound of his name. The two were quickly asserting themselves as a pair, having been referred to as Laurel and Hardy or worse, by none other than Santo, Will & Grace. Still, neither was upset to see who had addressed the former. Dallas was a sight for sore eyes, not that their sleep deprived gaze absorbed much of the information around them. His lightly tussled honey coloured hair, dancing blue eyes and the slight peak at his muscular physique beneath the loosely fitting grey tank top. He pulled an earphone from his ear as he approached, giving the winged mutant a curt nod in lieu of knowing her name. The junior seemed to think it sufficed because he made no further acknowledgement of her before turning to Victor.

“I’ll catch you later.” Exchanging a look of curiosity, Megan attempted to brush a hand through her frizzy, unmanageable cotton candy pink mane and walked down the hallway with a yawn.

Victor smiled. “That’s Megan.”

“Pretty,” Dallas replied absently. “You seem to be doing a lot better than you were the other day? Although, you look like you got up on the wrong side of the bed.” He playfully punched Victor’s shoulder. “No offence, of course.”

“We didn’t sleep. I am doing better. I’ve been keeping to myself mainly, I haven’t seen you around as much–”

“Oi bum boy.”

Victor shrugged. “And speak of the Devil.”

Santo towered above them. The student who had long since been the definition of the term bullying, established doing his earliest stint as a member of Julian Keller’s Hellions.

“How about you just mosey on down the hall there, Vaccarro? There’s a good boy,” Dallas said before the rocky giant could continue.

“How about you remember your place, God boy. I’m talking to the snake boy.”

He laughed. “Well, talk to someone who cares. Probably back in Boston since I doubt there’s anyone here matching that description.”

Santo postured, emphasising the height and jaggedness of his mutant form, and grinned widely. However, Dallas was not so quick to retreat. Tensing his muscles and clenching his fists, the South Carolinian had an opaque flash in his eyes as a black liquid form moulded across his body creating and outline before exploding into the shape of a terrifying monster. Victor, unfortunately screamed, but Rockslide merely stepped back once or twice. Laughing, the Italian-American Mountain walked off.

Dallas returned to a more presentable form as he faced Victor, his smile crooked. “Sorry if I scared you.”

Attempting to reclaim the dignity lost from his previous scream, Victor laughed. “Nah, I’m all good. It was just–” He paused. “What was that?”

“I’m a shadowcaster, more or less. I have an entire world in my head,” laughed the leading member of the Mutant Christian Union. “It gives Idie endless amusement about how I’m a pathway to hell.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.”

“It’s a lot less exciting than that, Vic. It’s just a lot of black nothingness that I can call forward,” said Dallas. “It’s not like I have a timeshare.”

Victor looked blankly.

“It was a joke.”

“Oh–“

Dallas placed a hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go, buddy. I promised Melly I’d meet her before prayer group. I’ll see you round.”

“Bye,” said Victor, watching him leave but wishing he’d stay. It immediately clear what was going on in the reptilian mutants head, and it came as little surprise that he was more different than most. No one in the Borkowski family could be accused to doing things by halves.

“Look, forget her.”

He was aghast. “That’s really compassionate, Laurie. Thank you.”

Describing Laurie as exasperated with the drama that surrounded David and Noriko Show would have been an understatement. Normally quit and willing, her temper was quickly becoming frayed as they exacted some romantic breakdown that even Jane Austen couldn’t have imagined. Her mind was on the real problem, and she believed they should all be more concerned about the missing Joshua Guthrie. He had been taken by the sadistic Mister Sinister and god knows what he was enduring, if he was even still alive. With Cannonball and Husk on staff, and half of the other Guthrie children enrolled in the school, the missing youth remained a priority and they would search until they found a corpse but Laurie’s heart continued to sink at his memory and she was disgusted that the petty affairs of Noriko’s self-imposed exile seemed to take precedent in the minds of her friends.

“She’s being a drama queen,” snapped the blonde. “You know what they say, don’t feed the troll.”

“Watch it–”

“No.”

Her voice was shrill as she met David’s gaze directly.

“You watch it. Joshua is missing. He could be dead!” She took a second to catch her breath as she attempted to conduct herself in a more ladylike manner. Her good breeding collapsed to the wayside as an emotional volcano exploded from the young woman with the ability to manipulate the chemical reactions of pheromones. Laurie’s gave of the slight yellow tint of her active power. “Everyone is acting as if none of this happened. Sofía walked out on us. Josh and Julian fucked off. We’re all that’s left. Everything and everyone is falling apart and all you care about is that selfish, good for nothing blue haired bitch!”

David felt crippled. He dropped onto his knees as tears flooded from his eyes. “Laurie–” Yet, his words did not reach her.

“I know that everyone leaves but this is different. We have to care, we have to remember.” Her anger and upset rushed to the surface as Prodigy gasped for air, unable to breath amidst his heavy crying. “I will–”

“Yo Collins.”

Santo’s arms caught the blonde by the waist and hoisted her into the air. Mascara laced tears now running across her flushed cheeks. The yellow tint of her eyes dimmed as she looked into the rocky face of her classmate, one of the few mutants who remained unaffected by her abilities given his hardened exterior armour. She was immediately surprised by the look of compassion in his eyes as she attempted to catch her own breath, barely noticing David’s attempts to get to his feet or that her loss of control had floored several other students in the hallway. Still, Santo held her firmly in his arms as she silently. It had been a long time since they had been Hellions, broken up by the disappearance of Julian Keller.

“It’s okay, Blondie. Who says you’re alone?”

His voice was gravelly but comforting, even if he did sound like Bugsy Malone with his thick Italian-American influenced accent.

“I think perhaps you and I should have a chat.”

Both turned to see the psychiatrist, Doctor Garrison.

“It’s aight, doc. She was just a bit upset. We’re all cool now.”

Sean dismissed him. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. If you could come with me, miss.” He turned as Laurie was loosened from Rockslide’s grasp and marched onward.

David stepped forward. “Laurie, I’m–”

“Forget it, David,” she said as she walked off. “Forget me.”

Undisclosed Location

He was silent.

It had been weeks since Joshua had been taken from the relative comfort of the Xavier Institute and as much as he hadn’t wanted to be there, he wanted to be rotting in the rocky underground cell even less. The Marauders that had attacked them continued to flurry in and out of the caverns, all heading up what he believed to be individual terrorist cells located across the world. Mister Sinister was a man with many fingers in many pies but it was the calm, cool composure he presented that most frightened the red-winged Joshua. He longed for the days when his biggest concern had been Jebediah screwing with the tuning of his guitar or Joelle stealing from his room. Now, he was captive to one of the X-Men’s oldest foes and he had no idea what he was meant to do.

His life had been unlived. He thought of his family, of Julia, and even of Laurie as he pressed his back against the cold rocks that had become his home and his fortress from the sights that occurred in the laboratory. Joshua may have heard the screaming but he no longer felt the need to see it as the experimentations were carried out. It pressed the notion that, at some point, his time would come. It further instilled horror in him as he realised that there was no method to his capture – it seemed to be luck of the draw.

It was then that he heard the call from the laboratory, the melodic tones of the man behind the entire operation, Mister Sinister.

“Do not cry, Icarus. The beginning is always the most frightening.”

He screamed.

Next: We step through time as #7 takes us to the aftermath of “Black Magik” in Astonishing X-Men, and we discover just what makes Pixie who she is and how she deals with what she has become.