Two sentries dressed from head to toe in sophisticated armor stood guard. The building was quite large, and our hero stared up to spot the summit, but it stretched high into the clouds. Loose locks of blond hair fell over his crystal-blue eyes as he carefully took stock of his situation. Each sentry held a spear with a blade made of energy.

He moved his head back so the large transport he crouched behind completely hid his presence from the sentries. His hands moved beneath the faded, waist-length leather jacket he wore. Beneath the jacket were a series of small throwing knives, his weapon of choice. He slid his hands out, and three knives were held between the fingers of each closed fist.

Without a thought as to the risks or his own safety, he leapt into the air and landed on the transport. The sentries both turned to look at him in surprised. He smiled at them and then leapt again, this time flipping in the air as the blades left his fingertips. Three blades struck their mark in the weak spots of each sentry’s armor, and their lifeless bodies fell to the floor. He landed gracefully in a crouch, his arms spread out as if wings were attached, and his coat floating behind him briefly like a cape. He brought himself up to his full height of six-foot-four and brushed a few strands of blond hair from his eyes.

“Looks like your shift’s over,” he said and his right eye flashed a bright glow of yellowish-orange energy. He knelt down by one of the sentries and he pulled a keycard off of the sentry’s belt. He slid the keycard into the slot and the red light turned green. With a hiss of air, the pressurized doors to the building automatically slid open.

Our hero slowly made his way inside. It was dark and dank. His flashing left eye was the only source of light for him and fortunately, it provided him with the means to see in the dark. He came to an intersection in the hallways. He had one of three choices to go – left, right, or forward.

First he glanced in each direction briefly, his eye flashing as he did. He quickly moved down the right hall and continued on his journey. He saws lining each wall—doors which led to holding cells. It was a penitentiary for political prisoners. The empire didn’t like dissolution in the ranks. He cared nothing for it, he had a job to do, and he would be paid handsomely for it.

He stopped at one of the cells and slid the keycard inside. The red light turned green and the door opened up. He stepped inside and a young woman with raven hair reaching down to her shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a firm, slender body looked up from the bed she lay on. Her clothing left very little to the imagination, and the pose she struck was an alluring one.

“I see you took the long way,” she said to him.

“You know me,” he said, flashing a hundred-watt smile as his eyes admired her form. “I love the scenic route.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” she said. She stood from the bed and stormed past him. Before she could take another step, the lights in the hall suddenly turned on to full brightness. Five armored sentries stood between the two of them and the way out.

“You know what I hate?” said the young man. “When people not only show up uninvited—but where’s the courtesy of at least knocking first?”

His hands once again traveled beneath his jacket and he produced two fistfuls of throwing knives. He slowly stepped forward, his body stuck in a dramatic pose as the five guards circled him. The young woman he had just rescued pressed her back up against the wall, her bosom heaving out and her lips parting slightly in fear.

“Oh no, what now?” she asked.

“Now it’s time to take out the trash, baby,” he replied. One of the sentries charged forward and he leapt above him. His feet crashed down on the sentry’s head, forcing him to the ground. He delivered a high kick to another sentry, and as he fought one, the others just stood and watched, waiting for their turn.

His hands moved in a rapid flurry, and a series of quick cuts and close-ups on his fingers was all the audience could see. In the next shot, he stood triumphant, his eye glowing, and his enemies scattered around him. The young woman ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped one arm around her slender waist and pulled her body close to his.

“You were amazing!” she exclaimed.

“Baby, it’s all in a day’s work for the guy they call Longshot!”

He looked at the camera with that hundred-watt smile and his eye glowing. The words “LONGSHOT” appeared across the monitor and at the bottom of the screen was text that read, “A MOJOVISION PRODUCTION.”

MOJOVISION

Part I: Longshot

By Dino Pollard

London

Deep beneath the streets of London were the sprawling mass of underground tunnels. At once, these tunnels were home to a society of mutants called Morlocks who could not pass as human above ground. So they retreated into the sewers.

Until they were massacred by a group of mutant assassins called the Marauders.

The X-Men came to the aid of the Morlocks, but they were too late. The Morlocks were all but extinct, and the X-Men suffered casualties as well. Colossus and Beast were both heavily injured, although now both were feeling fine. Nightcrawler, however, still remained in a coma and Shadowcat remained stuck in her phased state, unable to solidify or even speak. In addition, the X-Men’s leader, Wolverine, was now gone.

For Hank McCoy, the experience was far from a pleasant one. Since his time with the X-Men, he has suffered much tragedy. His girlfriend was killed by a member of the Weapon X organization and after being beaten within an inch of his life and left for dead, his body began to mutate in order to heal. Now, he found himself with enhanced strength and speed, he had developed fangs, and a coat of thick blue fur now covered his body. Now, his codename truly fit him more than ever.

Weeks have passed since the Morlock massacre. The bodies had been removed and given a proper ceremony. With the disappearance of Wolverine, Cyclops had taken control of the team. It was his decision to remain in these tunnels, but he first consulted Hank as well as Jean on it. Jean was initially opposed to the idea, but Hank supported it.

“Are you sure about this?” Jean had asked. “We all know how…”

“You can say it, Jean,” said Hank. “How the Marauders tortured me, right? Simply for pleasure.”

Jean had offered no response, but she avoided Hank’s eyes.

“Hank… no one suffered more in these tunnels than you did,” said Scott. “No one will hold it against you if you want to leave England.”

“No, I have to be here,” said Hank. “I want to be here. Besides, where else would we go? We’re wanted outlaws in the States, Avalon is probably overrun by SHIELD agents, and we don’t have access to whatever contacts Logan may have had. At least here we can stay under the radar. The Morlocks were able to do it for years, so why can’t we?”

“You’re right,” said Scott. “I also spoke to Dr. Reyes. She said she’d be willing to help us in any way she can for the time being.”

“Which for the time being means looking after Kurt until he comes out of his coma,” said Jean. Scott nodded.

It was a good plan, Hank had decided. He knew it was, and despite what… reservations he may have had, he felt it truly was something he had to grow accustomed to. Ever since he joined the X-Men, people have been trying to kill him. The world was a very dangerous place, and how better to remind him of that fact than to remain in the place where he came closest to death?

Hank snapped his mind out of the past and brought himself back into the present. He walked through the tunnels, and in one of the enclosures, he saw a large man with skin made of steel chipping away at a block of stone with his bare hands.

“Peter?” he asked.

“Hello Beast,” replied Peter. “Interesting look for you.”

“It takes some getting used to,” said Hank, referring to the blue fur on his body.

“Nice to see you up and about,” said Peter.

“You and me both,” said Hank. “…what are you doing?”

“Chiseling,” replied Peter.

“Well yes, I can see that,” said Hank. “But what are you chiseling?”

“I’m creating a memorial for the fallen,” said Peter. He stepped back from the stone and with a scrape of metal against metal, dusted his hands off. Hank cringed from the sound. “Sorry.”

“So a sculpture to honor the Morlocks?” asked Hank.

“Yes,” replied Peter. “Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be an artist. My father discouraged it, of course. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and join the family business. Much like my brother, Mikhail… the good son.”

“And I take it he wasn’t too happy when he found out his son was a mutant,” said Hank.

“You might say that,” said Peter. “I didn’t join Mystique’s Brotherhood because I wanted to kill humans, Hank—I joined out of necessity. For protection. And, at the time, it was the only way I knew to help my kind.”

“Protection?” asked Hank. “You can bench-press a semi, why would you need protection from your father’s people?”

“Maybe protection is the wrong word,” replied Peter. “More like… acceptance.”

“Oh.”

“These poor souls… they had nothing,” said Peter. “They harmed no one. But they were killed. Even more, they weren’t killed because they were mutants. They weren’t killed for some greater cause. They were just slaughtered by their own kind in exchange for money.”

“That’s the way the world works,” said Hank. “People backstabbing other people to get what they want. It happens every day.”

“I’m not naïve, Hank, I know that,” said Peter. “But just because I know it doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

“You’re starting to sound like an idealist,” said Hank.

“And you, like a pessimist.”

“Not at all, I just prefer to live in reality,” said Hank. He paused and turned away. “I’ll leave you to your artwork.”

“You do that.”

Hollywood

“WHAAAAT?! WHATWHATWHAT?!?”

“Oh I’m sorry, did I stutter?” asked Longshot. He tilted his chair back, resting it on its back legs, with his feet propped up on the table before him. He held a bag of peanuts in his hand and one by one, tossed them back into his mouth. Each one landed in perfectly.

“You… want… WHAT?!”

“To renegotiate my contract,” said Longshot. “I’m not getting any percentage off these merchandising profits, and frankly, my lawyer says I’m getting screwed.”

The man Longshot sat facing was a blubbery sort of fellow. He was dressed in a suit that did nothing to hide the massive rolls of fat he had. His skin was a yellowish color and his hair consisted of multicolored dreadlocks. His entire upper body shifted like a lava lamp whenever he moved. He sat in an odd chair of sorts, with spider-like legs that served as wheels. This was Mojo, executive producer of the Longshot television series and CEO of MojoVision. Standing behind Mojo was his personal assistant, Domo. A tall, thin man who served the sole purpose of being Mojo’s “yes-man.”

“You… are a genetic construct!” exclaimed Mojo. “You don’t get a lawyer!”

“I find that comment highly offensive,” said Longshot. “I may be a genetic construct, but I’m still a human being!”

“…no you’re not!” exclaimed Mojo. “If you were a human being you wouldn’t be a genetic construct, but you are a genetic construct, which means you’re not a human being! You can’t be both a genetic construct and a human being, that’s not how it works! Either you’re a genetic construct or you’re a human being and since you’re a genetic construct that means you’re a genetic construct and not a human being!”

“If I may, o gargantuan one, I believe you’ve had one too many espresso shots today,” said Domo.

“Don’t you tell me when I’ve had too much espresso!” exclaimed Mojo. “I can never have too much espresso, because there’s no such thing as too much espresso and even if there were sucha thing as too much espresso I wouldn’t have too much of it because I’m immune to the effects of caffeine and sugar, it’s part of my mutant power!”

“No it’s not, your whaleness,” said Domo. “Your mutant power is your lack of a spine.”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Domo?! I didn’t think so, now get me another espresso before I lose my temper again! Do you understand me, you little shit?! I want my espresso and I want it ten minutes ago and if I don’t get my espresso, I get very anxious and very moody and very angry and then I start cancelling people! So, do we understand each other?!”

“Yes, your blubberyness,” said Domo with a sigh. He took a bottle from the nearby table and opened a small compartment on the back of Mojo’s chair. He poured the espresso into it. The chair delivered the espresso straight to Mojo’s veings.

“Ahhhh…” said Mojo. “…what were we talking about?”

“My contract,” said Longshot.

“Oh yeah, of course!” said Mojo. “No renegotiation, you’ll continue operating under your present contract.”

“Don’t make me sic the union on your fat ass!” exclaimed Longshot.

“Did you hear what he said to me, Domo?” asked Mojo. “Did you hear that? Did you hear what he called me? Did you? DID YOU?!”

“Yes, sir,” said Domo. “He called you a fat ass.”

“See, that’s what I thought I heard!” said Mojo. “That’s slander and I don’t have to stand for it! I expect a written apology signed in blood before we have any more talk about contract renegotiations!”

“Actually, elephantine one, they’ve now prohibited blood signatures,” said Domo.

“Well what the crap!” exclaimed Mojo. “Where’s the fun in that?! Alright alright alright fine! We’ll play it your way! Just the apology, no bloodletting, and then we’ll talk. Deal?”

“…no!” exclaimed Longshot.

“Domo, did he just say no to me?” asked Mojo.

“I believe he did, sir,” replied Domo.

“NOBODY SAYS NO TO MOJO!!” he exclaimed. “GET OUT OF MY OFFICE BEFORE I CALL SECURITY!!”

“This isn’t over, lardbutt,” said Longshot. He stood from his chair and walked out the door. Mojo sighed.

“Domo… what have I done to deserve this treatment?”

“Well, there is the matter of how you constantly negotiate contracts which solely benefit you and no others, you treat your employees like dog turds, you cut corners to save yourself money, you place your actors in life-threatening situations, you don’t observe proper safety proced—”

“Hey, if I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you!” exclaimed Mojo. He sighed and his face shifted to one of sadness. “What am I gonna do, Domo? Longshot’s not doing so hot in the ratings anymore, people are getting sick of him! We need something new and fresh for this series! We need… we need… we need we need we need…”

“More drama?” asked Domo.

“Shut the hell up, Domo, I’m trying to think!” replied Mojo. “No, we don’t need that, we need… what is it we need… it’s not violence… no… DRAMA!! We need drama!! And more of it! And how do we get drama? We bring in sex!! And lots and lots of sex! That’s the ticket, Domo! I’m a genius!”

“Sir, if I may, the show already has quite a bit of sex in it,” said Domo. “Longshot sleeps with a different heroine every week.”

“No, not that kind of sex, we need the drama kind of sex!” exclaimed Mojo. “We need…”

“A regular female lead?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed Mojo. “Wait… I’ve got it. What we need… is a regular female lead! Right?”

“I–yes sir, that sounds like a great idea.”

“Of course it’s a great idea because I thought of it!” exclaimed Mojo. “Damn, I’m a genius!”

“You are.”

“Now then… who do we get to play the female lead…” muttered Mojo.

“We can begin auditioning actresses,” said Domo.

“No, that won’t boost ratings, we need someone recognizable!” exclaimed Mojo. He thought for a moment and then suddenly perked up with a snap of his fingers. “Of course!”

“What is it?” asked Domo.

“You remember that singer who disappeared?” asked Mojo. “She was a mutant or something.”

“Ah yes,” replied Domo. “Ali Blaire.”

“That’s right, find me Ali Blaire!” exclaimed Mojo. “She’s the one I want, she’d be perfect! People would tune in for her triumphant return to the world of media and her acting debut, and they’ll stay for the drama and interaction between her and Longshot! It’s perfect!”

“Of course it is, sir,” said Domo.

“Get me Spiral immediately!” exclaimed Mojo. “I don’t wanna waste another minute, we’ve gotta get the talent scouts all over this girl!”

“You mean the warwolves, sir?”

“Shhhh!!” exclaimed Mojo. “They’re talent scouts, Domo! Warwolves sounds so… evil.”

“You thought up the name, sir.”

“Of course I did, that’s because it’s genius,” said Mojo. “Now, I want Ali Blaire on my casting couch and I want her here yesterday!”