MightyHorus

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

Duncan nodded. "Right, something to keep the fire going." Anything flammable that wasn't fuel was preferable. Not just because of the volatility of the stuff, but the smell that would linger here. He wondered if the ventilation was working at all, or if this was truly a death trap when it came to the oxygen availability.

Either way, he much preferred to be outside right now. "Ill go look for something we can burn." He muttered, grabbing his briefcase and making his way to the broken sign that was supposed to indicate an emergency exit. He didn't expect anyone to join him - the way most of the group thought of him it was a wonder they had come here with him at all.

The emergency exit led to a safety gallery. A smaller tunnel parallel to the main tunnel where, unfortunately, the lights weren't working either. The tunnel stretched further than the construction area they resided in, although the darkness made it hard to discern how far it went. Duncan stared in the distance for a moment, then went the other way. To what he presumed was leading outside.

Halfway through the tunnel, he found a spot where light seeped in through cracks in the low ceiling. There, he stopped to open his briefcase. Inside were mundane items, save for a laptop and a smooth white case the size of an Ipad. The case displayed 5 softly glowing bars of light on the side. Two red, three green. He studied it for a moment, then let out a sigh of a relief. The thing was still intact, it seemed.

Gently, he placed his hand on the flat surface of the case. A soft red light emanated from his hand, then a sharp click followed. The case slid open. "Please be there. Be there." He mumbled to himself.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

Duncan had followed the news on the cracked screen of his phone until he'd lost connection in the tunnel. While he was quite grateful for Nathaniel's planned refuge, he didn't like the place one bit. It had one way in and only one way out. That, and the darkness was a severe obstacle for his mutation to overcome.

"Careful with that though." Duncan said. "I've heard of enough car engines who have gotten the better of people." He'd seen the reports before. Desperate people who had seen their garage as a good final destination. "Unless you drive electric?" he glanced back, brow furrowed.

Duncan strolled over to the containers on the side, squinting to try and identify the equipment in the darkness. There were some things he recognized, most notably a set of construction lamps that looked like they had seen better days. With some difficulty, Duncan freed them from the cluttered objects. "Can you get these working Errol?" He called out as he studied them. "I think they've got batteries at least." That would solve their most pressing issue.

As for a way to keep warm, that was their next big challenge. "Clementine-" He hated having to ask her. He didn't trust her to use her abilities properly. While what happened was Noa's fault, she'd been right about one thing. Clementine was extremely unpredictable. "Can you produce some sort of heat? Try to heat up the food or something." He'd seen the deluxe package of sausages among the food, and knew from experience that you couldn't really mess up that type of meat substitute.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

He hated those outbursts. They were unbecoming of him, as he rarely if ever raised his voice. But this trainwreck family somehow always managed to get him there. His anger simmered down as quick as it came. He swiped a hand through his hair and let out a sigh to somewhat regain his composure. Errol was quick to jump on him again though.

“Someone with your abilities shouldn’t feel threatened by guns Errol. Stunning them would’ve been just as effective and caused much less grief.” It pained him to think that the sorrow he felt over their deaths was likely greater than Errol’s. Innocent people had gotten hurt too. Had he not seen that? “It’s not about your conscience being clear.” He said, exasperated. “It’s about their perception. You, a hated minority, let loose in a busy street. People died in the process. The media won’t hesitate to frame us as the aggressors. That warrants action. A manhunt that will stop at nothing until you’re caught and plead guilty.” He paused, then added “if you’re ever going to take my word for anything, it should be this. They have the means to put you down. And you’ve given them an excellent reason to use it, even if unfairly provoked.”

Tiredness set in, marked by stiffening muscles and the faint awareness of the air-conditioning blowing against his damp shirt. He was still expecting some quip or boastful comment from Errol, and that alone would be enough for Duncan to consider his half-brother lost. Duncan wondered if he knew how subtly he had used his influence to stop the NYPD from opening an investigation against Acosta’s crimes for all these years now. More, Duncan wondered if he knew about the financial support, he had been giving Sinead Acosta since Giovanni had destroyed her life.

The remainder of the trip went quietly and he was happy for it. He needed the time to collect his thoughts. To try and predict why the U-men had gone after them specifically, in the middle of the street. Where had they gotten those resources from? More importantly, how had they known he was going to be there? The Owl had an informant, he was certain of that. But who knew enough about there whereabouts and relations to plan this?

Giovanni came to mind, but that was something he quickly dismissed again. This was way too overt for Corleone. Then who?
He was rudely shaken out of his thoughts by the hard stop Noa made. He made a mental note not to let her drive again just as Errol cried out something in Spanish. Duncan glanced over his shoulder to check on Clementine, and instead found himself wondering why he caught his half-brother smirking.

The driver's shift in tone was why. He had calmed down since his own outburst, and there was no strength in his bones left to reignite that anger again. Instead, he decided not to bother with it at all. He spoke dismissively, like a parent who was done dealing with their way too dramatic children in their car's backseat. No one knew Clem could do that? "Well wellcome to foster care. I'm sure you'd be great at it. Ready for everything and all." Why he knew an awful lot about the U-men? "You tend to learn who's out there when you try to actively contribute to mutant wellbeing. Try it some time."

The low blow struck at his family was usually not enough to get under his skin. People tried that all the time. Bringing it up in debates. Trying to goad him during conflicts and missions. Yet this time, more so out of annoyance than anger, it did earn her a resentful look. At least she had his attention now. "Careful now" was all he said. She decided not to be.

His left forearm blazed up, releasing the energy of the 'red' he had stitched his wounds with. At it's core, kinetic energy was displacement times required force. Half the object's mass, times velocity squared. With his ability, he could grasp those concepts. He could pour an obscene amount of kinetic energy into the imaginary red mass, with the equations always balancing. High force and little displacement made for destructive impacts, while high displacement and little force could harmlessly make target hit by 'red' move. Similarly, greater mass made for more stable and powerful constructs, while higher velocity made for faster and more dangerous projectiles. Practice had made him better at combining those equations. Like shaping 'red' to take on high velocity and high force to make it explosive. Yet that was barbaric to use against human beings. So he chose displacement to make his point.

In the same heartbeat as blazing up, the red on his forearm sparked like a firecracker in Noa's direction. Purely loaded with momentum to pass on, the sparks that reached the door made it immediately burst from its hinges with a sickening crunch. Fortunately for Noa, she wasn't bolted down. In her case, the sparks would imbue her with momentum that'd throw her through the newly made opening and cause her to land a good three parking spots away. All before anyone would be able to blink.

"She's right about going outside, we have to keep moving and all." Duncan said as calmly as he could muster. He half expected Errol to taser him through the chair, so he made his way out with haste.

He found Nathaniel waiting for them. "Are you sure? Infighting is what we do best." Duncan remarked, glancing in the direction where he'd thrown Noa off too. "Although I suppose therapy would be a more elegant way to get these things off our chests." Recognizing that his meddling would only create more resistance, Duncan chose to stay silent and let Nathaniel take the lead. In no time, they were on the road.

"I don't know much about the East coast, but I doubt they'll look for us in Jersey." If their assailants were New York locals, they'd definitely take issue with setting foot in Jersey. "So good choice." Duncan anxiously checked his phone again. Now in this shit show would be a really good time for Alba to reply. They could use all the help they could get.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

The engine roared as the truck sped up to a destination away from here. Duncan doubted it'd be much safer, no matter where they'd go. Still bleeding, he took place in the backseat and glanced at the road before them. "My god woman, what's with the caution?" Duncan remarked angrily. "You're French, so drive like one." In all his visits to France, he had never seen a single one of them drive responsibly.

He made an attempt to open the briefcase that was now in his lap, but the blood on his hands made it too slippery. Duncan cursed under his breath and let his power flare up. The wounds on his arms and torso began to glow as he looked at them, until he was covered by bright red marks. It was a technique he had developed - using his power to create small kinetic barriers that stopped bleeding better than any scabs would.

"Looking after her?!" He forced his way past Errol to the front passenger seat so Errol could take his place in the back. "Not only did this fucking friend of yours get her shot, she let her kill someone! You call that looking out?" He'd trusted her with Clementine. Never again. "You'll get three days once this is over." Duncan growled at Noa. "If you're not out of Clementine's life by then, you'll get to find out firsthand why Giovanni Corleone avoids Scandinavia."

He was fully prepared for violence as he made another attempt to open the briefcase. Even from Errol - despite him being busy enough with Clementine to likely miss the last remark. Finally he heard the case click, and open. He let out a short sigh of relief when the smooth white box inside seemed fine. He wanted to study it, but Errol's interruption made him close the briefcase again. "I did." He confirmed. "Not precisely buddies. Call them admirers." Duncan explained with a sigh. "They're U-men. Homo Sapiens who harvest organs and body-parts from mutants and graft them onto themselves to become a superior 'third-species'."

Duncan's face flashed with genuine surprise at Errol's follow up question. Then snapped "How is that what you're thinking of right now?!" There was an urge to bash his head against the dashboard. A great one. "That is the least of our worries you idiot! Do you have any idea what you've fucking done? Killed at least one? Made a car explode?!" Duncan roared, barging over any protesting remarks with sheer volume. "Worse- Clementine did too, in public goddamnit!" He didn't believe it had dawned on any of them yet. "There's nothing I can do for her now. Nothing! By the end of the day you'll both be marked as mutant terrorists. Don't think for a second that your powers will save you then."

He let a short silence fall. Then said "Now be silent, I've a phone call to make. See if there's anything left to salvage of this godforsaken situation." His phone was in the briefcase, he'd seen the message pop up. Choosing to ignore the hard comments, he called immediately.

"You're on, Nathaniel." was all he said - in a remarkably composed way for someone who had just shouted at his family - before putting the phone on speaker.

"We'll head there immediately." He shot another angry look at Noa and his family, leaving no room for argument.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

Rough asphalt scraped against his skin. Duncan twisted and rolled. A black boot stomped down a hair's breadth away from his head. His own leg shot upward, connected, and in a flash the other was down beside him. Duncan found his footing first, launching himself shoulder-first into his rising enemy. They both crashed down again, this time with him on top. He intercepted the clawed hands that reached for his throat, yanked the figure closer, and retaliated with a headbutt that cracked his enemy's vizor and made his own head spin. Without hesitation, he brought his balled fist down where he thought the man's head was. Again and again, until his depleted strength made the downward swings more and more a means to support his unwieldy body. He could taste blood now too - although it was barely enough 'red' to make a post stamp with.

"Who-" he swung, "is your-" his other fist hit bone. "boss?!" A gurgle came from below him - the man's jaw was fractured. Before he could chastise himself for it, blades sung through the air, barely audible in the intersection's violence. On instinct he threw himself back, two tearing through his coat and one burying deep in the palm of his hand.

Adrenaline made him find the strength to spring to his feet, pulling the knife out as he backpedaled toward their wreckage of a car. His gaze locked on the owl, who approached with a confident, limber stride. "You think we are contracted killers?" Its voice was sharp and distorted. "Come now Doctor." daggers flashed in its clawed hands. "You should know better."

The metal glint was all the warning he had of their trajectory. It rained knives, all with deadly precision and strange curving paths. There was no red in his vicinity left, but he was able to generate it with smears he made on his white shirt with his bleeding hand. The projection - a small baseball bat - was only enough to deal with the brunt of the attacks and forced strategic choices. Prioritizing chest and head over limbs, and then legs over arms to keep his mobility. When he leapt forward to close the distance, his arms were already the equivalent of pincushions.

It was the associated pain that kept him going, kept him sharp. He couldn't quite roll with the punches, but with each hit he took, the buried memories of pasts conflicts resurfaced. Duncan was forced back by the ferocity of the owl-figure, doing his best to intercept and sidestep the flurry of blows. His admirable defense broke with a kick to the chest, slamming him into their crashed car. Duncan spun to wrestle himself out of the owl's grip, calling on the red of his wounds to bind the owl to the car. It was a thin thread, but the kinetic power was enough to hold even the largest of elephants.

"I'm not asking again-" he struggled to stand, but found the car wreckage to be an excellent support. "who are you?"

"The future!" the owl cried. "We are the future made manifest." he struggled against the bindings. "And you Doctor, you should know what the future holds for rampaging mutants"

Duncan's panting breath faltered. His head snapped toward the others, eyes wide. There were bodies and vehicles on fire. Police shooting armed mercenaries, and the mercenaries shooting back. There were still people running. Shapes that moved behind the windows above. But worst of all, most of the visible damage and deaths were caused by his family. "Oh you fools. You damn fools!" Duncan hissed. His own struggle had blindsided him.

Dazed, he reached into the wreckage. It caused the owl figure to fight his bindings even more. "Don't bother. Your ability is no match for mine." Duncan was pretty sure that all the owl had in him was the ability to manipulate trajectories. He felt around until he found the handle of his briefcase.

Then, as the mercenaries realized what had transpired and bullets came flying in his direction again, Duncan noticed the armored vehicle speeding up. Errol was on it, shouting his name.

Yet all that really stuck with him were the words of the Owl.

"Tell the Sentinels that the U-men send their regards."

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

The hawk and the fly shot toward him at astonishing speed, but Duncan still held the range advantage. His conjured red flail lashed out, its chain rattling like actual metal. Yet it did not obey the laws of physics at all. The launched flail turned sharply, curving into a trajectory that attacked the hawk-masked figure from the side. He didn't evade and to Duncan's surprise, the flail passed harmlessly through its target. The fly-masked woman did dodge, her movements small and instantaneous as she ducked down in her sprint.

They were upon him now, two against one. He also vaguely registered the heat that was building behind him - likely Clementine's doing. It was the hawk-masked man who crashed into him first, attacking with hand and feet against his raised shield. The other tried to slip past him, but he wouldn't let that happen so easily. Not while he still had cards to play.

Duncan pivoted, but the shield kept hovering in place to block the hawk-masked man. The red flail separated - the spiked ball flattened into a buzz saw, while the chain retracted to take the shape of a broadsword. The buzz saw sped toward his hawk-masked attacker without warning or wind-up, while he cut at the other with his broadsword. Both were forced to leap back, shifting the momentum of the battle in his favour.

He shot a glance at the buzz saw and it scattered into a cloud of daggers that shot toward the fly. Then the shield burst forward, which Duncan had aimed to bash into the hawk. It was a good counteroffensive, but he would need more red to keep this up and there weren't a lot of opportunities to scan his surroundings. The second he looked away, the fly-masked woman returned. Her suit was torn and her right arm was out of commission, but that hadn't stopped her.

Then there were other distractions too. In case of Noa, a helpful one at least.

"I'm working on it!" Duncan called back. The broadsword evaporated into a thick red mist to obstruct the fly-woman's view. He couldn't control the red energy properly like that, but it'd buy him some much-needed time.

Duncan glanced at Clementine, saw her state of being, and began to doubt his decision. Not that he had other options though. "Stay calm Clementine. We've got this." As he spoke, Duncan seized back control of the red armour - with Clementine still in it. The whole package catapulted toward Noa and once there, stopped instantaneously, faded to release Clementine, and began returning to him as a single stream of colour.

In that same view he caught a glance of Errol. His half-brother seemed to be on equal footing too, and there were more hostiles than they were currently facing.

That made this feel like a good time for the red traffic lights.

What had been a lit red sign on one of them became dull gray, its colour fired as a bolt of energy. Not at the brute of stone, the unnerving fly, or the uncatchable hawk. At Errol.

The bolt would hit his hand and wrap around the base of his fingers into semi-transparent knuckledusters. "Charge those!"

He was forced to the ground by a hard kick from the hawk-masked man. From the mist, the woman emerged. Perhaps he hadn't bought enough time after all.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

"I fear this isn't Errol's doing" Duncan growled, his eyes scanning for 'red.' He found plenty in billboards and the signs of a corner restaurant. Then there were also the red traffic lights, although he would save those for an emergency. The newly formed red orb in his hand widened, taking the shape of a large kite shield.

Then the hail of bullets stopped, and the presence of the gunmen was overshadowed by the roaring sound of a helicopter's whirring blades. He made use of the short respite to glance back at Clementine. She wasn't doing okay - of course she wasn't. He doubted that his sister, or anyone remotely sane for that matter, had ever been in a situation like this before. "You're going to be okay Clem. Just stay near me." The red he had manifested as cars to cover them become formless, part of it streaming toward Clementine. It surrounded her and took the shape of semi-transparent armor. The kind a medieval knight would wear. What remained of the energy pool shifted back to Duncan, forming a spiked ball and chain in his waiting hand. A crude tool, but enough to keep whatever was coming on its toes.

The first made the ground shudder as he landed. His eyes were on Errol. Four others followed, descending from ropes that had been tossed from the helicopter. Duncan stepped in between them and Clementine, only now noticing that Noa had already moved to a different position.

Three of the four had set their sights on him and Clementine. One he recognized - his assailant from last night. She still dressed in black, her hair hanging loose over his shoulders and her face covered with a mask that him think of a fly. Perhaps that was because her quick, abrupt movements and the yellow bulbous vizor of her mask unnerved him. The other was a man whose light, feather-like chainmail armor reminded him of a bird. He too wore a mask, one with a sharp nose and round orange eyes that shone like lanterns.

"Right-" Duncan was the first to break the tense silence of the standoff. "Don't let the fact that I'm here on a work VISA fool you. I am not going to pull any punches if you don't stand down." He flicked his wrist, causing the chain with the spiked ball at the end to crack like a whip. "Now."

Both rushed forward.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

The pause he had from his family was only temporary. Errol - who had verbally given as good as he got - swept by him almost immediately. The static shock that was delivered made him flinch, and was surely not an accident. Yet the older brother bit his tongue. The better he played along, the earlier he'd be able to get away from them again. Of course, that'd mean having to put up with them in an even smaller space first.

Begrudgingly, Duncan followed them to where Errol had his car parked. "Once you're home we need to have a word Clementine," Duncan said. "because I'm not going to put up with this anymore." Was he going to tell her that he was running out of money? The idea formed a knot in his stomach - there was simply nothing more humiliating than having that conversation with her. "It's for your own good." He wasn't sure who that was directed at. Himself, or her? Duncan tightened his grip on the briefcase he held under his arm. That, the content of his seemingly only piece of luggage, was his final hope.

Once in the car, Duncan moved to the other side to give Clementine the space to enter. As she sat down, he remarked "don't forget to put your seatbelt on." It came out bitterly. That was because they were apparently going for hot dogs first, without bothering to ask him at all. Karma came to his rescue though, as the girl who had asked all of them but him hit her head against the dashboard. At first he ignored that it happened to cut her some slack. That changed when she put the music on. "Is your head okay? Because I can't believe anyone in their right mind would put this on." He commented.

Duncan leaned back and grumpily stared out of the window, waiting for the group to persecute him again, when a black van obstructed his view. Cursing under his breath, Duncan shifted to stare out of the other window only to watch the same thing happen. He reached for his glasses. "I don't think they're-"

It felt as if an immense weight was thrown on him while gravity had lost it's grasp. The world spun outside the car, and a waterfall of glass came cascading down on him from behind. Or below? Then his head spun. His neck filled with sharp jolts of pain.

And the survival instinct of a battle-hardened veteran kicked in.

'Red' came to him from the blood on Clementine, the speedometer's pointer, his own red socks, and wherever else he could find it to form a vibrantly coloured orb the size of a golf ball in the palm of his hand. He slammed his hand against the car door, and the thing violently burst from its hinges. The door skidded to a halt five meters from the wreckage.

Duncan rolled out, glass crunching underneath his jacket as he did. His red blazing eyes scoured his surroundings. The collision had pushed them toward the center of the crossing. He counted five jet-black vans spread over two of the four streets. Men in black uniforms came pouring out of them. Each of them pointing an automatic rifle in their direction. He had only a heartbeat to react.

Still crouched down, Duncan drew the red of two cars he spotted in the traffic toward him immediately. The red kept the shape of the cars - he had no time to transform it into anything else - and positioned them on either side to cover the wreckage.

A storm of bullets slammed into them almost immediately, forming cracks in the haphazardly thrown-together barriers. He barely found cover behind the hood of the translucent truck to his left, and saw bullets graze the wreckage that was once Errol's yellow car.

"Couldn't you at least have gotten one in red?" Duncan yelled out to his half-brother.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

While a lot of transactions were taken care of digitally, hand-written signatures were still considered the norm for bailouts as far as he could tell. That, or the officers he spoke with, had liked having his signature. Regardless of what the reasoning was, writing contact information down by hand took time. Too much time.

“You look like shit.”

Duncan closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate with an audible sigh. “That’s what happens to you when you have to fly over because your sibling messed up.” He glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Again.”

Of course, that wasn’t the actual reason why he had come to the States. There was a conference three days from now in Washington DC. It could attract investors, the thing his research needed most. There was a lot riding on this one too, as he had already refused a serious cash infusion from Corleone’s foundation. It had been another humiliating blow by Giovanni, as his refusal to accept that support had angered most of his colleagues. Yet Duncan had high hopes for this conference. For the future. After all, he had brought his trump card.

Just as he signed the final page, Errol expressed his impatience. The officer addressed him politely, to which Duncan added. “And I will not be doing it again.” It came out coldly, as it always did. Yet this time there was truth in it. Without funding, he had no income. At least not nearly enough to pay both Clementine’s rent and her many, many bills. He had his savings, of course, but he would not spend those on his ungrateful sister. That was a line he refused to cross.

Errol quickly offered to pay half the bill and did so before Duncan could refuse. He looked at the stack of money, then to Errol. “And where did you get all that?” He put down the pen. “Yes, I suppose I can see the resemblance.”

His remark wasn’t enough to push his half-brother away. Instead, Errol started to talk about his appearance again. “Try watching the news.” Was all Duncan returned. What else was there to tell? That someone had tried to kill him last night? He barely even knew the details of it, let alone the motive. “Why did you come here anyway Errol. You knew that I’d have this sorted.” To this day, he could never understand why Errol bothered to show up for issues like these, and not those that actually mattered. Their kind was oppressed, and Errol was one of the strongest Duncan knew. Yet he hadn’t ever used his powers responsibly, nor had he stepped up for mutantkind. No, Giovanni’s prized second son had joined a gang, just like his father. Duncan couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t all just part of some bigger plot to merge their two gangs into one. The idea alone was reason enough not to get attached and to keep his eyes on his half-brother. Because if he was right, then taking care of it would be his responsibility. As would be the safekeeping of his other responsibility.

The one that the brothers both had to pay a sizable sum of dollars for to see. Not that it was worth it either – the girl felt the immediate need to call him out too. Exasperated, he said “Yeah, I know.”

It was painful to watch her be more affectionate toward Errol. Not only because of his own gripes with the Acosta-side, but also because he couldn’t imagine Errol setting the right example.

With a handshake and thank you to the officer, Duncan finished his part of the transaction. Then answered Clementine. “Yes. We’re leaving as soon as I find a cab.” Duncan cautiously brushed past them toward the station’s exit.

He was reminded of why he decided against living in New York himself the second he stepped outside. The overwhelming noise, crowded streets, and many cars made it look anything but peaceful.

As his eyes darted uneasily over the many people, Duncan realized it wasn’t the city that made him uncomfortable. It was the thought of last night’s attempted assassination. She could be staring at him right now, and he wouldn’t have the faintest idea that she did.

He stood still for a moment, scanning the streets more actively than he had done before.

Outcasts Assembled (An AU X-Men roleplay)

Duncan Fraser stared at the screen of his phone, dazed. It was a given that Clementine would stir up trouble again. Yet the timing could not have been worse.

Burying his face in his hands, Duncan let out a sigh. It was almost unbelievable how terrible the cards were that life had recently dealt him. The break-up with Alba, Corleone’s auspicious warning, the canceled funding, and – of course – Clementine. Any sane man would’ve folded. He had chosen to bluff instead.

“Doctor Fraser?” The woman sounded impatient. “We’re already live.”
With some effort, he pulled himself together. “Right, yes. Sorry”
She gestured toward the stage, where two seats stood opposite of each other. One was filled already.

“Our first guest tonight is a doctor in biochemistry and mutant genetics, but you may know him best as the former X-man Red Haze. Please welcome, Doctor Fraser!”
There were only a dozen paces between him and the chair. The thunderous applause made it feel like a hundred. With a short and awkward wave to the audience, Duncan stepped into the light and view of the cameras. Too many, in his opinion.

The chair wasn’t comfortable.

“It’s amazing to have you here on our show Doctor Fraser.” The other man was in his 40s, with blond-dyed hair in a tight ponytail. His name was Brandon Walker. One of the most popular show hosts of the last decade. And like any talk show Duncan had ever watched, Brandon began with a duel of pleasantries.
“You might, dare I say it, perhaps be the most sophisticated guest we’ve ever had on this panel.”

“Really? Well, thank you. I am glad to be here.” He faked a smile, the way his father used to do.

“Now, with this unprecedented surge of mutants making themselves known, there are so many questions I’ve been dying to ask. First off-” The man leaned forward a little, interlacing his fingers. “Doctor Fraser, do you think mutants are dangerous?”

“Not inherently, no.” Came the delayed response.

“Inherently?” Sharp blue eyes studied him. On the internet, millions more did. A single slip of the tongue could warrant a hate-crime.

“I would argue that all people are dangerous when they are afraid and misunderstood. Unfortunately, that is the reality for many minorities out there. Including us.”

“But can we really talk about us-” he gestured to Duncan and himself, “as the same people? Because Professor Louwman who we had on our show last week said, and I quote, ‘new species emerge when mutations produce individuals who can outperform the groups they came from.’ He called you a new species.” The host gave him a questioning look.

Duncan nodded. “There’s a lot of scientists who think so and personally, I agree. But-“ he raised a finger and said, “we are still of the genus ‘Homo’. That is the collective name for species that scientists consider human. Like how we define both German Shepherds and Golden Retrievers dogs, while the owners know that they act very different.”

The host chuckled. “I see, thank you for explaining that to us.” Duncan doubted that he cared. “So, you think we can coexist peacefully?” Before Duncan could answer, the host continued. “Because I did some reading and as you know, the more primitive animals tend to go extinct because the strong outcompete the weak. Us-“ he paraphrased with his fingers “-primitive humans, could be totally eliminated that way too, couldn’t we?” He paused, then added “eliminated by the strong. By the mutants.”

The host was looking for drama. For confrontation. The best Duncan could do was laugh it away.
“Those are some very Darwinian principles. Fortunately for us, our society is built on ethics instead.” Duncan retorted. “What is the saying again? The meek shall inherit the earth?”

The host smiled with perfect white teeth. “Ah yes, the meek shall inherit the earth.”

-

It took three hours to travel from the studio back to the cheap hotel room he had rented. Room 511B. Fifth-floor, 11th door on the right side of the hallway. Of course, as was always his luck, the reservation hadn’t come through and all they could offer was a room that hadn’t be cleaned yet at the end of the hallway. He wasn’t going to unpack any of his luggage there. From what he could tell, the couple that had been in this room before him had really gone to town.

Duncan sighed. The interview had went on for an hour and a half. A ‘talk show’ they called it, while most of their viewers listened to it as podcast. At least he hoped that his appearance on the show would help the rising tensions between the two groups simmer down a little. X-man or not, the feelings of responsibility were still there.

He plucked the remote from the bed and switched on the television. Perhaps he could still catch the tail end of the show. It wouldn’t do him any good to know how they had edited it to paint him in a bad light – surely it wouldn’t – but he was curious nevertheless. That was how he fell asleep twenty minutes later. In the chair he had placed in front of the tv. Bored by his own words.

Until the sounds of gunshots tore through the hallway.

Duncan leapt out of his chair, wide awake in an instant. His glasses were already off – his true sight cloaking the world in dull gray and vibrant, eager red where he could find it. The most obvious source was below him. The red pattern of the room’s carpet flowed to him like liquid fire and formed a machete in his waiting hand. He considered drawing on more but knew he couldn’t afford to utilize anything larger indoors. Then, with caution, Duncan opened the door to the hallway.

He stalked through the hotel’s hallway with urgency, phone held to his ear – calling his emergency number. Alba Rodriguez. Better known as The Heron. A celebrated X-man and coincidentally, also his ex since a week.

No wonder she didn’t pick up.

The floor was eerily quiet, save for his own heavy heartbeat. A door was kicked in. Room 511B. It dawned on him then and there. Whoever this was had come searching for him.

He silently counted to three in his head. Then barged in.

The room was identical to his own. The sheets of the double bed were pulled back to reveal the forms of two motionless men. A figure stirred beside the bed, and Duncan didn’t wait. The red-translucent machete scattered into needles and blasted in the figure’s general direction like a shotgun round.

She – he could tell the figure was a she now – danced elegantly to the side somehow evading the brunt of his attack. Not hesitating either, the woman emptied her clip on him.

The carpet dulled in an instant as its red colour leapt up to form a riot shield on his arm. The bullets slammed against it to no avail. Before he could counterattack, she leapt through the window. Duncan rushed toward it. Yet all he found below was the darkness of the night.

-

If there was one good thing to be said about any of this, then it had to be that he was supposed to be at the police department anyways. The state he arrived in, however, was anything less than desirable. He’d enjoyed a full three hours of sleep, a visit of the police, the manager’s angry tirade, and a fine for destroying the carpets. To say that it showed, well that was an understatement.

He held on tight to his take-away coffee as he mentally prepared to deal with both Clementine and the other one. If he even bothered to show up.

When his number finally flickered on the big screen and he could walk to the front desk, his cup was already halfway empty. The conversation that followed felt equally long to him. As if the officer was just trying to find an excuse to keep the conversation going.

”Listen, just tell me how much the bail is and where I should sign. I’ve had a long night, so-“ He stopped mid-sentence. The digital board hanging above the front desk vibrated in a way that made him squint to read the numbers.

That meant one of two things. Either he really shouldn’t have bought this fourth coffee, or the third of the merry band was here. Electrical devices did that when Errol was close. No one was able to tell that way. No one but him. He had theorized before that it had to do with their parentage. In truth, he wasn’t sure.

“Right.” As if the day couldn’t have gotten worse. Errol actually decided to show up. “Let’s hurry this along. I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible."