Disclaimer: The idea of mutants and the X-World belong to Marvel. The characters belong to me, but I’m *still* not making any money from them.

Continuity: Uh, none. People meet. The idea of mutants is has started getting press, and people—read, certain Senators—are beginning to see the possibilities.

Rating: R, for language and violence.

Notes: This is an Elseworld. I mean really, really Else. It's a bad idea to judge these people just by the fact that they resemble familiar characters...

Archive OK, feedback please please please. This is sufficiently weird that I’m not going to inflict any more of it on people unless someone likes it enough to tell me so. :)

***************
FIRST GENESIS

Miko

Prologue

 The autumn night was crisp and clear as Lauren hurried across campus. The unaccustomed weight of heavy skirts hampered her a little and her shoulders were cold; she drew her light wrap closer and tried to walk a little faster. Victorian lady had not been her first choice of costume, but the shop had had very little in her size.

 Lauren smiled reluctantly as she walked. She hadn't been expecting to enjoy herself at the party; in general, large groups of people made her edgy at best. But the acquaintance--friend--who had invited her had helped her stay out of the crush, and even introduced her to a rather nice man.

 Ahead of her, the bushes rustled. She didn't even pause; an observer might well have thought she didn't hear it. As she passed, someone burst from cover and dove towards her.

 Lauren ducked the clumsy grab neatly and swept the attacker's feet out from under him in the same movement. He fell heavily to the ground and she followed him down, driving her fist at his throat, and almost without her decision the claws sprang from the back of her hand with a /snickt/.

 Luckily, she recognized him in time to stop the blow. For a long moment they stared into each others' eyes.

 She let him go and sat back on her heels, the three long blades sliding back under her skin smoothly. The wounds on her knuckles healed over almost instantly. Eric, meanwhile, struggled into a sitting position, his eyes still wide.

 "Ms. Black?" he said at last. Anger was beginning to replace surprise. "It was only a joke, you didn't have to pull a knife on...me..." He trailed off and Lauren bit back a curse. She'd been hoping he was too confused to have seen the blades, but no such luck. "That wasn't a knife," he said with the air of one who is revealing a great truth. "It came out of your hand. You're a /mutant/."

 She didn't bother to deny it. The boy was her least favorite of the students who worked in the computer labs under her supervision, but she couldn't fire him; his father was her boss. So she put up with the lateness, the sloppy work, and the rudeness to the students who came to use the labs. And now she could see his face change as he began to think about how he could use his newfound knowledge to blackmail her.

 "Here's what we're gonna do," she said sharply, in an attempt to cut through the oily workings of his brain. "We're gonna go home, and both forget we ever met."

 "Yeah?" he said skeptically, and she nodded.

 "Yeah. That way, no one has to know that I'm a mutant, and no one has to know /you/ got taken down by a girl." She gave him a significant looking over and he flushed. Eric was a big boy, broad in the shoulders and almost a foot and a half taller than she; with her hair piled atop her head her Asian features looked delicate to the point of fragility. The contrast would have been laughable to anyone who didn't know her extremely well.

 She watched him fight with himself for a few seconds. Finally he said, "OK. We forget we met." She nodded and stood up smoothly. He ignored the hand she extended and got up on his own, with somewhat less grace. He took off down the path, limping in what had to be an exaggerated fashion. As soon as he was out of sight she said something short and sharp in Japanese.

 She hurried home without further incident and unlocked her door with a hand that shook only the tiniest bit. *Lucky I never opened a bank account,* she thought as she struggled out of the rented costume. It was only a matter of time before Eric worked the story of their encounter into something he could tell without serious embarrassment. After all, she was a mutant; everyone knew 'they' had tricks up their sleeves. And if it got out who she was and /what/ she was...who knew who might come looking? She snagged the chain from the top of her dresser and hung it around her neck. The dog tags had clashed with her costume.

 It only took her about an hour to get the contents of her apartment packed up. As she was carrying the last box to the car she paused in the doorway and looked back. *I didn't like the job that much anyway,* she thought resolutely, and closed the door behind her.

 By morning she was three hundred miles west.

 ****

 Greyson Bradley leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He could hardly see the screen. The lab was dark except for the light on his desk and the glowing LEDs; he couldn't see anything outside the lamp's cone of illumination.

 "I think it's time for bed," Allia said from behind him, and he jumped.

 "Don't do that," he said. She laughed and came up behind his chair to rub his shoulders. "Sorry," she said. "I thought you heard me."

 "I was concentrating," Grey mumbled, relaxing under her touch.

 "You work too hard," his wife replied. “My own personal genius.” He opened his eyes and gazed up at her. "Someone to hear your prayers, someone who cares," he quoted, only half joking. “You know why I work as hard as I do.”

 She put one hand lightly on her stomach, which was only just beginning to show a bulge. "I know you want the best for our child," she said. "But what good's it going to do him to have all the money in the world if his daddy ruins his health getting it?"

 Grey leaned forward and spun his chair around to face her. "I won't. I just need to finish what I'm working on and we'll be able to get out of here."

 Allia made a face. "I never liked you--"

 "Please don't start," Grey said. "I know all the arguments as well as you do, but the fact remains that the government can pay for what I need and no one else can. It'll only be a few more months, Allie."

 She sighed and said,"I know. Anyway, it's time for bed." Grey nodded and took her hands.

 “I’ll be along in an hour or so,” he said. She smiled reluctantly as she kissed her fingers. “I’m holding you to that,” she said. He watched her with a fond smile of his own as she padded out of the lab.

 As he was turning back to his computer there was a sudden boom from the hallway. Grey leapt to his feet, shouting Allia’s name, and ran for the door. He slammed the release bar and skidded to a halt in the hall. The passage was entirely blocked by flames; the heat beat into his skin like hard rain.

 “Allia! Allie!” he yelled, but there was no reply—at least, none he could hear over the roar of the fire. He put an arm over his mouth, trying to breathe through the fabric of his shirt, and took a reluctant step backwards towards the door of his lab. And then he saw it.

 A hand, with long, slender fingers, lay just outside the range of the fire. It wore a wedding ring—how well he remembered the day they had picked out those rings—but it was not attached to a wrist.

 “No,” he said, false calm settling over his voice. He reached the door of his lab and felt behind him for the knob, his eyes still fixed on that hand. He hardly felt the way the hot metal scorched his palm when he found the doorknob. “No, no, no, no…”

 When they found him, locked in his tiny cleanroom and breathing bottled oxygen, he was still repeating it.

******

 “The city’s so gorgeous from up here, don’t you think?” Shelly asked, and Tom nodded. The view was truly incredible, though he was too busy looking at her to really appreciate it. “It’s like diamonds on velvet,” she said. He nodded again, barely noticing the triteness of her phrasing.

 It was her father’s office building; she had pilfered the keys to get up on the roof, and the two of them were sitting on the low concrete barrier that ringed it. Tom smiled at his girlfriend as she turned to look at him.

 “This has been such a perfect evening, Tommy,” she said, her eyes wide.

 “I’m glad…I mean, me too,” he said, and immediately regretted it, but she didn’t appear to notice. She leaned forward and their lips met.

 *This is it, I’m kissing her!* he thought deliriously. At first he thought that the unstable feeling was due to this, his first ever kiss. Then the concrete block beneath him shifted decisively and he realized what was happening. His eyes flew open and he and Shelly jerked apart, both of them trying to stand up, but it was too late.

 They tipped over the side and fell. Tom grabbed for her hand and missed by a mile. He couldn’t hear her screaming, though her mouth was open, and wondered distantly whether it was because of the wind rushing past his ears, or the fact that he was screaming too. He twisted as he fell until he could see the rim they’d fallen from, and wanted nothing more in the world to be back there, back up there, anything to be /back up there--/!

 It felt like a blink. That trivial, that instinctive, that brief. He slammed into the gravel roof with enough force to drive the breath from his body. For several seconds he couldn’t do anything but lie there, gasping for air. The world around him had gone fuzzy and strange. At last he got his breath back and scrambled for the edge, peering over it cautiously.

 With his vision suddenly blurry and the thirty-eight stories that separated them, he shouldn’t have been able to tell that the tiny blot was her.

******

Chapter One

 Lauren trudged up the last few steps to her tiny apartment. It was not nearly as nice as her previous one had been; then again, her current job didn’t pay as well. She had only gotten the job at the university because a friend had pulled some strings. After her unmasking there she didn’t dare do anything that might draw attention to her, so she was working as a bartender, for cash. Most women would have been leery of carrying so much money through her neighborhood at night—or, for that matter, at high noon. Lauren, on the other hand, was a little disappointed that no one had tried to mug her yet.

 She opened the door and frowned in puzzlement. An envelope was lying just inside as if it had been shoved through the crack. She bent to pick it up, thinking, *Jim and Erica? Did I send them my new address?* At the sight of the looping, old-fashioned script she froze, every sense suddenly alert for danger. It was only one word: Wolverine.

 Adrenaline hit her like a blow and her claws sprang out. She straightened and turned to face the doorway, knowing what she was going to see. There would be five of them, in fatigues, and the one in front would be smiling…

 There was no one there. No sound, no scent of anything threatening. It wasn’t them. The relief was so great she barely made it to a chair before her knees gave out. For a while she just sat there, listening to her heartbeat gradually slowing. The sound of steps in the hallway made her tense again momentarily, but it was just Mr. Stewart from down the hall. He passed her door without slowing.

 A long time later she remembered the envelope, which she was still holding. “OK, who knows that name?” she muttered, slitting the top open neatly. The paper of the envelope was heavy and cream-colored, with almost enough rag content to qualify as fabric. Its contents, a folded note, matched nicely, down to the address printed on the outside. It was a very expensive neighborhood.

 Dear Ms. ‘Black’,
 As you can no doubt tell by the salutation, I  am aware of your unique talents. I believe  that I may be able to put them to use. If you are interested in listening to a business proposition, I invite you to my estate tomorrow evening, Wednesday the 25th, at eight o’clock.
 Sincerely yours,
 Robert D. Hurring

 PS I have information as to your whereabouts in July of 1942.

 Lauren read the note over, but it stubbornly refused to divulge any more information. She held the papers to her nose; there were two scents on them, one on the note itself and the other on the envelope. *Writer and delivery boy,* she thought.

 She stared fixedly at the note for quite some time before coming to a decision. “Well, Mr. Hurring, you’ve got a date,” she said aloud. “But before I go charging in, I’m going to have a look at the place.”



 Lauren pulled her van into a carefully legal parking place at 2:03 am. She was several blocks from Hurring’s address, so as to avoid the risk that her vehicle would be associated with him by any of the police who undoubtedly prowled the neighborhood. For similar reasons, her clothes were dark but unremarkable; she didn’t look any more out of place than was necessary due to the lateness of the hour. She set off at a brisk pace.

 Like many in the area, Hurring’s property took up a block all of its own. A high stone fence ringed the grounds. Lauren could have jumped or climbed it easily enough, but she didn’t see any need to do so this early in her survey. A few yards from the corner there was a gap in the wall; the space was filled by a wrought-iron fence which allowed a view of the grounds.

 Lauren paused to look, just a curiosity-struck passerby. For a moment she could see little, but as she blinked and looked again it seemed that soft lights bloomed all over the grounds, providing gentle illumination to beautifully-landscaped lawns and flower beds. The corner of a large house was just visible through the trees.

 She nodded and started walking again, making a circuit of the property. There were more gaps in the wall, seemingly to provide glimpses of the grounds.As she approached the front gate for the second time, a man stepped out from behind a tree. Lauren started—she was sure he hadn’t been there before, and hadn’t heard him approach. She controlled her face carefully as he came up to the gate.

 “Ms. Black?” he enquired courteously. Lauren blinked at him in surprise.

 “Yes,” she said at last. He nodded.

 “I am Mr. Hurring’s butler,” he said. “Perhaps you would care to come in?” Lauren thought it over. Clearly Hurring knew enough about her to anticipate her desire investigate him—which said uncomfortable things about her anonymity. The butler seemed willing to give her all the time she wanted, but she reached a decision fairly quickly. *What the hell. It’s not like they can kill me,* she thought, and said aloud, “Lead on.” The butler nodded and made an inviting gesture.

 As she followed him to the house Lauren studied the man’s back intently. Though he appeared to be a civilian he made almost no noise as he walked; even stranger, his scent was next to nonexistent. She tensed as they entered the mansion—there was really no other word for the structure—but nothing happened. He led her through a number of large, well-appointed rooms, finally arriving in one that could only be described as ‘grandiose’. It was huge, the ceiling easily thirty feet high, and decorated in an elaborate style that grated on her nerves. Alone in the middle of the scattering of overstuffed couches and elaborate tables sat a young man, perhaps twenty. Unlike the butler he smelled normal, but there was something odd about him nonetheless; he was hard to see clearly. It was as if he were on the other side of a soft-focus lens.

 “Mr. Knight, Ms. Black,” the butler said. “Ms. Black, would you care for refreshment?” After a moment’s consideration Lauren asked, “Got any decent beer?”

 The butler said, “Have you any preferences?”

 “Just not American,” she said. The boy on the couch snorted, but she ignored him.

 “Yes, madam. You did specify ‘decent,’” the butler said. “I shall see what I can locate.”

 “Thanks,” she said. “Mind telling me what this’s all about?”

 “That’s not my place. Mr. Hurring will explain everything as soon as our third guest is with us.” Lauren began to protest but the butler only nodded and left the room. Lauren glared after him for a moment. From behind her, Mr. Knight chose that moment to speak.

 “He wouldn’t tell me anything either. I’m Tom Knight, you can call me Tom if you want.” His voice was a pleasant tenor. Lauren turned away from the door and took a chair across from his couch. It was comfortable enough that it was a shame not to relax, but she didn’t feel entirely safe as yet.

 “So you’re here for Hurring’s business proposition too?” she asked. Tom nodded. He was a little easier to look at now that she was closer. With his straw-blond hair and blue eyes, he was handsome in a corn-fed American sort of way. Very young, though, if she was any judge of character. He wore jeans and a T-shirt advertising an 80’s hair-metal band, and a belt with a large buckle.

 “I came to look at the house before the meeting, but that Jenkins guy was waiting for me at the gate,” Tom said, and Lauren nodded.

 “Me too. So the butler’s name is Jenkins? He didn’t tell me that. Course I didn’t ask him.” She squinted at Tom almost without realizing it, trying to make him come into focus. “No offense, but what’s with you?” she asked bluntly.

 He looked down at his own hands. “I’m, uh, well, a mutant,” he said hesitantly, and looked up at her. When she didn’t gasp or jump away, he continued, “I teleport, but all the time. So I look kinda blurry. I mean the rest of the world looks blurry to me.”

 Lauren said, “Sounds like a pain in the butt.”

 “It is. I’ve got a thing that controls it—“ He gestured at his belt buckle. “—but it hurts if I turn it up too high. Eats batteries too.”

 “Tough break,” she said, as Jenkins reentered the room. He had an actual frosted beer mug in one hand, which he presented to Lauren with something of a flourish. “Thanks,” she said, and sniffed it. It smelled like beer, with no suspicious additions, so she sipped it. It was very good; she took a larger drink. Jenkins nodded acknowledgement and vanished again, just as Lauren registered that she’d been able to smell him this time.

 “It’s not so bad, I guess,” Tom said. “I save a lot on bus fares and stuff.” Lauren couldn’t think of a good way to respond to that one, so she just drank more of her beer. Tom seemed to be at a loss for any further conversation.

 They sat in silence for a few minutes. Lauren finished her beer, ignoring Tom’s raised eyebrow. At last the door opened again and Jenkins ushered another man into the room. This one was a little older, perhaps twenty-five. His dark hair was back in a neat ponytail, and his slacks had a crease you could cut your finger on. A blindingly white shirt and black vest completed the ensemble.

 “Ms Black, Mr. Knight, this is Mr. Bradley,” Jenkins said. “Mr. Hurring will be with you shortly.”

 “There is something weird about that guy,” Lauren said decisively as Jenkins left the room. Bradley sat down on the couch next to Tom and drawled, “How incisive. And what, pray tell, makes you tar our noble Alfred with the label ‘weird’.”

 “One, Alfred? His name’s Jenkins. Two, I’ve got my reasons.” Bradley just sat back, looking smug.

 “Alfred is Batman’s butler,” Tom said eagerly. Lauren set her empty mug on the coffee table and leaned back in her own chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve never been into comic books,” she said casually. “Too juvenile.” Bradley’s self-satisfied expression faded just a notch and she gave him a sweet smile.

 “So, Bradley, you got any idea what this Hurring fella wants with us?” Lauren asked.

 “No,” he said curtly. She got the distinct impression that this frustrated him. She shrugged. “Guess we’ll just hafta wait and see, then,” she said.

 “Your curiosity is about to be satisfied,” said a new voice from the doorway. The three of them turned to look.

 The man sat in a wheelchair propelled by Jenkins. His face could have been any age from thirty to sixty, but the overall impression was a man in late middle age, due in part to his complete baldness. His suit was impeccably tailored. Another man, younger and with an air about him that all but screamed ‘lawyer,’ stood to Hurring’s right. Neither of them looked to have been recently awakened from a sound sleep, which confirmed Lauren’s suspicion that they’d been expecting visitors.

 “I am Robert D. Hurring,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Call me RD. Everyone does.”
 

Chapter Two

“I’m not gonna call you anything until I get an idea why I’m here,” the woman said acidly. Grey rolled his eyes and sighed softly; she gave him a withering glare and turned back to Hurring. Grey frowned. How had she heard him?

Hurring, meanwhile, was talking. “As my note said, I have a business proposition for you. Carrington, the envelopes please.” The lawyer laid his briefcase on a table and pulled out three envelopes. The kid--Knight, had to be--giggled at the phrasing, but Carrington ignored him. They each got an envelope. Grey opened his and studied its contents.

It was a cashier’s check. For fifty thousand dollars. Grey looked up to catch the reactions of the other two. Knight was simply incredulous, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the check.

“Nope,” the woman said firmly. “Only one business with this kinda money in it and I’m not interested.” She slapped her envelope onto the table her boots had rested on and got to her feet.

“Please, Ms. Black,” Hurring said. “Hear me out before you leave. It’s not what you appear to think.”

“Good, cause I think you want someone offed,” she said bluntly. She caught Grey’s incredulous look and snorted. “What’s your problem, boy?”

“I think you’re theorizing without enough data,” he said. She shrugged and asked, “What else’re you gonna get this much cash for?” Grey was forming his reply when Hurring said, “Is it not enough that you have talents I can’t find anywhere else?”

The woman shrugged. “Can’t hurt to listen, I guess.” She sat back down and reinstalled her boots on the table. “Before you start talking, though, keep in mind it’ll take more’n you’ve got to hurt me, ‘RD’.” Grey didn’t try to hide his skeptical expression; she certainly didn’t show any outward justification for such confidence. She was all of a meter and a half tall, for one thing--less than five feet--and built like Sailor Moon. Her black hair was cropped short, which did nothing to make her look any tougher; even the leather jacket and ankle-high boots didn’t help much. She showed no sign that she’d seen him looking, but suddenly a metal blade sprouted from the back of her left hand. She started cleaning her nails with the wicked point.

Grey blinked at her and she met his eyes. A grin spread over her face. He looked away.

“I have no intention of hurting you,” Hurring said. The woman shrugged. “Wouldn’t much matter if you did. So enough with the mysterious routine. What do you want?”

“I want to talk to a particular young mutant,” Hurring said. No one spoke for a moment, waiting for him to tell them the rest.

“Fifty thousand bucks?” Knight exclaimed, his voice all but a squeak. Grey saw the women toss him an annoyed glance and sighed. She was going to be a joy to work with; he could tell already. In an attempt to deflect her ire, Grey said, “I agree with my young friend here. The fee seems excessive for the service.” Sure enough, she turned her glower on him and he grinned. Fun to work with, and easy to manipulate.

“I have a great deal of money,” Hurring said. “If I choose to give it to the people in my employ, what’s wrong with that?”

“None of us is /in/ your employ yet,” the woman pointed out. “And Mr. Large Vocabulary’s right. Too much money and not enough work.”

“I’m right?” Grey asked, with deliberately exaggerated surprise. She ignored him.

“Money is of no consequence,” Hurring said. Grey noticed with amusement that Carrington looked like he wanted to object, but the man didn’t even glance at his lawyer. “Each of you is here for a reason that has nothing to do with money.” Grey’s good mood evaporated. The note had claimed Hurring could provide information on the people who had killed Allia.

“So you want us to get you a kid to talk to, and for that we get fifty grand each and the info, huh?” the woman asked. Grey raised an eyebrow. What did she want, then?

“I don’t blame you for being skeptical,” Hurring said. “I would be as well. I know of no better way to convince you of my sincerity than to pay you well--perhaps even a little too well.”

“Far’s I’m concerned you can keep your money,” the woman said. “All I want is my information.”

Hurring looked mildly distressed and said, “Ms. Black, you’ll get the money either way, but I’m afraid I can’t give you your information until the job is completed.”

She snorted. “If you’re gonna insult me you might as well call me Lauren,” she said. Her tone was calm but Grey could see she was starting to get angry. “If I take the job, I’ll finish it whether I’ve got my info or not.”

“Purely a precaution,” Carrington said, speaking for the first time. “On my advice, in fact.” Lauren gave him a long, level look but said nothing. Grey was a little put out himself by the implication. Hurring, in the meantime, looked pained.

“Well I’m gonna do it!” the kid exclaimed, and everyone in the room turned to look at him. Grey had almost forgotten he was there, as if his physical fuzziness made him hard to remember as well. That was a very interesting effect, and it didn’t appear to be under Knight’s control. *Fair to assume he’s a mutant. Teleporter, maybe?* Grey thought. *But if so, he should really be blinking around the room--unless the belt buckle’s got something in it.* His musings were cut short by Hurring’s next speech.

“That’s good to hear, Mr. Knight. Now, would you other two care to make a decision?”

“What if I say no?” the woman asked, beating Grey to it by all of a half-second. Hurring sighed and said, “Then I’ll send you on your way, with my compliments and a request that you not tell anyone we talked. And the money, of course.”

Grey considered for only a moment. The off chance that Hurring could really provide information on Allia’s killers was worth a bigger risk than this appeared to be. “I’ll do it,” he said.

“Count me in,” Lauren said. Hurring beamed impartially at them; Carrington looked faintly pleased. Jenkins didn’t appear to have noticed there was anyone else in the room with him.

“Perhaps, then, I can offer you accommodations for the evening,” Hurring said. “You can get started tomorrow.”
*****