So, my idea comes from the X2 movie: What would happen if Kurt actually managed to kill the President?
Chapter one's mostly to warm myself up and to 'get in the mood', so it's fairly close to the movie. BEAR WITH ME!
1: A Little Different This Time…
“‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies,’" Alicia Vargas stood before a portrait of Abraham Lincoln at the visitor’s entrance in the East Wing of the White House. Though she had done this tour hundreds of times before, she always had the same attention and passion in her voice that made you think it was her first tour.
“‘Though passion may have strained, it must not break the bonds of our affection.’ Abraham Lincoln.” Her eyes skimmed over her attentive audience. They were the usual group; some old couples, some younger ones, one or two university students and a few Asian tourists.
“President Lincon said that in his first inaugural address as our nation’s sixteenth President. It’s one of my favourites.” As she began to shepherd the visitors through the metal detectors and security, one of the people at the back caught her eye.
He wore a long, grey-beige trench coat despite the warm weather, as well as a nondescript blue baseball cap and amber-tinted aviator shades. This was not strange; she had seen many people dressed far more…uniquely.
No, it was probably his posture. He was somewhat hunched over, making him probably a bit taller than his current five foot five if he stood up straight. His body language radiated complete ease and cool detachment that was somewhat unnerving. She could feel his eyes turn to her behind the tinted lenses, sending small shivers up her spine.
Alicia turned her attention back towards guiding the group through the inspection procedures, reassuring them that this was only because the President was in Residence today. That was probably it. Everyone got at least a little bit nervous going through security, hoping that they didn’t set anything off accidentally. Even the best of them got nervous.  Except ‘Trench Coat’, it would seem.
There was a small sound; the bamf of imploding air and the faintest scent of brimstone. The tour guide turned her head to where ‘Trench Coat’ was a moment ago, only to see a wisp of dark smoke curling in the air where he once stood.
As the rest of the tour group filed through security, the man in the baseball cap appeared suddenly in one of the shadowed alcoves of the Centre Hall. Despite his sunglasses and the relatively poor lighting, his keen eyes could pick out every detail around him, from the threads in the American flags to each individual brush stroke in the portrait of J. F. K. that hung on the wall beside him.
Secret Service Agent Donald Karp stood guard by the West exit of the White House Residence, his stance one of calm alertness. The soft bamf of imploding air caught his attention. He turned to the Centre Hall to see something stirring within one of the recesses in the corridor.
To his surprise, a man stepped out, the shadows practically having to tear themselves off of him. He kept his head bowed, his cobalt blue cap covering most of his face. Oh boy, was he ever gonna hammer Alicia for letting someone slip through this far. The soft rustling of his trench coat followed him as he shuffled towards Karp.
“Excuse me sir, are you lost?” The man came to a stop in front of him. “I’m afraid you can’t leave the group-" He turned his head to face Karp. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but he thought there was something wrong with this guy’s skin. It seemed pasty, like he had covered his face with a thick layer of flesh-toned cream.
There was another rustle of his attire as a blue spaded tail lifted over his shoulder. Karp’s mind went blank in shock. He flashed the agent a menacing fanged smile.
He reached for the Sig-Sauer pistol beneath his black uniform. Before Karp could bring the gun in front of him to fire, the intruder leapt at him with a feral growl, literally jumping out of his shoes, and slamming his weirdly articulated feet into Karp’s chest. In one inhumanly fluid motion, the mutant grabbed his shoulders, stole his gun with his tail, and propelled himself into the corridor behind Karp.
Later, Donald would marvel at the intruder’s ability to attack, disarm and infiltrate in one simple leap. The mutant barrel-rolled his landing and sprang back to his feet, his hat abandoned on the floor. He discarded the pistol with a whip-like crack from his tail as he disappeared around the corner. Karp frantically reached for the communicator on his wrist.
“Code Red! Perimeter breach at visitor’s checkpoint!” A sinking feeling of dread settled itself in the pit Karp’s stomach. Something told him this wouldn’t end well.
President George McKenna sat at his desk in the Oval Office, sunlight pouring in from the curved bay windows at his back. It was supposed to be a quite afternoon, and he was attempting to leave early so he could have dinner with his son, Trent.
Trent was McKenna’s only child, and his ‘pride and joy’ so to speak. He was making dinner plans for that evening to celebrate his son’s high school football M. V. P. nomination when the phone rang.
“Hey Dad, it’s Trent.”
“Hey! Just the man I was wanting to talk to. Listen, I’ve just cleared my schedule so we can have dinner together as a family tonight.”
“Really? Thanks Dad!” McKenna smiled. Despite the fact that Trent knew his work was important, his son still wanted to spend as much time as he could with his father, especially after the mutant terrorist attack at the UN Summit just over a year ago. It pained him to know that his sacrifices hurt his family.
“You did a good job son…” Sid Walters, McKenna’s head of security charged through the doors, followed closely by several of the President’s bodyguards.
“…Say that again, how many were there?” Walters frowned and sprung into action. “Mr. President, security breach. Jackie, leave!”
“What the hell…”
“Dad? What’s going on?” McKenna closed his eyes and brought the receiver back to his ear.
“Trent, I have to go now. Be good, I love you.” Without another word, he hung up. He didn’t know what prompted him to say such a farewell to his son, or how he had managed to sound so calm. Sid and the other Secret Service Agents quickly surrounded the President, taking hold of his upper arm and half-pulling him out of his chair.
“Let’s get him out to the car.” More guards piled into the Oval Office from outside.
“Negative, the exit’s not clear,” reported Hank Cartwright, Walter’s deputy. Several men with Kevlar padding and MP5 sub-machine guns filled the room. “We don’t know how many there are.”
Outside of the Oval Office, absolute mayhem ensued. Every man and woman of the President’s detail was pulling double duty; evacuating the West Wing of civilians while simultaneously hunting for the intruder.
Toby Vanscoy didn’t have to look much further. In an adjacent hall on the ground floor, he heard a secretary cry out, followed by a few soft bamfs and the heavy thuds of men falling to the floor. His partner, Jim Morris, ran to the door, only to have a pair of blue two-toed feet nail him in the chin. Vanscoy aimed the Sig-Sauer, but the intruder leapt into yet another hallway which lead to the first floor.
“Aw shit!” Vanscoy knew where he would be going; the Oval Office. Toby ran after the intruder, taking the stairs two at a time. A voice crackled over his comm. link.
“Hall five secure…bamf! Thump!” No, it isn’t. Vanscoy ran to the main hall, designated Hall 5, to see two agents out cold on the floor, the intruder running towards him on all fours.
Without a second thought, Vanscoy emptied a fifteen-round clip of ammunition. Not a single one hit. His target leapt from floor to wall to ceiling and back, running on all surfaces as if his hands and feet were tipped with Velcro. He was a few feet from Vanscoy when he disappeared in a bamf of oily, foul-smelling smoke.
But not for long.
A mere second later, the mutant teleported closer to Vanscoy, hammering his toed heels into his chest with bone-breaking strength. His chest protector did little to dampen the blow as he went careening through the double doors behind him.
“Lock this place down!”
“But the shelter…”
“Not likely, Cartwright, we’re staying put.” A few muffled cries emanated from the adjoining Secretary’s suite, followed by the staccato of gunfire. Every man, armed or otherwise, trained their sights (and guns) upon the door. More shots and strange whooshing noises ensued. McKenna’s heart thumped loudly in his ears as the din settled.
A soft clatter from the ceiling made everyone shift nervously, eyes straying to try to pinpoint its source. Their search ceased when a loud crack came from outside the office, followed by the clicks of a dozen guns being focus on the same point. One of the men from the police force took a step towards the door…
…Which slammed open on his face, a thick indigo smoke pouring from the new opening. Someone fired a shot, only to have a tail whip out at him, pulling him screaming into the darkness. Almost instantaneously, he reappeared in a puff of smoke and fell from the ceiling.
“My God…” Twelve seconds. That was all it took for the intruder to successfully neutralize a room full of the nation’s finest. The creature teleported across the room, dealing blow after crippling blow, all the while teleporting to and from its targets. Untouchable.
Before he could register what had happened, McKenna found himself at the mercies of his demonic looking assailant. It turned and leapt at him with a snarl, fangs barred cruelly across its scarred face.
His heart nearly stopped when the assassin pulled out a large knife. The blade was serrated and wickedly sharp, reflecting the dazzling summer onto his indigo features. A crimson ribbon marked in black was tied to the hilt. He starred into the eyes of the creature, willing for it to falter, or at least make his death quick.
The golden orbs starred back into McKenna’s own grey ones blankly. They were dull and lifeless, all colour and awareness sucked dry. Any hopes for mercy were quickly dashed. He…no, it, had lost anything resembling humanity long ago.
Unnoticed by either of the two, Sid Walters was taking aim at the blue assassin. He knew he had only one chance, that if he missed, the President was as good as dead. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he squeezed the trigger…