Earth 467

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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Okay, so around Nightscrawlers I've talked about my "grand alternate reality idea."

The following is Earth 467, which answers some questions I've always had about the X-men, put them in places I've always wished I could see them go, and gives them an opportunity to shine away from any other X-Men. With the exception of a few characters, these are mostly solo stories. Because the X-Men were never formed in this reality.

I have created a timeline that extends from 1825 to 1998. It's not one story... it's a story that follows all the X-Men in their own realities.

A word to the wise: none of the characters are the age they are in 616, or even the relative age to the rest of the characters. I made them whatever age I needed them to be to work on this. Also, mutants develop their power at the very beginning of puberty somewhere around 11-12 in 467.

None of this is in chronological order. So I begin with August to November of 1998, at the very end.

Last Stand


Hippocratic Oath
(August 1998)

Hank McCoy knelt with his abnormally large hands on his head in the center of the square. Police were directing protesters and spectators away from the area, desperately trying to keep them from seeing what was about to happen.

Pigeons were blissfully ignorant of the situation, pecking closer and closer to the place where Hank knelt with a gun pressed against the back of his neck.

“Please,” Hank said, his voice thick with fright and sadness, “I’m a doctor. I swore never to take a life. I’m not like the other mutants.”

“Sorry,” the soldier said, “I’m just following orders.”

The gunshot startled the pigeons; they flew up into the air in chaos.


Mind Over Matter
(August 1998)

Jean Grey heard the director of the asylum open the door. “She’s in there,” she heard him say. In his head, he thought, Thank god we won’t have to deal with her anymore.

The man entered. Jean read in his mind what he was going to do, and she screamed, struggling against her bonds and desperately trying to get into his brain, to destroy it any way she could.

But she felt the prick of the needle entering her skin, and was left to wonder whether God let mutants in heaven as her heart beat slower and slower and then stopped.


Goddess’s Blessing
(September 1998)

Ororo flew through the air with ease, calling the winds to her aid. Normally, she would be flying over the village to see how the people were doing, to check the crops and see if they needed water. Today, she was fighting for her life.

Armies had arrived with tanks and guns, just to kill her. Ororo had thought many times about simply turning herself in, but each time the villagers who depended on her for rain and protection refused to allow it. Now she felt as though she was condemning them just as well as herself, watching the peasants attempt to defend her against machines and lasers with simply spears and shields.

She had been watching her people, not the tanks, and so was quite surprised when the bullet went straight through her chest and sent her tumbling to the ground.


Pinioned
(September 1998)

Warren Worthington III heard the creak of the floorboards and the mutterings of soft voices below him. He’d been hiding in the attic for weeks now, wishing that he’d had the courage to allow his father to surgically remove his wings when all this trouble had first started.

Too late now. Warren heard many feet coming up the stairs and rushed into the wardrobe, taking the key and locking it from the inside. People had come before to find him but the tale of the antique locked wardrobe had usually been enough.

There was a knock on the door. It was his father’s special knock. Warren got out of the wardrobe and went to the door, wondering who his father could have possibly brought up to see him.

Behind the door stood a soldier with his gun trained on the spot between Warren’s eyes. Warren’s father shouted, “I’m sorry, son!” as the soldier pulled the trigger to shatter Warren’s beautiful, betrayed face.


Family Ties
(September 1998)

Sam Guthrie held his littler sister’s head against his chest. “Hush, Melody,” he said, “It’s gonna be all right.”

Paige, one of his other sisters, looked at him with complete disbelief, and his little brother Jay just stared morosely.

“We can get through this,” Sam insisted, trying to instill them with the courage and bravery to go on.

“That’s the army out there, Sam,” Paige said, “They’ve got guns.”

“And tanks,” Jay added, flapping his red wings.

“Face it, brother,” Paige said, leaning against the wall, “We’re dead.”

Sam handed the sobbing Melody to Paige. “What are you doing?” Paige asked.

“Take care of her,” Sam replied. Then he shot through the window and streaked for the tanks encamped around their hiding place.

It was a desperate suicide mission, but he was gonna go through with it. He crashed into the one tank, blowing a hole through its side and igniting the gas tank. One after another the tanks exploded, but to Sam’s horror he saw a soldier throw a grenade through the window he had left.

“No!” Sam shouted, furiously shooting toward the offender. Sam threw him to the ground and began punching him.

Sam didn’t see the soldier behind him, didn’t even hear the shot as the bullet whistled towards his head. He only felt the pain before oblivion.


Seeing Red
(October 1998)

Scott Summers ran down the alley, jumping over trash cans and across puddles filled with slime. His breathing sounded ragged and hoarse, even to himself. But he could barely hear anything over the harsh pounding of his temples.

This wasn’t the usual squadron of police, after him for thievery. No, this was the United States Army, and they were after him because he was a mutant.

A dead end. Scott pressed up against the wall and turned around, watching them come at him. If Kitty showed up in the next few seconds, he might make it.

The guns clicked ominously. Kitty was too late now.

Scott tore off his glasses and swept them all in a defiant beam of high-energy blasts as eleven bullets tore through his head and chest.


Walking on Air
(October 1998)

Kitty Pryde phased through the bullets that roared around her, still holding her precious bag. She slipped silently through a wall, treading on air.

She had the money. It had been easy to get it from the register without even opening it. No alarms had gone off, and yet the army was there, shooting at her. How they had got there, Kitty didn’t ask and didn’t want to know.

Kitty phased through another wall. She could still hear guns and explosions. But all she had to do now was get to Scott and then everything would be all—

Kitty’s solid foot activated the land mine, and then it was too late to phase.


Russian Roulette
(October 1998)

Piotr Rasputin awoke at 3:38 a.m. Moscow time for no reason he could discern. There was simply something wrong with the house, and he felt uncomfortable. He got up out of bed slowly, planning to go and find out what was happening.

His wife Natasha woke up and touched his arm. “What is it, Piotr?” she asked.

“Just getting a drink of water,” he told her, kissing her forehead, “Go back to sleep, darling.”

First Piotr checked the room of his two-month-old daughter. No, she was fine, sleeping peacefully. He brushed his hand against her cheek, smiling at the fine features that were so like her mother’s. Then he went into the sitting room to see if the problem was there.

There was something in the room that had not been there before. A large, metal object. A large, metal object with a blinking red light that was ticking quietly.

Piotr had no time to do anything before the bomb exploded. His last thoughts were for his wife and child. He hoped they would not suffer.


Can’t Touch This
(November 1998)

The girl who referred to herself only as Rogue stood in the center of a ring of policemen, her hands bared and held like dangerous weapons. “Y’all trying to catch me?” she asked, “Go on. Try to touch me.”

A policeman tried to smack her with a billy club. Rogue’s hand shot up and touched his face. The policeman stared in agony a minute before passing out unconscious.

“Y’all want another go?” she asked, “Ah can see y’all are up fer it.”
Then the policemen parted suddenly, and Rogue found herself confronted by a solid wall of army troops.

This was her cue to leave. She ducked and rolled towards them, planning on running under their guns and touching their ankles to disorient them and catch them off guard.

She hadn’t reckoned on the sniper on the fourth floor window.


Kinetic
(November 1998)

Remy LeBeau was throwing cards left and right. The army soldiers were falling like bird droppings, but they were many and they were still coming. The black-eyed boy felt that they were an oncoming tidal wave.

When he ran out of cards he started throwing tin cans, bottles, trash, anything he could find. But they kept coming closer and closer, and soon Remy was out of things to throw.

He refused to beg for mercy as the guns pointed towards him. Instead, he held his chin in the air. This was one twelve-year-old mutant who was going to die like a man.


How it Snowballed
(November 1998)

No way was Bobby Drake gonna let them catch him. The minute he knew that they would come after him he’d run away. No sense making his parents pay for the fact that he was a mutant.

They probably thought he’d gotten into trouble and called the police. Bobby was pretty certain that by now a little DNA testing had proven to his nice-but-ignorant parents what he really was. There was no going home now.

But New York City, he’d discovered, was the place to go if you were a mutant. Because deep underneath the sewers there was a whole community.

Bobby had come to Manhattan Island with absolutely nothing, thinking that he’d sleep in a park someplace. It wasn’t too long before the hidden community sought him out, and brought him deep underground where it was safe.

Well, had been safe.

Right now, Bobby was doing everything in his power to keep it that way.

An attacking foot soldier was encased in a block of ice at a flick of Bobby’s hand. He’d held back tanks with chunks stuck in the treads and frozen the metal of machine guns until past their stress points, causing them to shatter when used. In fact, he was feeling pretty sure of himself.

Suddenly, the army retreated. Bobby and his friends within the underground mutant community grinned and shouted in triumph. They’d won!

But then a strange smell filled Bobby’s nostrils. Somewhat like gasoline, only not quite. It took him a while to realize what it was, why the army had retreated, even why they’d blocked up all entryways.

It was napalm.


[Edited on 14/8/2009 by steyn]
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Elfdame »

Heckuva blastoff, kiddo! Now I'm reeeeally depressed.

Great writing, good imagination. Looking forward to more. And you should start posting at fanfiction.net. I'd subscribe fer shur.
"Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton." From Chapter 9 of _Brother Odd_ by Dean Koontz / from Chapter 10: "Life you can evade; death you cannot."

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Post by steyn »

Wow, much better endings to superheroes than some I've seen in comics. Do you mind if the font size gets tuned down a little? It's a bit on the big side.
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

steyn wrote:Wow, much better endings to superheroes than some I've seen in comics. Do you mind if the font size gets tuned down a little? It's a bit on the big side.
Thanks! And um, sure, it's fine to have the font smaller... but (n00b alert!) idk how to do that? Can you walk me through it?
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by steyn »

You can edit your post, on the top right of the post, click the edit button and change it from there. But tell you what, I'll do it for you. Be my modly duty for the week.

edit:
Aha, found what your problem was. The bb code was in the wrong order around the heading of your story. you had it:

size align bold heading /size /align /bold

bb code works like layers of an onion. the top layer completely covers the one beneath it. this is how it is now:

size align bold heading /bold /align /size

[Edited on 14/8/2009 by steyn]
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

OH okay. lol thanks for the tech support!!!

layers of an onion... okay will recall... like in Shrek!!! lol ignore me, I'm being silly.

edit:

P.S. Oh look, I'm a Bilge Rat! When did that happen? I've only been a member for three days! (Mental note: stop being such a rabid Kurt fan, gal!!)

P.P.S. I'd kinda like to be on fanfiction.net... because I'm a rabid follower of some other fandoms and would have a lot of fun writing ficcies for them too... but I'm lucky my parents allowed me on THIS site (they never would've if they'd seen some of the language used on here :shifty) and I don't wanna push too hard after getting something I REALLY REALLY wanted, so I'm gonna be nice daughter who doesn't ask for more than I've got right now. Especially since I'm redecorating my room with new furniture and I might get my own car sometime in the next couple of months if I work at it....

[Edited on 8/14/09 by Dedicatedfollower467]

[Edited on 8/14/09 by Dedicatedfollower467]
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Slarti »

As Bobby's player in the RP, allow me to say "OW!" for him. ;)
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Slarti wrote:As Bobby's player in the RP, allow me to say "OW!" for him. ;)
More like AGH! *disintegrate*


Wait, why don't we have a Bobby emote??? Where's Iceman?

And now that I'm on that topic, where'd Magneto go?

:icey :mags <-- I will protest this!
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

OK, so who's up for our next segment?

As you may have noticed, there are a few people conspicuously missing from the above narrative. That would be because there are survivors of this mutant massacre.

But I'm going to start with one character's storyline. It may not look like it at first, but I think you can guess whose it is simply because this is his fan site.

(This starts out with how his parents met.)

First Impressions
(December 1969)

New Year’s Eve, and the bar was packed with merry-makers, eagerly awaiting the first hour of 1970. A new year, a new decade, and a chance to start a new life.

Maria had high hopes for the 70s. She had spent her whole life afraid, of her appearance, of her powers. But now it was time for her to stop living in fear. From now on, she would live her life as Maria Johansen, wife, mother, and artist.

Well, she hoped she would be wife, mother, and artist. At this point she didn’t even have a boyfriend. Which was why she had slipped down here to the bar on New Year’s Eve, hoping to find somebody special to spend the night with.

He was standing in the corner, looking bored with his friends kissing passionately. Beautiful blue eyes shined out at the crowd, long curly hair hung in his face.

Maria was glad that she had kept her hair her natural red, rather than going with blonde. It made her stand out in the crowd. The blue skin and yellow eyes were out in an instant, replaced by the freckly complexion that goes with red hair, and soft brown eyes.

She walked across the room, slinking through the crowd, heading for that young man in the corner. He didn’t see her until she was nearly on top of him.

“Guten nacht,” she said, smiling.

“Guten nacht,” he answered, his eyes lighting up.

She continued in German. “What are you doing this evening?”

“Just waiting with my friends.” His eyes flickered over to the young man and woman sucking at each other like leeches.

Maria held out her hand. “I’m Maria Johansen,” she said.

“Erik Wagner,” he said, “Pleased to meet you.”


Moving Too Fast
(December 1969-January 1970)

“Three, two, one... HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Erik leaned over and kissed her. Maria held him close and kissed him back, already in love with him from the moment she’d met him.

“This bar is too crowded,” Erik complained, his face only inches from hers.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Maria said, “I want to stay with you.”

Erik’s eyes twinkled. “Who says we can’t do both?”
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Hey! More about Kurt's parents!

Little note about Mommy: yes, she is Mystique. But she's dropped the name Raven Darkholme and is living as Maria Johansen, mostly because it makes more sense to me if Mystique has a different name.

On the First Date
(January 1970)

Maria woke up listening to Erik put his pants back on. She groaned and rolled over, looking for him. “Hey, honey bun,” she cooed.

“I’ve got to get back to my parents’ house,” Erik said, not even looking at her, “I told them I’d spend the next few days with them.”

Maria sat straight up in bed. “What?” she asked.

“Here,” he paused and gave her a scrap of paper. “My phone number’s on there. Give me a ring sometime.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see what this is,” she said, “A one-night-stand.”

“Maria, I was drunk, and you were hardly sober,” Erik said, putting on his shoes. “I’d really rather just forget about it. If you really need me, give me a ring.”

Maria glared at him as he left the room. Then she flopped down on the bed and sighed.


Catching the News
(February 1970)

“You can’t be pregnant, Maria. You just can’t.”

“I am, Erik,” she said, feeling desperate, “I took a test. It says I’m pregnant.”

“But are you certain that I’m the father?”

“Positive.” Maria hesitated, then went on full rush. “Listen, I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything. Just help me pay for the abortion, and then everything’s done with.”

“How can I not feel obligated, Maria?” he nearly shouted at her, “You’ve got my kid inside you!”

“I don’t need…”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I’m going to marry you. Saturday. I can get my parents’ priest do it on short notice, I’m pretty sure. Just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

“Okay,” Maria said.

“Come Saturday to St. Paul’s church.” Erik hung up before she even acknowledged his request.
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Again with Kurt's parents. Short this time...


Birth of a Nightmare
(September 1970)

“My God. What is it?”

For a second, Maria was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. Had the pain been too much? Had she reverted to her natural appearance?

But that panicked instant disappeared when she looked at her hand. No. Still nice white skin. So what were they talking about?

The child cried out, high and wailing, proving it was alive. Maria looked up at the doctor, to see her child, to see the baby she’d given birth to.

She almost recoiled in disgust. It was blue. And furry. With awful yellow eyes. And, my God, was that a tail?

“It’s a boy,” the doctor declared, but he seemed just as disgusted as she was. He dropped the boy into her arms, and she stared at it.

It was horrible. A demonic face, hideous blue, and viciously pointed teeth.

Maria didn’t want to touch it anymore. She passed it on to Erik, who had just walked into the room.

He backed away. “What the hell is that?” he said.

Maria sobbed. “It’s our child,” she cried.
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Elfdame »

Some kids take a bit of getting used to. I often wondered what my mom thought when she saw my deformity.

I like the way Maria first looks to be sure she's camouflaged; tells a lot about her life.
"Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton." From Chapter 9 of _Brother Odd_ by Dean Koontz / from Chapter 10: "Life you can evade; death you cannot."

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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Unfortunately the boy's parents do not get used to him. As you may be able to tell by the following.

Animal
(April 1975)

The strange blue boy crouched on all fours in the basement, his tail twitching. He was hungry, nearly starving. They hadn’t fed him at all for three days.

He darted across the floor to the small tub of water they left down there for him. Leaning over the edge, he lapped up water, like a cat. The water did nothing to ease his hunger. With a leap, he bounded to the other side of the room.

He clutched the wall and began to climb. Soon he was crawling out across the ceiling. Yowling, he let go, spinning to land on his feet.

Even that noise did not disturb them. He had not truly expected it to. For the last two days he’d been making as much noise as he possibly could, trying to get the attention of the man and the woman who lived upstairs.

He heard them all the time, the man shouting and angry, the woman screaming in pain. But only the woman would ever come down, to leave the food and then dart up the stairs again. The man would sometimes bang and shout when the boy was too loud.

Then he heard the door of the house opening, and he immediately made a fuss and a racket.

The man shouted out, “Go shut that damn creature up!” The boy listened harder, recognizing “damn creature,” knowing that the man was talking about him.

The woman’s footsteps came clopping down the stairs. Without warning, the door creaked opened, crushing his tail. Screeching, the boy flew to the other side of the room.

The woman shrieked herself, dropping the food she’d brought down. With a bang and the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, the door to the basement closed.

The boy peeked from behind the box, and then crawled across the floor to the food. For a minute, he sniffed at it, but then he stuffed it into his mouth. He leapt to the corner where he curled up and fell asleep, hunger finally satiated.


Turn Up the Radio
(November 1976)

The blue boy rooted through things in the basement, pushing aside broken appliances and searching through boxes. He really wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but he was inquisitive and liked to look through things, to try things. Nothing ever happened, but he might as well. He punched a button on a large black box-like device, knowing nothing would happen.

To his alarm, something did happen. Loud noise and speaking suddenly blared at him, and he jumped straight into the air, almost enough to hit the ceiling. Then he ran across to the other end of the room, screeching as he went.

He cowered in the corner, staring at the device. Nothing was really different about it, except for the noise. But now that he thought about it, he kind of liked the noise. It was sort of soothing. But it was much too loud and hurt his ears.

The noise suddenly changed to speaking, and the boy crept forward. He pawed at the device, batting it like a cat. To his astonishment, it became quieter.

The boy was delighted with his new toy. He spent a great deal of times fiddling with the knobs and buttons on it, making it louder or quieter, switching from talking to the pretty noise to different kinds of noise and back to talking again. It was fun, it was exciting, and it was new.

When the woman came down to give him his food, the boy didn’t even notice her, fascinated as he was with the new thing he’d discovered. Perhaps the woman noticed his new thing, but she didn’t come in, and went right back up the stairs, leaving him alone with his toy.

He went to sleep that night listening to the pretty noise, his arms wrapped around the device and his tail twitching rhythmically even after he had fallen asleep.


[Edited on 8/30/09 by Dedicatedfollower467]
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

As I write this, I realized that what I really did was flip-flop Wolverine and Nightcrawler. It's Nightie who was raised to become a beast, a monster, an animal, and Wolvie who ends up as an educated gentleman. S'funny how that worked.

Moonlight Sonata
(April 1978)

“Next up we have Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played by pianist Alonzo Godolphin.”

The tip of the boy’s tail twitched at the word Beethoven. He enjoyed the lilting music that Beethoven wrote—the smoothness of it and the way it all sort of flowed together. This one was sad and soft and slow.

He stood up as the music played, walking across the room in a sort of dance, moving swiftly and surely across the floor. It was one of his favorite games, moving with the music. But he stopped when he saw the window.

In a second he was at the window. His large, somewhat clumsy fingers struggled with the latch. Soon it was open, a tiny rectangle of connection to the outside.

The boy stared up at the moon high above him, sniffed the sweet smell of the newness of spring. Every year he smelled it, and every year he longed to be out there, to feel the world awakening all around him. Instead was trapped in his concrete prison, alone.

He sighed, listening to the sad music and wishing he were out there.
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Elfdame »

Reminds me of that scene from Wallace's "The Man In The Iron Mask."
"Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton." From Chapter 9 of _Brother Odd_ by Dean Koontz / from Chapter 10: "Life you can evade; death you cannot."

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Earth 467

Post by Phoenixincarnate »

I love this, tis awesome.
...PIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I apolgize for any spelling mistakes, Its kinda hard to type in a straitjacket...
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Earth 467

Post by Dedicatedfollower467 »

Okay, finally gonna post another saga in this poor little boy's story. Haven't put up one of these in a while... but this particular story has been stewing in my head a good long while, so I think it's finally ready for the blue screen...

First Words
(June 1981)

The boy listened intently to the radio. He couldn’t remember when he had first discovered that the sounds that weren’t music were actually words with which he could communicate. It hadn’t come in a flash really… but sort of like the drip of the faucet in the corner of the basement, something slow and steady that had originally been a puzzling nuisance but had become a steady, familiar, and almost unnoticeable source of comfort over time.

But he did remember when he’d first had the idea to try to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Wagner. He was pretty sure those were their names… whenever strange voices in the house talked, they called them Mr. and Mrs. Wagner. Or occasionally Eric and Maria. It didn’t really matter which one he called them, what mattered was that they had names. And he could understand the names.

But it had suddenly struck him one night that they probably thought he was a stupid animal. Having finally discerned that “damn creature” was also something other than his name, he had figured out that perhaps the man, at least, thought that he was an animal. And it had occurred to him that speech, or the lack of it, was probably what constituted the difference between an animal and a person.

So he had begun practicing. It was difficult to make the noises. He had never had any experience with noise aside from the extreme grating of his palate that was howling. So he had worked diligently on the sounds, attempting to murmur them in his sleep.

He had decided “Hello” would be a good word to start out with. The woman—Mrs. Wagner—would come down the stairs and he would crawl right over to her and say “hello.” And then she would look at him without horror and without fear, and she would say “hello” back. And then everything would be ok.

Suddenly, he heard the clomp, clomp of feet on the stairs. It sounded like both of them. He quickly switched off the radio—the man didn’t like it. And there were two distinct sets of footsteps coming down to the basement.

Then the door opened and he heard the man speaking. “Look, Maria, it’ll be the end of the nuisance. A bag and some heavy rocks, and then into the river. Like dealing with unwanted kittens.”

“But…” Maria’s voice was timid and frightened, “But he’s still our son.”

The boy didn’t understand many of the words, though he was concentrating heavily. At the same time he was trying to remember how to form those simply sounds that became “hello.”

Eric’s voice growled. “It’s no son of mine, woman. If you still have the gall to claim that whelp as yours, you’ll be at the bottom of the river with it.”

“H…he—h-he…” The boy tried to get the sounds to fit together but they just wouldn’t come. Suddenly the man came barging down the stairs. He had never seen Eric before. The pale hair and skin glinted like sunlight, and at first he thought that perhaps this man was warm and friendly like sunlight. But then he saw the look on Eric’s face, and though he had rarely ever had the chance to discern emotions on a face, there was something in there that he did not like.

Eric advanced on him, a rope stretched between his hands. Maria, her long red hair tied back in a little ponytail, came following after him, clutching a large black bag. The boy backed away into a corner, all thought of human interaction abandoned. His body was suddenly abandoned to pure animal instinct—the instinct of prey caught in between a predator and a rock.

Then Eric pounced, like the predator he had so resembled in the boy’s mind. Rough hands and thick rope were suddenly around the boy’s thin little wrists and slim ankles. They were being tied tight, and the boy was a mouse caught in the claws of a vicious blond cat. He twisted and turned, panting, trying to wrench himself free of those vile hands, making hardly a sound.

But the knots were being tied tighter, and the boy was subdued by the large bulk of Eric Wagner. “Maria, get the bag over its head, now!”

The large black space was like the maw of that gaping cat, ready to swallow him whole.

And the boy saw the hate in Eric’s eyes, and he screamed for the first time. His first word burst out of his mouth in tremendous fear.

“NO!”

And his thoughts were suddenly to be away from these vile people and this dank and dark and dingy basement, to be out on the grass beneath the blue, blue sky, and then there was a sound like BAMF! and a flash of purple smoke… a constricting feeling like his body was being squeezed worse than it was before, an ache in every joint and a swinging, sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach…

And then he was there.

[Author's Note: This was originally going to be slightly more graphic, but I couldn't bring myself to write it... so it'll stay this way for a while. It's scary enough as it is.]
~Def.
"A dedicated follower of nothing." -- graffitit artist in Brick Lane, London, England.
Right across the lane from the demon and just down the wall from Wolverine.
RIP Kurt Wagner. You were the character who brought in me into comics, who introduced me and inspired me. Now your death has sent me away again. Wherever you are in the Marvel Universe, I hope its someplace pleasant.
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Post by Elfdame »

Keep it coming.
"Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton." From Chapter 9 of _Brother Odd_ by Dean Koontz / from Chapter 10: "Life you can evade; death you cannot."

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