Chapter 1
Nick Carter picked up the axe and approached the elm tree. Pity to cut it down, but unless he wanted an epidemic of Dutch elm disease, it had to go. He ran his free hand over the gnarled surface of the the diseased tree, remembering the times he'd climbed up and pretended that he was a bird. A rare smile appeared on his face. The tree was old, it was supposedly over a hundred years old when he'd arrived at the orphanage, and over the years it had been mutilated by various people, but it still stood there.
Nick looked around to make sure that the tree wouldn't injure anyone when it came crashing down.He held the axe in both hands, bringing it behind his head. The familiar feeling of something flowing from his torso to his hands began. To him, it only seemed like pure energy in liquid form, nothing else. He could feel it coursing through his veins, supplying his muscles with the strength to bring down the tree, enabled his mind to visualize exactly how to strike the trunk. If he had looked back, he would have see his hands and the axe emitting a dim glow that escalated into a brilliant white light. Without thinking, his mind focused on the energy within his torso, and he brought the axe down onto the trunk. With a single resounding blow, the axe sliced right through the thick trunk like a hot knife through butter. The dead elm landed on the ground with a loud thud. He knelt down and inspected his work. It was a clean cut, without even a single splinter
He stayed in that position for some time, looking at the stump and counting the number of rings he saw. He saw only a little over 70 rings, indicating that the tree was not as old as they thought. He sat on it and looked into the woods surrounding the orphanage. New York state wasn't exactly a wilderness, but Nick was glad to have spent what little he remembered of his life in one of the pockets of rural areas. He was always running around the woods, trying to throw the adults off his trail.
"Hey kid, gotta light?"
Momentarily startled, Nick turned round to find the source of the rough voice. He took in the sight of the stranger over which his six foot frame towered. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
"No." His reply was short and clipped. He didn't like the look of the stranger, what with his hair curling up at the sides of his head, giving him the impression of having horns. "What business do you have here, stranger?"
"Looking for you Nickolas."
A pause, a slight hesitation. "How did you..." Nick was cut off by a wail that came from behind him. "The woods...something's caught in a trap." He vaulted off, followed quickly by the stranger. He ran towards the sound of the poor animal, finally coming across a fox with its foot caught in a trap. He bent down and tried to pry the jaws of the trap open, but was hampered by the frightened fox snapping at his fingers and growling at him.
"Why don't you let me try?"
Nick nearly jumped out of his skin. No sirree. He really didn't like this stranger, what with his sneaking up on him and calling him 'kid'. "No thank you, I'm sure I'll get it out...soon."
"Whatever you say, bub." The stranger leaned against a tree, smoking away. It seemed as if he'd found a light after all. Nick tried to pull the trap open again, but the mechanism was strong, and the fox really didn't like him. His mind whirred into action as he took a closer look at the springs holding it together, but soon jumped back in pain when the fox scratched his face.
"Ow!" He held a hand up against his bloody cheek. The stranger stepped forward, with an 'I-told-you-so' expression on his weathered face. The fox growled menacingly and snapped at his hand. "Woah there." He placed his hands on the trap and tried to calm the animal down. Sharp teeth clamped on his hand and drew blood. Nick was surprised when the stranger didn't even flinch at the impact. He also wasn't prepared for the sight of the stranger's skin healing the bite right before his eyes. This was no ordinary man.
"How the f...what...how are you going to op..." He was silenced by a wave of the stranger's healed hand.
Snikt. Out popped a metal claw from his knuckle, gleaming slightly in the little light that penetrated the trees. "You're not the only one handy with a blade, bub." He brought his hand down onto the trap's mechanism, and the claw cut it in half. The trap sprung open and the fox ran off on three legs. The stranger straightened his wrist, and the claw drew itself back into his forearm.
Nick stared open-eyed and slack jawed. He looked up to the stranger's face, his hands, then back to his face. Not a flicker of emotion surfaced.
"Any place near here where we can get a drink, Nick?"
One bus ride, two Cokes and an hour's discussion later at the nearest town pub, Nick was still trying to digest whatever Wolverine had told him.
"So you're saying that, I'm a freak of nature." He absently played with the knives on the table, making the blade glow and dim at his will.
"That's what the public wants you to believe. People like us have to keep all of our powers hidden, or else face being ostracised by whoever crosses our path." Wolverine took a swig of his beer. "Believe me, I learnt it the hard way."
"How did you know you were...you know...a mutant." He whispered the last word, just in case anyone overheard their conversation. Wolverine stiffened and frowned. His left hand covered the knuckles of his right in a reflex action.
"Long story kid. Suffice to say, I was experimented upon." The blonde's eyes widened at the comment. "They tampered with my memory and gave me these," he unsheathed his claws under the table, "and covered my whole skeleton in adamantium, the hardest metal on earth. Turned me into a killing machine." With a snikt, the claws disappeared, and Nick looked up to the older man's grim face.
"It's this type of thing that the Professor wants to stop. His goal is to have mankind and mutants living together in harmony. Unfortunately, there are other mutants that want mankind enslaved, at our kind's beck and call. But with their luck, the X Men'll be there to stop them." His gaze softened, but not enough to let his enamoured facade slip.
"So, you in, or you out?"
Thwack. With a slight twist of his wrist, Nick flung the knife effortlessly into the table. It vibrated slightly with the force of the throw, deeply imbedded into the wood.
"I'm in."
"Ice tea?"
"Here, miss. Thank you." Howie grabbed the glass and took a long, slow sip. The teenage waitress grimaced at him and walked off, but not before he heard her voice in his head. Not another non-tipping customer. Just my fucking luck.
Howie sighed and held his head in his hands. He was having another one of his times. He was still plagued by the nightmare he had when he was just twelve. Scenes of a couple being beaten and shot to death, their son chased by gangsters in the backstreets of some city. He saw the boy's face, scared to death by the sight of a gun held in the gangster's hand. He woke up screaming, waking up the rest of his family. After that, he kept on hearing people's voices in his head, private thoughts meant only for themselves. He was scared and confused, and quickly learnt how to cover up his special talent. Other mornings he woke up to find some object levitating a few inches above the ground, settling down only when he willed it to.
For years he was tormented by people's thoughts, but he did manage to levitate and move objects at his will. Then when his sister Caroline died last year, he nearly fell apart. Not only did he hear her as she died, he felt as if he himself was dying, drawn into a whirlpool of pain and emotion as she slipped away into the nether world. Needless to say, he was more than shaken by the turn of events. In addition to the sense of loss he felt towards Caroline's death, he also had to deal with the splitting headaches caused by it, the ones where even aspirin couldn't help. He started having nightmares again, and the one with the gangsters and the family kept on replaying, like some old rerun on a TV channel.
Hello Howard.
"What?" He turned in his seat to find the source of the female voice. He was almost used to hearing voices, but not voices that referred to him directly.
"I'm here." He saw a redheaded woman behind him, next to a man with some funky kind of sunglasses. "Mind if you join you?"
"N...not at all."
It's alright Howard, I'll explain everything in due time. She smiled at him as she conveyed her thoughts.
"I'm Jean Grey, and this is Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops."