First Team

by Robbie MacNiven

“I fear you miss the mark, Victor,” Graymalkin interjected. “Whatever plan you hatch in order to depart from the Institute, the odds will be against you beyond its walls. You propose going into near-insurmountable danger.”

  “Standard X-Men stuff then,” Vic said, refusing to entertain even a moment of their concern. “You’d do the same.”

  “Really?” Cipher asked, her voice turning bitter. “Two orphans abandoned by their parents would give up everything in a doomed attempt at saving their father?”

  “It isn’t doomed,” Vic snarled. “My dad’s going to be fine! I’m going to make sure of that!” He said that as much to stave off his own desperation as to reassure Ci. They’d all heard the rumors about what Purifiers did to “unbelievers.” Stories about pyres and burnings, horrid tales of fanaticism and brutality.

  “Does your mom want you to go?” Cipher demanded. “Have you thought about her? Or us, for that matter?”

  “Drop the guilt act, Alisa,” Vic snapped, rising to his feet. “Do you think for one second that I’m not worried about my mom as well? You think I want to go out there at a time like this? I’ve seen what’s going on in the world, what they’re doing to mutants on the outside. The stuff they cut out of the news reports you watch. I’m as scared as everyone, but I’m angry too. Angry as hell! And it’s time I did something about it.”

  “And what do you intend to do about it?” Graymalkin asked. His calm and measured tone cut through Ci and Vic’s rising voices

  “Tell us what you intend,” he elaborated as they both looked at him. “That we might at least be put at ease.”

  “So you can tell Cyclops and help stop me?”

  “So we can help you get out,” Cipher said, sounding exasperated now. Vic looked from her to Gray, surprised.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “We had a lengthy discussion prior to this evening,” Graymalkin said. “We agreed it would likely be difficult dissuading you from searching for your father. We agreed that, if all other attempts failed, it would be better to assist you in whatever way we can than allow you to struggle on alone. That, I believe, is what friends are for.”

  Vic felt his earlier anger burn up, leaving him with a sense of embarrassment. He’d been sick of the prospect of being harangued, so much so that he hadn’t even considered asking them for their help.

  “So again, Vic, tell us what you’ve got planned,” Cipher said, moving to sit next to Gray on Santo’s slab, her legs folded up under her. “Or we can’t help you.”

  “Well,” Vic said, collecting his thoughts. In truth he didn’t have much of a plan beyond going chameleon and seeing how far he could get. But this changed things. “The big picture first. I’ve been thinking about the Purifiers, how well-equipped and coordinated they are. None of this was even on the radar four or five months ago. Why are they suddenly able to roam and attack people at will? I think the answer is they’ve got a backer.”

  “A patron?” Graymalkin wondered, putting the word in terms he understood.

  “Someone well connected and wealthy,” Vic went on. “That’s the most obvious way to explain why the likes of Xodus have become so brazen of late. Someone’s backing them. The questions then become who, and why?”

  “Do they need a reason beyond hating our kind?” Cipher asked. “Anyone can be a Purifier. Anyone can hate mutants. I’m sure there’s more than a few college graduates and wealthy businessmen beneath those black robes and masks. We don’t even know Xodus’s real identity. He could be anyone.”

  “True,” Vic allowed. “But if it’s just generic mutant hate, then where do I come into it?”

  “Well... you’re a mutant,” Gray said without a hint of irony.

  “Yes, but I’m one of thousands. So why target me specifically? And there’s no doubt they did. Yes, there was a Purifier presence in my hometown, even though it’s in the back end of nowhere. But for Xodus himself to rock up outside my house just a day after I got home? Someone either followed me there or contacted him the moment I got off the bus on East Locust. He practically confirmed he was only in town for me. He called out my neighbors, used my Anole alias, and now he’s presumably intending to keep my dad as a hostage. So, why?”

  “The Institute,” Cipher wondered. “They’re targeting the next generation of X-Men.”

  “Perhaps,” Graymalkin said. “But there have been many rumors of disappearances and attacks on mutants who aren’t members of the Institute.”

  “Maybe that’s all a cover,” Cipher continued. “Perhaps all the rallies and the mob rule are to disguise the more targeted attacks? Like the one on you and your family, Vic.”

  “That’s what I’m assuming,” Victor said. “And that’s why I want to find out who’s bankrolling it all. They’ve made it personal. Get to them and we may also be able to get it all to stop.”

  “So how do you intend to unmask them?” Graymalkin asked, apparently not realizing he’d made a joke about Purifiers and grotesques.

  “Well, firstly, I won’t be able to do it from inside the Institute,” Vic said, a smile creeping across his face. “And since you’re both here, I guess you might as well lend a hand. Here’s what I’m thinking...”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wilbur glanced up from his phone at the harsh glow of the monitor bank spread out before him. The dozen screens maintained their bright intensity, a patchwork display of the Institute’s floors, corridors and chambers that sat seemingly frozen in time. The only movement was on Channel 18, the one covering the canteen’s security cameras. A few night owls were busy making snacks.

  Wilbur looked back down at his phone. He’d spent most of the evening trying to boost his score on Farmyard Heist. One of the game’s AI farmers kept busting him before he could swipe his crop stocks. It was getting frustrating.

  There was a bleeping noise, and the door to the security room opened. Eakin entered, accompanied by a blessed draught of cool air.

  “Leave it open for a second,” Wilbur pleaded, not looking up. His shirt was damp with sweat – there was something to be said for how quiet night shift in the security room was, but it did get unbearably hot in the cramped space, and protocol demanded they keep the door locked. In fairness the room was little more than a large cupboard that had been converted into the Institute’s security center with the addition of the monitors, a desk and a few chairs. The base’s original security control hub was now the Institute’s main data vault.

  Eakin obliged, standing by the door for a minute and letting the sticky air vent before returning to his own seat.

  “All quiet?” Wilbur asked him, still on his phone.

  “Yep,” Eakin said, swiveling his chair to face the monitors. “Had to tell Sheppard to keep his music down in the dorms, but what’s new?”

  Wilbur grunted, not really listening. He’d managed to sneak a sack of beets and get out before the cartoonish farmyard hounds had caught him. Progress at last.

  “Wilbur?” Eakin said.

  “Hmm?” he murmured, refusing to look up. The sunrise timer was almost finished and he’d only half filled his crop sack. At this rate there was no way he’d be able to hold his place on the global rankings this week.

  “You seeing this?”

  Apparently not. Pausing the game with a sigh, Wilbur glanced at his fellow warden. Eakin, his freckled face set in consternation, was staring at the monitors. One in particular.

  “What?” Wilbur demanded, following his gaze without noticing anything out of the ordinary. “Come on, I’ve only got six more bushels to steal before sunrise.”

  “Was that monitor on a minute ago?” Eakin asked, ignoring his friend’s obsession with his game. For a second Wilbur was confused, thinking he meant the security screens, all of which were still functioning. Then he finally noticed what Eakin was staring at.

  Channel 5, the bank of cams monitorin
g the data hub. The room was buried deep near the bottom of the Institute’s labyrinth, cut into the rugged rock at the core of the former military base. Its interior consisted of half a dozen large data stacks and a trio of display screens that provided access to the hundreds of thousands of files stored in the Institute’s database. Access to the room was only permitted for school staff and security, so usually it was empty, and the display screens remained inactive. Tonight, however, one was lit up.

  “Well, that’s weird,” Wilbur said.

  “Was it like that earlier?” Eakin pressed.

  Wilbur just shrugged.

  “We should go check on it.”

  “I guess,” Wilbur said. “It’s probably just an automatic system reboot though.”

  “We’re supposed to be in lockdown,” Eakin pointed out tersely. “What do you think the principal will say if he finds out we skimp on half our patrol circuits and barely ever leave the control room?”

  “Cyclops is too busy worrying about the kids to check up on us,” Wilbur said confidently, looking back down at his phone. “Go check it out if you want. I’ll hold the fort.”

  “He told us to remain extra vigilant tonight,” Eakin went on. “Have you still got eyes on the Borkowski kid?”

  Wilbur jabbed a finger at one of the screens. “He’s right there, Eaks. In the infirmary with his mom. He’s been there like half an hour, just sitting. Look!”

  Eakin inspected the display. Victor Borkowski was indeed in a chair next to his mom in the otherwise empty infirmary ward. On the gray monitor screen, it looked as though they were both asleep. Poor kid, Wilbur thought. If the rumors were true, he’d been through a hell of a lot in the past few days.

  “Go and check the monitor,” Wilbur said. “I’ll keep an eye on Vic. Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere tonight.”

  •••

  Cipher glanced at the monitor screen again. Eighty-one percent. She checked the communicator, wired into the data stack behind the desk. The connectivity was still good. There was nothing she could do but wait for it to finish.

  She knew this was all part of what she did best, but the waiting aspect was the worst. At the moment she just had to hope that the communicator and its wire under the desk were out of sight of the data vault’s cameras and that whoever was on shift in the control room tonight hadn’t noticed that one of the displays was active. If someone came down to check she’d have to grab the device and get out, whether the transmission was done or not.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about getting caught, not immediately at any rate. Her invisibility was both flawless and effortless, and if she needed to escape, she could simply phase through the data vault’s doors and up the elevator shaft. When combined with her ability to create a sound void around herself and the fact that she was unreadable on any telepathic spectrum, it was little wonder it had taken the staff so long to discover her very existence when she’d first decided to move into the school.

  Eighty-five percent. As far as covert mutant abilities went, Ci knew her powers were exceptional. She took no pride in them though. What pride was there in hiding? That was the true sum of her skills. Sometimes she worried it was all she was good for. The fact that other mutants sometimes struggled to control their own abilities made her feel even guiltier. When her powers had first manifested as a child, right after her parents’ death, she’d been afraid and confused. It hadn’t taken her long to master them though once she realized how potent they could be.

  Eighty-eight percent. Come on. She glanced at the elevator shaft. This had been a bad idea, all of it. Why had they agreed to help Vic? As his friends, surely, they should have done the opposite and told Principal Summers he was planning on leaving. Or at least tried harder to persuade him not to go. What would a real friend have done? What was best for him?

  She told herself that worrying was probably pointless. Vic would have gone no matter what either she or Graymalkin said, and the principal would have had to lock him up in the Institute’s depths to stop him getting out. By helping him, Cipher knew that she was at least giving him a fighting chance once he was on the outside. Without it he’d have nowhere to even begin to look.

  Ninety-two percent. Nearly there. She was going to catch hell for this, she knew. She and Graymalkin both. That didn’t really bother her. Her grades were good enough to stand a points reduction, and there was no way the school could expel her. If it did, well, she’d had a life before she’d come here, and she would have one after. She was more concerned for Gray. The Institute was all he’d known since he’d been rescued. It was as close to an accepting home as he’d ever had. Still, she knew Gray better than anyone though, and she knew just how resilient he was. He wouldn’t have survived if that weren’t the case.

  There was a small chime, almost lost in the perpetual background drone of the heavy data stacks. Cipher looked back at the elevator and saw that the downward arrow above the doors had pinged green. The number next to it was descending.

  She cursed softly, looking back at the monitor screen, then the communicator. Ninety-five percent. Too slow. Whoever was in that elevator, they’d arrive before the full transfer was completed. She’d have to improvise.

  She ghosted directly through the data bank towards the elevator, feeling the electrostatic buzz around her as she did so. Phasing through different objects brought with it different sensations. Particularly dense materials, like rock or concrete, sent a slight chill to her core. Passing through something with an electric current made her skin prickle and her hairs stand on end. Passing through another living being, well, that was exactly what she was about to experience.

  She stopped outside the elevator, standing square at the entrance. There was another ping as it rumbled to a halt before the doors slid open. One of the security guards, the short redhead named Eakin, looked straight through her.

  Cipher had long grown used to the more disconcerting aspects of hiding in literal plain sight. Eakin looked more exasperated than wary as he left the elevator, striding into the data vault. Instinct demanded that Cipher raise a hand, flinch or move in reaction to Eakin’s advance right into her, but she did nothing. He walked through her.

  A powerful bioelectric discharge flared within both their bodies. Eakin gasped and halted in his tracks, grasping his chest. Cipher floated back through him again for good measure. The shock occurred whenever she phased through another living being. It was harmless, but an unpleasant surprise for anyone not prepared for it. Eakin took a second to recover, his face tight with alarm. In Ci’s experience, most people seemed to think they were in the early stages of a heart attack or a stroke. By the time Eakin had regained his composure, Cipher had ghosted back through to the other side of the data stack.

  Ninety-nine percent. One hundred. She snatched up the communicator and killed the power switch on the monitor. Eakin was walking around the side of the data banks. She went the opposite way – it would be impossible to fully phase while she was carrying the communicator, but Eakin was out of sight anyway. She made it to the elevator and caught the open doors just as Eakin arrived at the now-dead monitor.

  The elevator pinged. Cipher hit the button that would take her to Lower North, the Institute’s smallest concealed entrance. Her last sight was of Eakin hurrying back round the data stack, mouth agape as the elevator doors rumbled shut in front of an X-communicator that was apparently hovering in midair.

  Cipher had no doubt he’d hit the alarms now. That didn’t matter. The first stage was complete.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vic waited. His mother had been asleep since he’d arrived. The night nurse had told him to ring the silent buzzer if he needed anything before leaving him in peace.

  He was nervous. After talking with Gray and Ci he’d been full of the same excited energy he experienced after a good scene reading. Now, though, he had the fright he always got seconds before curtain
call.

  He tried to rationalize his uncertainties. Would Mom be OK here on her own? She’d worry, he had no doubt. He couldn’t help that, so he’d left her a small note, slipped beneath her pillow, reassuring her that she was safe here and telling her that he was going after Dad. She would understand. He had to believe that.

  He did his best not to glance up at the security cam in the corner. He felt as though it was pointed straight at him. It felt like being locked in hostile rifle sights, making his flesh prickle, like he was going to color-shift. He quelled the urge. How long had he been sitting here, feigning quiet contemplation while his mind churned? Where were Cipher and Graymalkin? Would they be OK after he left? There was no way they’d avoid being caught. What would Cyclops do to them? Fail a grade, retake classes for a year? What if he got them expelled? Surely the school couldn’t do that, not with everything that was happening on the outside? They wouldn’t be left to fend for themselves.

  He felt the communicator in his pocket pip. It made his heart quicken. That was it. Ci had completed the transfer. On to stage two. He waited a little longer, looking at his mother. She appeared peaceful and untroubled – were it not for the bandage around her scalp, it would be easy to imagine nothing had happened to her over the past few days. But that wasn’t true. Everything had changed, in her life and in her son’s. Victor forced away the pang of regret and stood up.

  He had to do this. For his family.

  No time left for hesitation. Ignoring the accusatory glare of the security camera, he pulled off his hoodie and removed his sweatpants. Beneath it, he wore the form-fitting black and yellow of his X-suit, bold colors that quickly began to ripple and shift.

  In just a few heartbeats, Vic had melted from sight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Graymalkin sat on the edge of his bed, his head bowed, hands clasped in his lap, waiting. The lights were off and his dorm window was shuttered, leaving the room in darkness. In the pitch black, his powers coiled within him, eager to be let loose. Strength, speed, his every sense honed and sharpened to the tenth degree, but only in the dark could he experience such vitality, rediscover the very essence of what had kept him alive. Ironic, then, that it was in the dark that he also felt the most afraid, the most alone.