Blood & Ice #1 Bloodbath
From the outside it felt like a fight. But Charles Xavier,
geneticist, man of peace, founder of the X-Men, knew better. The
premier telepath on the planet, even he could not completely
block the echoes of lust and hunger that seeped out of that room.
His room. The most recently acquired mutant in their merry
little band. His membership had brought more dissent among the
members than Wolverine, Rogue, and Gambit's combined.
"What are we going to do with him?" Jean had asked. "His
love of violence surpasses Logan's by light years."
"Logan never *loved* violence, Jean." he had corrected
gently. "He is good at it and it suits his nature - but he never
*needed* it the way this boy does."
"He's worse than Sabretooth." Cyclops gave the most damming
objection he could think of.
"Look at him - !" Storm shuddered as the figure on the tape
ripped out a throat, an Israeli soldier dropping like a stone.
The white face, highlighted by red lips and sparkling eyes,
looked positively gleeful. "This is truly a demon, my friends.
How could we sleep at night with this in our midst?"
"I have spoken to Mycroft at length." Xavier spoke quietly.
"He knows what he is and what he does. He connects no moral
consequences to his actions. But he does assure me that he will
not resort to gratuitous violence as long as he is adequately
fed."
"And we are supposed to *feed* him?!" Bishop seldom
contradicted Xavier, but now his disbelief forced the words out.
"Would it not be better for the world if we simply put him out of
his misery?"
"The X-Men do not perform executions." it was said sharply.
"He asked us to." Cyclops was musing, not actually
considering it as a course of action. "That signifies some
feeling of remorse, some semblance of a conscience."
Hank McCoy, the Beast, had remained silent throughout the
discussion. As the security camera panned down, he watched in
disgusted fascination as the redheaded vampire ripped yet another
throat, this time stopping to drink from the warm corpse, holding
it to his chest in a grotesque parody of affection.
"Does he want treatment? Will he let us try to change his
nature?"
"Absolutely not." Xavier said it heavily. "He likes the way
he is."
"Then why did he come to us?"
"He will not say."
"Then why are we even considering this?!" Cyclops sounded as
indignant as Bishop had a minute before.
"He says he needs us."
"As a feeding pool? I think not." Storm stood suddenly. "You
have my vote, Charles. I do not want this - thing - in my home."
"I agree." Scott was certain.
"And you, Jean? Hank?" Xavier looked at them.
"I'm thinking of the possibilities." Jean admitted. "What if
he kills us all in our sleep?"
"Why would he do that? He has nothing personal against us.
His moral code may not be - equivalent - to ours, but he does
have one."
"Something like Gambit's 'honor among theives' schitck?"
"The code of the thieves' guild is very real, Scott."
Charles answered seriously.
"What do we offer him?" Hank asked. "And what do we ask in
return?"
"If staying with us causes him to kill less, isn't that
enough?" Jean glanced at Scott, well aware that they did not
agree on this issue. "If he wanted to kill us he could have
simply broken in and attempted it."
"But there will be a price for harboring such evil." shaking
her head slowly, Storm stood firm with her objections.
"Is he evil? Do we have the right to judge?" Xavier prodded
them.
"He's the closest thing to true evil I've seen since we
faced D'Spayre in Ethiopia." Scott said.
"What else do we know about him?" Bishop was trying to
formulate a consensus in his own mind.
"Not much. While I have tried over the past few years, he
has been difficult to track. He has done turns for several
governments, always at a good price - "
"And usually on the good side." Hank added.
" - and he disappears frequently. There is the issue of his
sexual orientation, which, from intelligence reports I have read,
is firmly homosexual. There is only one report of him forming any
kind of long-term relationship, but that man - an older gentleman
- died from AIDS about two years ago."
"So it's possible that this recent fixation on violence has
been in reaction to that?" Hank sounded hopeful.
"I do not think so." Xavier was sorry to say it. "His
history - both what I have learned and what he has told me
himself - would indicate that the need - the hunger for violence,
as he calls it - has been growing steadily since his mutation
manifested. And worse, there is a biochemical basis to his need
for blood. Without it he will die."
"So he kills to survive." Bishop nodded. That he could
understand.
"Yes. Basically, to him humans are food."
"I don't want to be anyone's lunch - certainly not some
psychotic psuedo-vampire's." Scott was adamant.
"That is an issue to consider. If we agree to take him - and
we have not decided that - it will take regular donations from
the entire team to keep him supplied."
"From everyone?" Jean sounded concerned. "Even those who
don't agree?"
"It's not something I'm going to force, naturally. But those
who do contribute will have to make up the slack for those who
don't - or he will kill again."
"So that's our choice. Take him and feed him and he'll stop
killing others - or let him go to do as he will."
"In essence." Charles sighed. "This was not a circumstance I
had ever envisioned, Scott. I cannot advise any of you in this.
And I will not judge you by your response."
"It's not anything I ever expected to see." Jean said. "But
I think we should keep him. Perhaps, if exposed to us long
enough, he will grow a conscience."
"Bishop?" Charles asked him first, knowing that Scott needed
more time.
"We keep him - we watch him."
"Of course. Hank?"
"An interesting case study. There may be more we can do for
him than feed him. I say we keep him - with restrictions."
"Storm?"
The blue team leader shook her head again, meeting Charle's
eyes.
"No. I will say no more."
"As you wish." he acknowledged her right to privacy and his
eyes fell on Scott, hunch in his seat, looking at the table-top.
"And what do you say, Cyclops?"
"I'm...abstaining." Jean turned to her husband, a frown
creasing her face. "I just don't know what to do." he admitted to
her.
"That is your right." Charles said quietly. "The majority
votes to keep him. I'm going to talk to him - Jean, will you
accompany me?"
"Certainly, Charles." she rose and left with him, speaking
to Scott over their mind-link. <Easy, lover. We have to do this -
if only for the lives it will save>
<And what of our lives?> she caught the hint of foulness,
the taint that he connected to the young Englishman.
<We made that decision a long time ago> it was a gentle
reminder of who they were and what they did.
As they had approached the room Xavier had assigned the man,
Jean stopped, dizzy from the blast of hunger and lust that
resonated from him. Xavier shored up her psychic strength and
spoke aloud.
"I do not know if we can teach him to block that. Between
the two of us, with Betsy's help, we will have to keep it from
affecting the rest of the team."
"He's so strong. Can we do that day after day?"
"It is my hope that the intensity of his hungers will lessen
when he is fed regularly."
"How long has it been since he last ate?" she asked and was
astonished to hear an answer uninvited in her mind.
<*Too long, lady. Soon I will be forced to feed - and you
will have lost your chance to 'help' me*> the tone was polite,
but she reeled from the backlash of violent hunger.
<GET OUT OF MY MIND!> her response was swift and
devastating, as the mental blast she loosed threw him from the
chair he sat in, to fly into the far wall and collapse on the
floor.
Xavier opened the door and hurried to him, thoughts of his
own safety pushed aside, while Jean leaned against the doorframe,
gasping after the effort of her attack, one of the strongest she
had ever thrown.
"Mycroft. Are you injured?" Xavier asked quietly.
"*Next time hit me WITH the chair, lady*." his unnatural
voice hissed in their ears. "*Forcing me to assimilate the wood
would give you time to run*."
Jean shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing.
Xavier extended a hand to the man without hesitation, and he took
it, lifting himself without leaning on the professor's strength,
almost a levitation, Xavier thought. He was so powerful...they
had to help him, change him.
Or at least come to an arrangement that would prevent him
from killing again.
"*Yes...I will not kill, if you feed this hunger...*" his
eyes glowed prenaturally red, fangs showing in sharp relief
against dark red lips, swollen and sensual. He stared at Jean,
his hunger written clearly on his face. Charles felt a sharp pang
coupled with an eerie sense of deja'vu. What did this remind him
of?
Wolverine. There was a sense of that here - Logan's first
meeting with Jean. It had led to his long-held feelings for her,
unresolved and unremitting, despite his love for another woman,
Mariko Yashida. His love for Jean had endured even her marriage
to Scott.
Not again, please. They did not deserve this, Jean and
Scott, not when they had found some small happiness.
"*Do not worry, Xavier...that will not happen here*." the
redhead made a supreme effort, his face twisting, body jerking
with the force of it, and drew the vampire back within himself,
becoming again an extraordinarily sensual, blindingly handsome
young man. His red hair, several shades brighter than Jean's own,
flowed well past his waist, his skin glistened white in contrast
to his black jeans and shirt, his eyes were again a startlingly
clear blue. "*SHE...is not what I want*."
"Do you only concern yourself with what you want?" Jean
asked. There was kindness in her voice, the same empathy she felt
with the berserker Logan present here, to a much slighter degree.
"*I have never had occasion to think of anyone else*." it
was an answer meant to discourage.
"It can't be that way if you remain with us." Xavier said
slowly. "There are concessions we will require. Rules you will
have to follow."
"*Just feed me...I cannot think anymore, the hunger is all
there is...I want my mind back*."
His visitors sighed together. There it was. The reason they
had wanted. A reason to trust him, to believe he was sincere in
his desire to stop killing wantonly.
"Does the killing make it hard for you to think?" Jean
asked, coming into the room at last, to stand only a few feet
away from him.
"*The killing ALLOWS me to think, lady. It is the hunger
that prevents it*."
"And you would give this up if you could be fed regularly?"
"*You do not trust me. I do not lie. Ever. I have no need of
it*."
The words chilled Jean in a way she could not explain. But
his next actions were worse.
"*You have not come to a consensus. I cannot wait. I must
feed now, or I will have NO control in it*." he rose in the air
and began drifting towards the window, while Xavier protested and
Jean reached for him telekinetically, only to have her mental
grasp slide harmlessly off his shields. "*I will return*." he
promised, and was gone in a puff of smoke as he turned to mist
and joined the night.
"Can you get a fix on him?" Jean asked as Xavier's mind
searched the night.
His eyes clenched in concentration, Xavier gritted an
answer.
"Yes! Take a team - follow him - stop him!" he managed, all
of his energy taken by the effort to maintain the link with the
disembodied mutant.
It took Jean less than three minutes to broadcast the
problem and gather those X-Men in the mansion. Rogue and Gambit
were off on their own somewhere, Angel and Betsy out for the
evening, Iceman unlocatable. Only Scott, Hank, Bishop and Storm
came to her call, as they had been the only ones there for the
meeting earlier when Mycroft had presented himself with his
uncomfortable request - and Hank elected to stay behind and make
preparations.
Following Xavier's mental directions - he had gotten himself
to Cerebro and was using the machine's power to augment his own -
they flew quickly into the city proper, soon finding themselves
on the wrong side of town, and out of their depth socially,
landing to walk hesitantly.
"Who are these people?" Bishop whispered to Storm as they
passed sidewalks full of people, young and old, dressed to
display themselves, past porn shops and one-hour motels.
"The lost ones of the city." she told him sadly.
"But some of them are only children!" the harshness of it
surprised even him. This kind of poverty had existed in his
world, but it was restricted to mutants..."Is this accepted
here?"
"Not officially." Jean answered his question and pointed to
a small dirty window in a flop-house. "Charles says he's in
there."
It had taken them almost thirty minutes to locate him. She
prayed he had not had a chance to kill yet.
"I suggest we take the front door." Storm said. "If he has
already killed it will not matter."
Without discussion they chose her course, going past the
empty lobby desk and up dank stairs.
"I don't think he has." Jean said, and then, to Scott's
shock, she groaned aloud and crumpled. Only Bishop's reflexes
kept her from hitting the ground.
"Jean? JEAN?!" Scott took her, rubbed her face, felt panic
stirring. She had been taken out so quickly - he hadn't even seen
an attack.
They all stood very still, listening, preparing. Then Scott,
his mind sensitized by years of telepathic communication with his
wife, felt it. Not as strongly as she had, but it was enough to
make his stomach heave and roil. Then Bishop and Storm doubled
over in nausea, clutching their abdomens as their insides sought
to expel themselves.
"What is it?" Scott gasped, barely able to remain upright
and still hold Jean. "What in God's name is it!?!"
<Not god's name, Scott!> Xavier's voice reached him as if
from a great distance. <It is Mycroft - you must stop him before
he kills!>
<How, professor? HOW?> Scott was still unable to stand,
staggering, near to falling down the filthy staircase with Jean
in his arms.
<Fight it, Scott! It is only his mental projections,
increased by the intensity of the moment. It will pass, but you
must be there when it does! You must stop him from killing!>
With a lurch and groan Scott lowered Jean to the next step,
and hauled himself up by brute strength, leaving her behind.
Another step, and then another, on his hands and knees. He felt a
presence beside him and knew that Bishop was beside him. The
large black man seemed to be partially recovered from the attack,
regaining his feet, pulling Scott to his own.
"Watch Jean." Scott rasped at Storm, still down, now sitting
beside her friend. Without waiting for an answer he continued up
the stairs, relying on Bishop's greater strength when he had to,
until they were in front of the battered, dingy door that the
flood emanated from.
Stopping to breathe - just one breath, one second of peace -
Scott could tell that the emotions had changed, the lust was now
laced with satisfaction and satiation and something so dark he
couldn't identify it.
Were they too late?
"Now." he grunted to Bishop, who threw himself bodily
against the door, and it burst beneath his weight, shattering and
taking him to the floor with it.
Scott staggered in and stared, then shut his eyes in
horror...
Mycroft lay naked on the bed, blood covering his face,
dripping off his chin, a naked boy still clutched in an intimate
embrace, unmoving. Mycroft's eyes were rolled back in his head
and there was an expression of unholy pleasure on his face.
Helplessly Scott fought the urge to retch and lost, heaving
his empty stomach in agony as Bishop stood and rushed the bed.
"No!" Scott heard Jean's voice with disbelief and glanced up
in time to see her yank Bishop back with a telekinetic fist. "He
hasn't killed him!"
Mycroft's eyes, glowing red, rolled down from under
translucent lids and he smiled slightly.
"*noooo...I did not, lady. To prove myself...I did not kill
the pretty boy*."
He pushed the boy off himself and he lay still, sprawled
unconsious on the bed, as Mycroft sat. They could see he was
indeed very pretty, and very young. Sixteen, seventeen at the
oldest. Perhaps much younger. Bishop stepped to check his pulse,
to wipe the blood from him with the edge of the bedspread.
The wounds on his neck were tiny, discreet, surely they
hadn't produced the quantity of blood that soaked into the bed
and was smeared over Mycroft's thin white body. Studying him past
her disgust, Jean saw the ribs and pelvis standing out from the
vampire's skin starkly, and a thought crossed her mind - *he's
starving*.
"Then where did all the blood come from?" Scott asked. The
vampire rolled and rose to his feet with an awkwardness they
couldn't connect to him. Standing straight, his nudity
unimportant, they all stared at the mangled wounds on his arms,
jagged rips through muscle that dripped sluggishly.
"*This is what I must do when I choose not to kill*."
Mycroft shuddered, and they could all see the tremors rack him,
flowing through his wasted form unchecked. "*It gives me neither
nourishment nor pleasure...but this I did to show you my
alternative*."
"I don't understand." Bishop said. "Why this way? Why not
simply take a little from many instead of all from one?"
"*I cannot have sex without feeding. For a very long time I
could not feed without sex. That much I have mastered*." he
swayed and none of them moved to catch him. "*I...crave the
physical contact...sometimes more than the blood...they come
together, or not at all. Once I have started, stopping...is not
an option*."
The admission sounded like a weakness, and Jean felt, for
the first time, compassion. She went to him, gently picked up a
blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.
"We will help you." she said softly. "We will try."
Scott echoed her words, moved in some unknown way by his
stark honesty.
"Yes. We will try to help you."
"What do we do with the boy?" Bishop asked, concerned.
"*He will wake happy - leave him." the vampire shrugged. "He
will not want another for a time*."
"You haven't - damaged him - permanently?" Scott had to hunt
for words.
"*He is merely...satisfied*." the vampire's smile was as
enigmatic and compelling as a vampire of legend. Then he
straightened, the brief period of weakness gone - or disguised,
Jean told herself. "*I must feed soon - this is only a...stop-gap
measure. The hunger will return soon*."
"How long?" Scott asked as Mycroft walked unsteadily past
him to begin descending the stairs. His hand moved as if to offer
him support, but he drew it back, and saw that the vampire
noticed.
"*I do not know. It is not something I do often*." Mycroft
ignored him, making an effort to wrap the blanket about himself
more tightly. Bishop glanced around for his clothing and saw that
it was only a shredded pile, of less use than rags now. "*I am
going to get a taxi - would you like to join me?*"
It seemed an extraordinarily mundane thing to do and Jean
had to smother a giggle of hysteria as they followed him out.
Bishop covered the sleeping boy with a sheet and fished his
wallet out of his boot, where he had a zippered pocket for it,
dropping all the money it contained beside him beneath the sheet.
"Use it to find a better life." he whispered, still shocked.
Then he followed the others.
The cabbie didn't blink an eye at them, even the bloody
redhead wearing a blanket.
"Must've been some party." he said dryly, and took them
home.
"The professor says we will have food for you when we
arrive." Jean spoke up once during the drive.
"*Thank him*." it was soft and tired, a sibilant whisper.
"Whose?" Storm demanded to know.
"His own and Hank's, I think." Jean answered, her eyes
watching Mycroft's face. His features were shifting, sliding,
they seemed unable to coalesce as he rested. "Will that be
enough?"
"*No amount will ever be 'enough'*." his voice was even
quieter. He sighed, a deep rasp and spoke again. "*Your time is
coming, lady bright*." he opened his eyes long enough to glance
at Storm, whose displeasure was clear on her face, then they
closed with a flutter and he was silent.
"What do you mean?" Storm asked quietly, but he did not
answer.
"Mycroft?" Scott shook his shoulder when they arrived and
got no response. "Mycroft?"
"Is he ill, Scott?" Jean asked worriedly, while Storm stood
to one side, watching them.
"Help me get him inside." Scott asked Bishop. Togther they
lifted him and Bishop grunted in surprise.
"I can carry him alone with ease, Cyclops." he said, taking
him from the smaller man. "He weighs very little for his size."
"He's starving." Jean voiced her earlier thought aloud.
"He's been starving himself in an effort to not kill."
"You give him too much credit, my friend." Storm said. "I
doubt his motives were so pure."
"You saw him, Storm - why else would he let himself get this
way?"
"For all we know, Jean, this is his normal condition."
"He looked much bulkier on the tapes." Scott said, thinking.
They spoke as they tried to wake him, but there was no
response. His condition was deeper than sleep.
"Perhaps he is possessed of a conscience after all." Xavier
met them in the medlab. "Hank, run a full blood work-up. I don't
like the look of this. Nothing in his history brings this to
mind."
The other left, leaving only Jean to watch their
ministrations. Storm had not even glanced at him as she went.
<Ororro - this is not like you. He can't help what he is any
more than we can> she called after her friend.
<I cannot speak of this now, Jean> she continued upstairs,
intent upon a spring shower to bathe in, to wash the feel of
death from her skin. <You will have to accept that>
"He's been drugged." Hank gave the verdict an hour later.
"Probably the boy - his system has exaggerated the effects of
some narcotic."
"Will he recover?" Xavier sounded as concerned as if it had
been one of his own students.
"I think he planned it - a break in the endless cycle of
lust and hunger." Jean spoke up from the bed where she watched
him.
<Jean> Xavier's voice pierced her mind. <You are not needed
here. Go to your husband. Do not become...too attached to this
man>
There was a flash of understanding in her eyes and she shook
her head as she stood and stretched.
<You have nothing to worry about, Charles. He is nothing
like Logan. He has none of his honor, his loyalty. He could never
be a threat to Scott>
<I pray not> his mental voice followed her out as she went
in search of her husband, to reassure him in case his own
thoughts had slipped in that direction.
In bed that night they specifically did not discuss what
they had seen.
(continue to Afraid)
