Akira Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Project: Evolution ❯ Highway 01: A Fresh Start ( Chapter 1 )

Highway 01

A Fresh Start

Professor Charles Xavier scowled, his brow knit in a blend of concern, concentration, and curiosity. Something very unusual was taking place, and at quite an inopportune moment. He continued trying to focus through the strange interference which served to render Cerebro practically useless.

The day had begun uneventfully as a quiet Saturday morning, much like any other. Saturday, however, was by no means a day for relaxation at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters; rather, it was a day when Xavier's students were free from Bayville High and available for the unique extracurricular activities provided at the Institute. Scott, Kurt, and Bobby had been scheduled for practice in the Danger Room-a full dress rehearsal, as it were, in their identities as Cyclops, Nightcrawler, and Iceman-under Wolverine's observation, along with Rogue.

Rogue had never shown up for the session. Jean was available to fill in for her, so it didn't keep the others from getting through the exercise, but it did foul up Xavier's scheduling plan and generate some irritation and disappointment among the other students-it also showed a problematic attitude. Spyke had a bad habit of showing up late, sometimes making the exercises more difficult than they needed to be, but even Spyke had not actually been completely absent from a session yet.

"Where is she?" Wolverine had scowled when Xavier asked. "Damned if I know, Chuck. Hell, I was wondering the same thing. Ain't she supposed to be here?"

"She's probably sulking around someplace," Scott had added as he left the Danger Room, removing the visor he wore as Cyclops and replacing it with his customized sunglasses. "You want me to talk to her, Professor?"

"Actually, Scott," Xavier had replied, "I was going to ask Kurt to do that."

Scott had looked somewhat taken aback.

"Who, me?" Kurt had asked as he followed Scott out of the Danger Room, not bothering to activate the image inducer which would conceal his obvious mutant features-blue fur, pointed ears, three fingers, two toes, and a prehensile, pointed tail-and differentiate him from his alternate identity as Nightcrawler.

"Scott, I need you and Jean to help with a training exercise for the New Mutants," Xavier had explained. "And yes, Kurt, if you don't mind. Something must be troubling her, and she may be more responsive to someone a little less... authoritative."

"Less authoritative? I guess Kurt really is the right choice, then," Scott had smirked.

"Ja!" Kurt had grinned proudly. "Of course I'm se right-" he blinked and paused. "...HEY!"

By the end of the day, Kurt had spent quite a lot of time looking for Rogue all over the grounds of the Institute, but to no avail. He had surprised Kitty while she was doing homework, which resulted in her dropping through the floor and being less than pleased; he had interrupted a game of no-powers soccer outside, and decided to take a break after appearing with his head lined up perfectly in the ball's path; he had startled Wolverine in the midst of a workout, and he was sure only his superhuman reflexes saved his head from getting knocked off. He searched every quiet corner he knew: he searched the attic, he searched the halls, he searched the hangar and the X-Jet.

It was getting late in the afternoon when he had finally tried knocking at her door, and got no answer. After a moment's hesitation, he had teleported inside with a distinctive BAMF-only to find she wasn't there, either. There was, however, a tape cassette sitting on her pillow, which simply read, "play me."

"Um... Ah'm sorry if Ah made trouble for everyone," Rogue's voice had said, disembodied, from a pair of speakers, as Xavier and his X-Men listened. She had sounded troubled in the recording, but not as though she spoke under duress. "Ah just... Ah just needed to get some serious alone tahm-y'know, sort everythin' out. Ah figure there's no way Ah'd get out the door, if y'all knew Ah was goin'. Ah promise Ah'll be back in no tahm; y'all won't barely know Ah'm gone, so don't go worryin' about me, awright?"

* * * * *

It was a few hours later when Charles Xavier sat, connected to the unique supercomputer Cerebro, attempting to locate his missing student and wondering at the peculiar phenomenon which was a blight upon his efforts-it was like a psychic analogue to the crackling hiss of radio static. The potence of the interference had been steadily rising since he entered Cerebro. Although he would swear he had never experienced anything quite like it before, as it bore no resemblance to the ordered and deliberate sensation of an intentionally created obstruction, there was a certain undeniable, nagging familiarity.

Then Xavier understood in a flash of recognition the nature of the distracting psychic noise which plagued him. Of course! he realized. This interference is very similar to the psychic wake of Jean's power surge; but this event is orders of magnitude greater in proportion. If such raw power is merely a byproduct of-

Before the thought was complete, he was thrown from his wheelchair by a body-wracking spasm, and clutched his head with a sharp cry of sudden agony. The crackling sea of interference had surged without warning, and Cerebro's pattern intensification had made that surge into a tidal wave of psychic force; were Xavier's defenses not so exceptionally potent, his mind would certainly have shattered, a rickety beach-side shack smashed into splinters by the storm-maddened sea.

At the same moment, several stories above the subterranean chamber of Cerebro, Jean Grey staggered under the intangible weight of the same wave of psychic force. The crash of the bowl she had been holding served to rouse her partly from her daze. For a moment, she stared at the shattered bowl on the floor in front of her, and the mess of pasta in sauce.

What on Earth was that?!

"Hey, Jean? You okay?"

She jumped at the sound of Scott's voice, drawn fully from her reverie, and looked up to see him in the doorway.

"I swear," commented Kurt from over Scott's shoulder, appearing in a puff of smoke, "it wasn't my fault, this time!"

Jean shook her head to clear it.

"I think I am. It was like some kind of telepathic shockwave... I've never felt anything like it-at least not so powerful-but it's gone, now." She paused, staring at the mess which had moments earlier been en route to the dinner table; her brow furrowed slightly. "...where's the professor?"

Kurt began, "wasn't he going to look for Rogue-"

"-in Cerebro!" Scott finished with a note of concern, realizing why Jean had asked. "And if it that `shockwave' felt strong to you up here, then with Cerebro boosting the signal-" Without hesitation, she rushed past them both on her way down to the underground complex below the mansion, and they turned to follow her hastily.

The three of them found Xavier on the floor with the Cerebro interface helmet beside him.

"Professor!" Kurt cried as he teleported to Xavier's side from the door and began to help him up as Jean and Scott rushed over.

Xavier sat up, slowly, with a groan and a wince. "Thank you, Kurt," he said quietly, as Scott stepped up to help him into his wheelchair.

"Are you all right, Professor?" asked Jean. "And what was that?"

"You felt it, too?" Xavier scowled at the throbbing ache resonating in his head. "I have never even heard of a mutant powerful enough to create a shockwave like that."

"You want us to check it out?" asked Scott.

Xavier paused in somber thought before he replied.

"Yes, we cannot ignore this. Please prepare yourselves to go. I will send Logan with you. I want to keep an eye on things with Cerebro. Even though you will have Logan with you, please take great care; there is clearly a force at work here more powerful than any we have faced before."

* * * * *

In the last eleven months, the fairly modest Hungry Wolves Gang had fallen apart almost completely, suffering the loss of three members and their leader.

In the last eleven minutes, life had only gotten worse for two of the three remaining Hungry Wolves.

Engines roared and pavement blurred beneath them as their bikes sped down the dark streets of the D-Zone, the outskirts of the old city where crippled and abandoned buildings still stood in the wake of the Great Terrorist Attack almost two decades earlier. With a screech of tires, the two bikes cornered and then swerved to narrowly evade an incomplete police blockade.

"Kuso!" growled the biker in the lead as their pursuit rounded the corner behind them, angry red light flickering off walls and signs from the roof of an otherwise unmarked black car-the very kind driven by shadowy government agents in every conspiracy movie ever made.

These Stiffs must really wanna see our asses burn, he thought. They're really pullin' out all the fuckin' stops. He banked deeply into another turn, glancing at his rearview to make sure the other bike was still close behind him, his untamed mop of black hair blowing about wildly without a helmet to restrain it.

"Che!" he cursed at the MIB sedan cornering behind his companion, and looked up from his rearview.

In front of him-the road, the buildings, the sky, everything more than about twenty feet ahead of him-was a wall of indistinct white.

A tangible fraction of a second passed before panic could take the place of amazement and confusion. Without a full thought, he braked and swerved into a deeply banked powerslide, both tires squealing loudly in protest, joined by the grinding scream of grating metal and the searing pain of pavement scraping through his jeans and biting into his leg. He struggled to keep control of the slide, even as he looked back toward the sound of his companion's cry of surprise and a CRASH; he only glimpsed her skid off the road and into a ditch near a telephone pole.

"Kinuko-kun!" he called out, wincing as his bike stopped. He climbed free it on and limped toward the other biker as quickly as he was able, struggling to ignore his bloodied leg.

He found her at the bottom of the ditch as he scrambled down the bank, clenching his jaw to bite back a cry of pain, and supplanting it with a growl. The back of Kinuko's bike was a disaster area, where it had struck the pole. Something wasn't right. She should know better than to skid into a pole like that.

"T- Tetsuo-kun..." she murmured, sprawled on the dirt and gravel bed of the ditch several feet from her bike. He rushed to her side, beat up sneakers skidding on the loose pebbles, and knelt by her side as her eyes flickered open. "Nande- AAH!" she yelped as she tried to move her left arm, and clutched at her shoulder reflexively with her right hand.

Tetsuo winced at the awkward angle made by Kinuko's left shoulder-obviously, it was dislocated-and checked her over quickly for any other readily visible injuries. She was bleeding lightly from the side of her head, and her eyes focused unevenly. Otherwise, nothing looked broken, and that about summed up what he could take care of on his own in a ditch.

"Shit, Kinuko-kun," he replied in clipped, distinctly urban Japanese as he checked her for injury. "Idunno what th'fuck happened. Hey, keep still. Y'wrenched yer arm out pretty fuckin' good. That pole really kicked th'shit outta yer bike, too." He flashed her a wide grin, wild and endearing, but comforting; the last thing anyone needs when injured is to see someone else looking worried.

"C'mon," he added, "we gotta set this forya. Oi, bite down on yer jacket an' brace yerself."

Kinuko responded slowly, doing as told. Tetsuo waited a moment for her to get ready, and using the position of her other shoulder against the back of the ditch, adjusted the position of her left arm and shoved. The head of Kinuko's humerus slipped back into place with a muted POP and a muffled shriek as Kinuko clenched her jaw around the leather between her teeth so hard she felt nauseous.

"There, ain't that better?"

Kinuko glared up at him a little less than coherently, and muttered something indistinct into her jacket sleeve as she slowly pulled it out, the teeth marks evident. Tetsuo decided he didn't really need to know just what she said.

'least she's together enough to get pissed off, he thought.

"C'mon, Kinuko-kun" said Tetsuo, reaching to set his shoulder under her right arm and help her up. "We can't hang out inna ditch forever, ya know."

She let him help her up without protest, but once she was on her feet, she pulled away, wobbling slightly. "I can walk, Tetsuo-kun," she replied, her own Japanese clearer but no less urban. "You're the one with the busted leg." She paused to leer at it uneasily. "Speaking of that, you sure you're okay?"

He glanced at his leg and scratched the back of his head. It wouldn't look so bad after it got cleaned up; he figured he could expect to be shedding the scar by the end of summer. Tetsuo shook his head and grinned enthusiastically.

"Bah. That ain't nuthin', Kinuko-kun! Just a li'l road rash. Y'oughtta worry `bout my jeans more... shit, man, an' I just got'em really worn in like a couple'a months ago."

"Yeah, well." She eyed the shallow but ragged-looking wound and the bloodied and tattered jeans, glossy black in the vague light from Kinuko's crippled motorcycle. "I guess it's not bleeding too bad, anyways."

"Hey, I said don't worry'bout it." He waved a hand as if brushing the topic away with it as Kinuko started to climb up out of the ditch, and he followed just to the side, careful of his injured leg.

The first thing they saw on cresting the bank of the ditch was the dazzling light of high beams. Kinuko reeled from the sudden bright glare and yelped when she staggered into Tetsuo with her tender left shoulder.

Doors banged shut, unseen beyond the headlights. Now that they were aware of it, they could hear the idling engine, previously masked by the bank of the ditch and the murmur of the wind through the trees. Kinuko glanced to the side at the unfamiliar sound, and stared briefly at the illuminated branches.

She glanced quickly toward the other side of the road as Tetsuo stood behind her where she half-slumped against him, glaring protectively toward the light and edging them within arm's reach of his bike, just in case.

She saw a gently rolling field on the other side of the road, beyond the roadside ditch she had skidded into. She couldn't help but stare at that, as well.

Every school child knew Tokyo city had been all but completely destroyed twice in about fifty years. There were practically no trees within miles of the city, and certainly no forests or open fields-any which survived the bombs had been cleared for new buildings.

"Tet- Tetsuo-kun." Kinuko stammered quietly, almost reluctantly, as if afraid of what his response might be. "Where the hell are we? There's trees here."

Tetsuo scowled into the light. Great. Like this shit ain't weird enough already.

"That ain't all there is," he answered, quietly, "an' the trees ain't what we gotta worry'bout right now."

"Japanese?" said a male voice bodilessly, its source obscured in contrast to the bright light.

It said it in English.

Well, `least it ain't the Stiffs, Tetsuo thought; but he remained just as tense as he had been, only in part to better support Kinuko's unbalanced weight as her head spun with disorientation. He already guessed from the uneven dilation of her irises that she had at least a mild concussion, and the growing impossibilities could only be making things worse for her.

"Uh... yo. You mind shuttin' those damn things off a'ready?" Tetsuo said in mildly accented English far better than his rather abridged education would have suggested, but just as clipped as his Japanese; Hideo, the childhood friend who had introduced him to the Hungry Wolves in the first place was an Ameriphile and Anglophile of the highest order, and had taken it upon himself to train Tetsuo.

After a brief pause, the lights turned off. As Tetsuo's vision recovered from the glare of high beams, he could see the large van to which they belonged. Someone largely obscured by the windshield still sat behind the wheel, and a figure stood to either side of the vehicle dressed in tight-fitting outfits like something from an American comic book, visible by indirect light from the two motorcycles. The one on the left had a yellow X across his chest over his dark jumpsuit and wore a visor, and the other was a woman wearing a dark jumpsuit with a light green patch at the front.

"Yah, thanks." Tetsuo rested a hand near the length of pipe he kept slung onto his bike and eyed the costumed newcomers, making no attempt to conceal his wariness; Kinuko watched them as well, although she seemed more and more in a daze, and didn't glower at them half as much as she would have liked. "Look, we ain't lookin' ta bust up yer costume party, or tryin'a start shit or anythin', so we're just gonna hit th'road."

The young man-probably a couple years older than Tetsuo-wearing the visor stepped forward, but moved slowly and with his hands open. "Hey, wait a minute," he said in the voice which had spoken before the headlights were switched off. "You're injured, and your friend's not looking so good, there, either. We can help-patch you up, and give you a place to stay."

Tetsuo hesitated. The guy with the visor sounded sincere enough, but Tetsuo still knew better than to take candy from strangers in funny costumes, much less hospitality and medical attention. "That's great, an' all, but we really gotta get goin'."

"Ach, it's se vild sreads, isn't it?"

Tetsuo glanced over his shoulder at the voice from behind him, and saw The Devil crouching beside his bike-the image seemed perfect in the semidark, with pupilless eyes, a pointed tail, dark skin, a digitigrade stance, and the vague scent of brimstone.

Tetsuo did just what he was sure any sensible individual would do.

He grasped the length of one-inch steel pipe close by his hand and swung it at The Devil's head.

"Ve don't alvays vear-" The Devil was saying. He ducked narrowly under Tetsuo's swing and yelped in surprise, eyes wide, then sprang away lightly as Tetsuo swung again. Without his support, Kinuko stumbled forward, staggering dizzily.

"Vatch it vis zat!" cried The Devil plaintively in his German accent. Tetsuo had to admit The Devil sure didn't sound quite like he expected.

"Hey, kid," interrupted a gruff voice from the direction of the van. "Cut that out."

Tetsuo spun reflexively on hearing someone behind him, and swung the pipe in a downward arc.

The pipe didn't go as far as he had planned, as it came down on a set of three mirror-polished blades which cut into it like butter. The pipe rested, impaled, against the knuckles of an orange glove from the back of which the blades extended. The glove was worn by a man who stood a couple inches shorter than Tetsuo; but he was built like a tank, and adorned in a black-and-orange costume with a decorative cowl. Tetsuo's first thought was that he looked like a colorful midget Batman.

The short but musclebound man scowled, giving the impression of someone who did that more often than not. "...take another swing at me, and that'll be your arm. Got it, bub?"

Tetsuo tensed in instinctive fear, but glared back stubbornly; he had learned years ago that the worst thing you can do is to let someone see where you're soft. "Che... yer invadin' my fuckin' space, Macho Man."

The claws jutting through Tetsuo's pipe retracted suddenly with a snikt, although the man didn't seem any less gruff. "You've got a real mouth on ya, don't ya, kid?"

Tetsuo was planning to respond cunningly with a comment about the man's age and decrepitnes when his attention was suddenly drawn away as Kinuko pitched forward and was caught by The Devil, who had appeared suddenly in place with a BAMF and a puff of smoke which stank of sulfur.

"K- Kinuko-kun!" He tried to surge forward to protect her, but the short man blocked him and lifted him off the ground easily by his jacket, ignoring his struggles.

The young woman in the jumpsuit-probably only a couple years older than Tetsuo, herself-stepped forward, looking concerned, the bright red of her hair more visible as she came nearer.

"Jean?" asked the young man with the visor.

The young woman identified as Jean touched a hand to the side of her head briefly, and then frowned. "She has a concussion... it isn't too serious-no lasting damage, at least-but she needs to be monitored, at least."

The other nodded and turned toward Tetsuo, who was still struggling uselessly. "Look. Your friend needs a safe bed and observation. We can give you someplace to rest and get a roof over your heads, and if you want to leave when you're up to it, we won't stop you. But your friend-"

"Kinuko." Tetsuo glared, not struggling so much except out of defiance. "Kuso... her name's Kinuko."

"And you're Tetsuo, right?" Jean asked.

"Yah. Usuda Tetsuo da."

"I'm Jean, like you heard," she continued, resting a hand on the arm of the young man with the visor. "This is Scott. You've already met Kurt"-The Devil nodded to Tetsuo, looking nonplussed-"And that's Logan, there. We're part of a group called the X-Men."

The short man called Logan set Tetsuo down again as he calmed. "It's a real pleasure, kid." He sounded less than entirely sincere.

"We're not here to hurt you. We want to help, honestly, if you'll let us. And I think you know that's exactly what Kinuko needs right now: help."

Tetsuo glanced around at them warily. "X-Men, huh? Chekuso. ...yeah, a'right. But if anythin' fucked up happens ta Kinuko-kun, I'm kickin' all yer asses." He paused to eye Logan warningly. "Startin' with you, Claws."

"Yeah, I'm quakin'," he answered sarcastically, and started for the ditch. "I'll go get the bikes. You kids climb in the van."

"You get Kinuko's bike, Claws," answered Tetsuo, stepping back to his own bike and swinging onto it with a wince at his skinned leg. "I'm takin' mine."

"Yeah, fine. Just make sure you keep up, bub." Logan climbed up out of the ditch again, carrying Kinuko's motorcycle, and set it inside the van as the other X-Men seated themselves. "I'll catch hell if I lose you out in the back roads," he added.

"Hah!" Tetsuo grinned back challengingly, starting up his bike and revving the engine. "I'monna be fallin' asleep if y'don't go fast enough, old man."

"No helmets," observed Jean, inside the van and outside Tetsuo's hearing.

"Yeah, I noticed," answered Scott. "And that Tetsuo kid tried to stare down Logan, too. They must be nuts."

"You're telling me," muttered Kurt, cradling the unconscious Kinuko.

Logan climbed into the van and shut the door. "You think we oughtta leave them out here in the road?"

Scott looked over to Logan, startled. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, I know." Logan started the engine and pulled ahead to lead the way back to the Institute. "That kid was scared as hell. A good poker face doesn't change the way you smell."

"So vhat vas ze tough-guy act about?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy, Elf. I don't have ta act."

Tetsuo followed after the dark van, glaring into the area illuminated by his bikes headlamp. I know they're tellin' the truth `bout Kinuko-kun, at least, he thought. An' I guess she does need some kind'a help, or somethin'. But this's still some really freaky shit.

They drove several miles before coming to the gates of a mansion which sat up on a hill with a sizeable estate surrounding it. There was a sign announcing the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Tetsuo skidded up alongside the van in a powerslide and stared up at the mansion. He imagined the mansion's owner as an old man with huge bushy eyebrows and a fu manchu moustache and a hand made of solid gold, planning to take over the world with his ultra hypno-ray.

Tetsuo shook his head and waited. After a moment, the gates opened and the van pulled through, starting up the long driveway. Tetsuo revved his engine, tearing out of the street and up the driveway, blasting past the van and taking advantage of the chance to enjoy some speed and get his mind off his troubles for a few seconds. He skidded to a stop once more just outside the main doors, waiting for the van to pull up.

"So this's the place?" he asked as the van stopped and the X-Men climbed out. "Nice digs."

"Yeah," Logan answered, straightforwardly. "Hey, Elf. Take these two down ta the infirmary. The Doc's out, so Jean, you go with `em."

"Aye aye!" Kurt answered, stepping over to Tetsuo, a bit warily. "I vill bring you ze kvick vay, if you touch my arm."

Tetsuo eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

"Che," he cursed to himself. "Whatever y'say, Devilman." Reluctantly, he reached to touch Kurt's arm as instructed. Jean touched the other.

Kurt scowled in annoyance, but shook his head and said nothing but "hold on."

Everything changed and blurred, and in an instant, they were inside. The room they had appeared in looked, unsurprisingly, like a medical facility, and it made Tetsuo still more uncomfortable than he already was.

He had never been fond of hospitals.

It didn't help that it smelled of brimstone, now.

"Set her on one of the beds, Kurt," said Jean, stepping away from them to retrieve the medical supplies. "And you can sit down, Usud-"

"Oi. Just `Tetsuo,'" he interrupted, hopping up onto one of the infirmary beds. He paused briefly to watch Kurt as he set Kinuko onto an infirmary bed of her own. "'I ain't so big on that formal kinda shit, if it's all th'same t'you, Red."

Jean scowled slightly at the language and the nickname, but shook her head and let it go. I'm sure the Professor will have plenty to say about it, himself, if this guy can't adapt.

"I picked up on that," she answered, and set about cleaning and bandaging Tetsuo's wound. Kurt had already disappeared.

As she was finishing, a man entered the room. He was in a wheelchair-the automated kind with a joystick on the left armrest-he was bald, and he was dressed in a casual but sophisticated manner. His eyes were dark and serious, but his expression was benign as he looked to Tetsuo.

"Tetsuo, I presume?" he said.

Tetsuo blinked as he looked up. "Huh? Oh, yeah, that's the name."

"I am Professor Charles Xavier, the headmaster of this institute."

"Eeh? No shit?" Xavier raised an eyebrow, but Tetsuo continued, inhesitant. "Well, ya don't gotta worry. We ain't plannin' on hangin'round too long, so we're gonna be outta yer hair soon as Kinuko-kun's ready ta go."

Tetsuo paused, looking at Xavier's bald head.

"Uh. Y'know. Figure'a speech," he added."

"Is that so?" Xavier replied, chuckling quietly at the accidental joke at his expense. "Are the two of you-Kinuko and yourself-on your own, then?"

Tetsuo eyed him warily, searching for some betraying hint of malice, but finding none. "Yeah, pretty much-have been fer awhile, now. It ain't like we can't take care'a ourselves, ya know."

"Yes, I understand, and I don't mean to suggest otherwise. You come from Japan, I assume?" He continued after Tetsuo replied with a nod. "Your English is excellent. How did you come to be alone in New York?"

"New York, huh? Thought America got way more fucked up by th'War..."

"War?" Xavier paused, then glanced to Jean. "Thank you, Jean. That's all for now."

Jean looked up, then nodded, and headed out of the infirmary. She paused at the door and glanced back toward Tetsuo, smiling casually.

"Welcome to New York."

"Uh. Yeah, thanks," he answered, as she left.

Then he looked back to Xavier.

"So, what," Tetsuo asked, "you don't know'bout World War III, or sumthin'? Don't professors gotta know shit like that?"

World War III? Xavier puzzled. "Tell me, what year do you believe it is?"

"Eeh? Ch- Kinuko-kun's the one with'a concussion, ya know," Tetsuo groused. "An' it's 2037. `bout the middle'a March."

"Well," answered Xavier. "It is quite close to the middle of March-today is the 19th, in fact."

Tetsuo blinked at that statement, and scowled.

"However," Xavier continued, "the year is 2002."

Tetsuo stared a moment; he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "That don't make no fuckin' sense. An' even if we could'a gone backwards thirty-five fuckin' years, y'still gotta know'bout the War. That was back in 1988."

Xavier sat back and clasped his hands in his lap. "Tell me about this war."

Tetsuo laughed and scratched at the back of his head. "Shit, man. I didn't get through fuckin' highschool, an' yer askin' me fer'a history lesson?"

Xavier smiled faintly. "Humor me."

"A'right, whatever. Th'War was back in `88, like I said, back in th'Cold War. Started off with Russia nukin' Tokyo, an' then America dropped their shit on Russia, an' ev'rybody totally nuked the shit outta each other. That's pretty much how th'story goes."

"I see." Xavier paused to collect his thoughts. "All I can tell you right now with certainty is that there was no nuclear war in 1988-not in our history, at least. Anyone you ask at the Institute or elsewhere will corroborate that; and before you ask, no: I don't think you are insane at all."

Tetsuo stared as Xavier answered his question before he could ask it-in fact, almost the very moment the idea had formed in his mind.

"I will ask you to stay here, at least for a short while, Tetsuo. At least until we can determine just how you came to be here and to know a different history than ours. There are some rules to follow, but I assure you, they are in your own best interests."

Tetsuo scowled and glanced aside, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," he said at length. "Yeah, a'right, fer now. If Kinuko-kun's okay with it when she wakes up, then yeah, a'right."

"Excellent. I'll have Kurt prepare find you some spare clothes and show you to a room."

"Eeh? Kurt... that's Devilman, right? Th'hell's up withat? An' what's with'at X-Men thing Red was talkin'about?"

"The X-Men are my students-Mutants trained to control their powers and use them responsibly."

"Uhh. Woa, woa, back up a sec there, Destro. Whaddayamean, `mutants'?"

"I mean Mutants in the sense of human beings gifted with extraordinary abilities, such as myself. And Kinuko. And you."

Tetsuo laughed and scratched his head. "Oi. I think you got me confused with somebody else, Charlie. I ain't heard'a no Mutants, back in Neotokyo... but I guess this's like somekinda fucked up manga, or some shit like that; an' I guess after seein' Devilman back there, I know ya ain't makin' this shit up. But I know I ain't got no eyelasers or fireballs shootin' outta my ass or whatever else you guys do."

"Well," said Xavier, when Tetsuo had finished. "Nonetheless, your friend Kinuko will at least need to rest, and I suspect you do, as well. If she wakes during the night, I will see to it that she is given a room."

"Now y'mention it, I could do with crashin'out fer a while. Y'prolly got really kickass beds, too, by th'look'a this place. Oi, how'bout we talk'bout this `rules' shit in th'mornin', ahright?"

"Fair enough," Xavier answered, smiling patiently. "Come to my office in the morning."

How strange, he thought to himself, showing in his expression none of the puzzlement he harbored. Cerebro seemed to leave no doubt that both are Mutants. Is it possible they don't know, themselves, somehow?