The Book of New Mutants #6 : Hunter

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The Book of New Mutants #6
Post by Amelia "Heaven" Chow on Dec 8, 2006, 4:01pm

The Book of New Mutants #6

Hunter

Cover Image: Similar to #3, except the character clutching his ears is Null, and the character in the foreground with the knife in his hand has white feathery wings.

My name is James Livingston. People call me Null because of my mutant power, the power to cancel the powers of other mutants. It seems like a pretty good power on paper, but it’s actually required quite a bit of training to be of any advantage to me whatsoever. Sure, I can stop another mutant from using their energy blasts or whatever, but the important part is being able to take care of them without those advantages. A lot of mutants use their powers as a crutch, though, making my life considerably easier. Take the crazy stuff away at a key moment, punch them in the face. They never know what hit them, nine times out of ten. In order to use this strategy, though, I’ve had to become rather good at punching people in the face. In my line of work, it’s pretty essential to be able to take out mutants at any given time, and the quicker and better I can do it, the longer I get to stay alive.

I suppose I should briefly mention my line of work. Both of my parents were what’s known as flatscans: humans without an active mutant gene. This didn’t work out so well when Apocalypse started purging the East Coast of North America. My father died when I was a kid, I barely remember him. Mom was captured when I was 15, but before that, we had a hell of a time together. Mom refused to escape the East Coast, which ironically was what her and my dad were trying to do when we met. She, instead, tried to establish some kind of underground railroad to get people out, feeling that we needed to stay behind to guide them. During this time, we met up occasionally with Warren Worthington III, otherwise known as the Angel. Apparently, he and my dad went way back, like before Apocalypse back, and he tried to help us out as much as he could, which wasn’t much given that he was firmly on Apocalypse’s radar. I also met Casey back then, Phase as people call him, and we hung out when I was in town, although his nose was a little further up Angel’s ass than I would have liked. Oh well, to each their own, he’s generally a decent guy.

Mom got taken by the Infinites and placed in McCoy’s pens, or so I hear these days. I really thought she died back then, would have been better for her if she had. Rumor has it that she had an inactive mutant gene, or a quasi-active one, or something. More than a flatscan, less than a mutant. McCoy took an interest in her, allegedly, because of this atypical pattern. I hope to free her one day, but until then, my goal has been getting people the hell out of here and on to somewhere safer. There aren’t many left who want to leave, though, so it may be time to move on.

So, I’ve come to the place I always come to when I want to think about what to do. A while ago, this place was called Conanicut Island, Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island. Probably still is, but there’s no one here to call it that anymore. Hell, there isn’t even dogs or anything, it’s just a big place full of empty. The house I’m in had a name once, but I never found out what it was. My dad’s family owned it, and it’s the size of a city block, or used to be. Apparently, before Apocalypse, dad was doing alright.

The old place could stand some repair work, that’s for sure. When the tides came up, drowning parts of Central America, this place got hit pretty hard. Half the house is gone, leaving a much more panoramic view of the bay. I can see a few posts where a yacht slip used to be, and the packed clay of a former tennis court. A bunch of weeds fill the entire yard, but I can tell that there used to be a well-manicured garden here, probably in the English style. That’s partially based on guesswork, due to the number of books in the parts of the library that didn’t flood which are about English style gardening. Sometimes when I’m here, I grab one of the books and read it. It helps me imagine this place as it used to be.

Most of the furniture was destroyed in that flood, too, but I like to move through the house and imagine what each room was used for. I’ve staked out what would have been my bedroom, I’m pretty sure. It’s towards the front of the house, yet shielded from the drive. I would have had a nice view of the tennis courts. I wonder if I would have liked tennis.

In the middle of thinking about tennis, I hear a flapping of wings. Worthington. I don’t know what he’s doing here, frankly, I find it sort of offensive. This is my private place, no one else is welcome. I could easily make him drop out of the sky and see how he likes it, but I think better of it. No use being overly aggressive. I just ignore him, going back to looking over the tennis courts.

“It used to be much nicer than this, you know. Was here a few times as a kid, went sailing with your dad.”

I ignore him. No one invited him to the party.

“Look, James. I wouldn’t come all the way here if it wasn’t important, you know that. I realize I’m trespassing, and I’m sorry, but frankly, this is the only way I could get in touch with you. I can’t rely on your random visits to Heaven, especially lately.”

It’s true, I guess. Ever since mom went away, I’ve had less and less use for his little bar. It’s still not worth talking to him.

“Seriously, this is getting old. You’ll have to acknowledge me eventually, especially when you learn what I have.”

I glance over my shoulder, see something that looks like a shiny box. “And what do you have?”

“It’s a message from another time. It tells us how to change this world for the better, including taking Apocalypse out.”

There has to be a catch, I know there’s a catch. Still, it piques my interest. “And? What do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, that’s really the part that gets a little dicey.” He pauses a little, considering. “I need you and Casey to join up with a bunch of other malcontents to make this happen. However, I don’t really trust them. Therefore, I need you to pretend to be an unaffiliated malcontent instead of being who you are. Consider it a bit of a safety valve, just in case something bad happens.”

Wow, that doesn’t sound suicidal or anything. Sheesh. “Um, provided I did this for you, which I’m not sold on doing, what’s the benefit? Seriously, I pretend to be a random flatscan, join up with a bunch of losers you don’t like, and MAYBE beat Apocalypse? It’s not going to change anything, it’s not going to get my mom back.”

“On the contrary. Not only will it get your mother back, but it will get this whole place back. Let me explain. We’re in a divergent timeline. None of this was supposed to happen. Apocalypse should never have been able to take over the United States. If this mission works, not only does your mom come back, she comes back here. This place comes back, your dad comes back, everything becomes like it should be.”

“My parents met fleeing Apocalypse.” I feel this situation’s a little too good to be true, but I’m willing to entertain the notion. My life’s work is starting to come to an end, the railroad is nowhere near as active as it used to be.

“That’s true. You might not exist in the remade world, but it will be better for millions. Probably even billions. Heroic sacrifice, and it looked like you were headed that way anyway.”

I can’t dispute that. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, it’s pretty easy. I’ve already manufactured a personality for you, and spread the word of your exploits. All you’ll have to do is lose an ear, and everyone will be willing to accept you as Steve Hunter, flatscan badass.”

Lose an ear? “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope, it’s pretty much the only way. No one will think you’d be willing to lose an ear just to hide your identity.”

He’s got a point. “You got a knife?”

“As it happens, I do.”


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