Sanctuary Part 1:

Mutant Affairs

The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, Salem Center NY

"I don't think I have to tell any of you how severe the ramifications will be for us all after the events of yesterday," Charles Xavier stared out at the ten mutants he currently called his X-Men. It had been eight years since he had started his school for gifted youngsters. At that time many students had come and gone and some even returned to take part in his dream. A dream for peaceful human-mutant relations. Some called it a delusion, he hoped to make it a reality. Yesterday, though, the road to his dream became infinitely more difficult.

"What are we going to do?" Bobby, known as Iceman to his fellow X-Men, asked. "I can't even turn on the TV without someone demanding we all be rounded up and imprisoned, if not killed."

"There have already been multiple retaliation attacks on innocent mutants," Ororo AKA Storm interjected. "As far as I can tell there have already been six innocent lives claimed since last night."

"They'll reinstate the Sentinel program," Scott, the field leader of the team, better known as Cyclops, said. "This might be what leads to NIMROD."

"We can't sit around, we gotta find out who's behind this and let the humans make them pay," Wolverine demanded, popping long blades from between his knuckles.

"If mutants perchance did bring in the perpetrator, perhaps there is a small hope that it would relieve some of the pressure being applied to our community at the moment," Henry McCoy, the blue-furred Beast suggested in his usual erudite manner. He was hanging upside down by his feet on his bar that Xavier had installed especially for him at the beginning of his tenure.

The rest of the X-Men were either sitting in the various seats scattered throughout Xavier's private library or leaning against the few spaces that weren't occupied by bookshelves. The sounds of teens arguing could be heard through the thick solid mahogany door. Not only was Xavier responsible for the X-Men, all now at least in their mid-twenties, some much older, but also a large number of students, thirty-seven to be exact. It was the fate of these students that worried Charles so. What would their lives be like if something wasn't done soon?

"I understand the desire to bring in the guilty party," Xavier held up a hand for silence as the X-Men murmured amongst themselves. "However, it would be disastrous to try and work with the government at the moment. Perhaps when things have settled down we could try. I don't want any of you near the White House."

At this statement, Wolverine glanced over at one of his colleagues, one of the few who understood his attitude better than any of the others, Warren Worthington, the Angel. It hadn't always been so.

Warren had once been nothing more than a rich socialite who wanted little to do with his fellow mutants. Then his beautiful white wings had been savagely torn from his back. A suicidal Warren encountered Apocalypse, perhaps their greatest enemy, and struck a deal with the devil to get his wings, his freedom, his flight back. Apocalypse gave him wings, but they were nothing like the snow colored wings he had once sported, they were metal and deadly sharp. That wasn't all he had done to Warren though, he had warped his mind and enhanced his physiology making him stronger than ever before and capable of rapid regeneration and filled with rage. As a side effect to Apocalypse's enhancements, Warren's skin had turned blue. Apocalypse had renamed Warren his Archangel of Death and set him against his former teammates.

The process of overcoming Apocalypse's psychic manipulation and mental programming was a long one. That had happened three years ago and his journey was still far from over. Thanks to Xavier's telepathic work with him and Beast's biochemical help Warren had eventually been able to turn his skin back to normal. His wings, however, were still metal. Whenever his old anger issues began to resurface, hints of blue would suffuse his skin, which usually startled Warren out of his enraged state. Beast would have to synthesize a compound for him that would cause the blue tones to fade.

Before his ordeal with Apocalypse Warren and Wolverine barely spoke to each other, they came from two different worlds. After Apocalypse Xavier had enlisted Wolverine, of all people, to help Warren to overcome his rage. During their time meditating, sparring and talking they had formed a mutual understanding. Warren knew that Wolverine understood, like no one else, what he had been through and vice versa. No one would call them friends, but they understood one another on a deep level.

"I urge you to contact any mutant you know and invite them here," Xavier stated, to everyone's surprise.

"Any mutant?" Rogue asked with her trademark Southern accent.

"Yes, any mutant, Rogue, until I can figure out what to do about this situation mutants need a safe place to come, a sanctuary where they aren't under constant threat of violence. I believe the situation has escalated sufficiently to make this necessary."

"Professor," Bobby interrupted. "What if someone like Avalanche or Unus comes here looking for shelter? They're violent criminals, we aren't going to give them sanctuary too are we?"

"Yes, Bobby, we are."

Wolverine and Angel looked each other in the eye again. They could both understand what the other was thinking. Scott shook his head. He hated to disagree with the man who was practically a father to him but he couldn't stay silent this time.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Professor," Scott stood up and leaned on Xavier's desk. "They could come here under the guise of peace only to betray us, or even worse they could indoctrinate the kids to their violent ways."

"If someone of that nature comes here Scott, I would never let them near the children and don't forget I am a telepath, I will know their intentions."

"Intentions change all the time."

"I understand your concern Scott, but right now just being a mutant is a possible death sentence. I couldn't, in good conscience, leave anyone out there to be beaten to death."

"Let's hope Magneto doesn't have the same idea," said Jean Grey, Xavier thought of her as the heart of the team.

"I have a feeling he does," Kurt, the acrobatic Nightcrawler, said with a German accent.

"All I know is, heaven help Mystique if she comes here looking for Sanctuary," Rogue stated, punching her right fist into her left palm.

"All will be welcome, Rogue." Xavier reiterated, looking at her pointedly.

"There ain't no way that woman is gonna stay under the same roof as me," Rogue stood up and glared at Xavier.

"Let us hope we are never faced with that situation," Storm stood up, looking at Rogue with understanding eyes.

Rogue looked at Storm and her facial expression softened for a moment but then she looked back at Xavier and glared angrily before turning and storming out of the room.

"Are we done here?" Wolverine asked, also standing up.

"Ororo, Scott, Jean could you please stay for a moment longer? Everyone else, it sounds like the children are growing restless. Thank you."

There was a lot of murmuring as the six remaining X-Men got up from their seats and turned to go.

"We need to talk," Wolverine whispered to Warren in his rough gravelly voice. Warren nodded slightly and the two left Colossus, Nightcrawler, Beast, and Iceman to deal with the rambunctious students.

The pair walked silently together through the corridors of the mansion, one a tall blonde handsome man, the other a short hairy rough-faced man, they were unalike in almost every way except in their shared pain and rage. They walked upstairs to the third floor toward a ballroom that was almost never used. At the edge of the ballroom was a small alcove that was actually a small patio hidden by multiple sheer curtains.

"This isn't just going to blow over," Wolverine said firmly. "We have to do something or things are just going to escalate."

"I agree, but you heard what Xavier said, he'll notice if we go missing. It's not like the White House is just a quick drive away."

"Since when did you follow all of Chuck's expectations?"

"It's been a while."

"Right. He won't think anything is suspicious if it's just you. You go for a long flight almost every day."

"And what are you going to be doing while I am out risking my neck at the White House?"

"I'm going to be contacting some people, I might already have a good idea who did this."

"Who?"

"I don't want to say anything until I've confirmed it. I want your mind open to any possibility when you go out there."

"And what exactly am I going there to do?"

Wolverine was silent for a moment and a breeze stirred up ruffling his dark wolf-like hair and billowing the curtains. He looked in the ballroom, there was no one there.

"I'm sure that it was caught on camera," Wolverine said. "Either get a copy of that footage or get someone to tell you who it was. By any means necessary. You got me, Wings?"

There was dead silence between them for a moment and Warren's eyes went cold. "I understand."

"Let me know what you find out when you get back," Wolverine walked back into the ballroom but stopped. "I think it goes without saying that this conversation never happened."

"I said I understood." Warren's voice was flat.

Wolverine grunted in response and walked away again.

The White House, Yesterday

The tour group wasn't much different than any other tour group that went through the White House on a consistent basis. They had entered through the East Wing, they kept the groups small, no more than fifteen people on any given tour, school tours were the only exception. There were a variety of people, a number of elderly men and women from a tour, a few families, among them two teens and four young children. No one could have guessed what was going to happen.

They made their way out of the wood and marble paneled East Wing lobby and up the small set of stairs to the East Colonnade. There were a lot of hushed talks and their steps echoed on the red-tiled floor, the sun streamed in from the wall to wall windows on the left side. For just a moment one member of the tour party stopped and stared out at the beautiful grounds outside wistfully. She was a young girl, approximately ten or eleven years old, with dark straight hair, she wore loose jeans and a long sleeve shirt with a pink baseball cap pulled low. Her eyes were scanning the entire view as if it was the first time she had seen kept grounds.

She sniffed and her dark eyes went cold. She turned and trotted back to the group, she didn't move like a child her age should. There was a sense of purpose and grace to her steps, almost like a dancer. No one noticed, no mother called out to her, in fact, no one seemed to be paying her any mind at all.

She caught up with the group when they stopped to take a peek into the movie theater which was upholstered and painted a rich red with golden accents painted onto the walls. The chairs were much wider and much plusher than any theater they had seen, the girl didn't even bother to look in.

The East Garden Room was even louder with rose and what hard tiles and white plastered walls. It was here that the girl slowly began to hang further and further back from the group, no one thought an eleven-year-old girl as a threat. No one bothered her, she didn't give them any reason to, she was silent and well behaved.

As they went through the Center Hall the girl quietly separated herself from the tour group and while they stopped to look in the Vermeil Room she kept going down the hall which was fairly busy with men in women in suits and formal wear, all serious-faced, and she was careful to stick close to one person another. As the guards watched the approaching tour group with some suspicion she slipped past them, past the China Room and made her way to the large round Diplomatic Reception Room.

The door was closed and there were two secret security guards standing on either side of it. They noticed her right away. She sniffed again, then made her way toward the room. One of the men stepped toward her, his handheld up to stop her. A tear glistened in her eye as she approached. The man softened his stern look ever so slightly. That was when she struck.

He bent down to talk to her and without warning, she slammed her clenched fist into the side of his neck. He let out a gurgling sound, blood dribbling from his mouth. Without a word, she jumped onto his back as he slumped over and leaped at the second agent. Blood gushed from the side of the agent's neck where she had hit him. Her arms were extended forward and for the first time, he saw the two bone blades that extended from each of her fists, one covered in blood. He whipped his gun out and began to aim, but he was too late.

The girl screamed wildly like some kind of puma as she slashed his throat then stabbed him in the chest with her claws. He couldn't even scream, only grab his throat as his lifeblood flowed from his body. Before anyone could even react she slashed the door open and darted into the room. At least six more guards were inside along with four members of the press, the President and David Moreau, an ambassador from Genosha.

Everyone went silent as the blood-covered little girl came screaming into the room. Secret Service was the first to react, pulling their guns from their holsters and firing on her without hesitation. The girl spun to face them, putting the members of the Press immediately behind her, they had to be careful how they aimed. She had narrowly avoided several of the shots but one slammed into her shoulder. She simply screamed louder and leaped at the agent responsible.

Even as he shot her again, this time through the stomach, she jammed both of her long bone blades into the agent's eyes. He screamed for a second before her claws penetrated his brain. She leaped from him to the nearest agent, causing the rest to back off. One of her blades went straight through his ear, the other through his jaw.

"Get the President out of here!" one of the agents commanded. Two of the Secret Service agents raced toward the President. The girl sniffed as she leaped through the air and grabbed the chandelier in the center of the ceiling and swung right at the President. Two of the agents had to stop firing for fear of hitting the President, but more were streaming into the room.

The two agents protecting the President opened fire and bullet after bullet razed through her small body. It didn't matter, they were dead within seconds. All of the agents raced to the President but she had reached him and with one fatal slash ended his life. The Genoshan Ambassador was already running.

"No! You weren't supposed-!" he screamed as she landed on his back and jammed her claws through the base of his skull. He toppled over. The agents were on her, their furious hands trying to grip her squirming body. With amazing speed, she relieved three agents of their right arms and dashed from the knot of enraged Secret Service.

She ran into an adjoining room and crashed through a window. Shots rang out as she ran through the Kennedy Garden. The snipers on the roof took aim and more shots rang out. She stumbled but somehow got back up and kept fleeing. An army of agents followed her bloody trail even past the White House grounds but strangely the bloody trail slowly thinned and disappeared altogether. Somehow the girl had stopped bleeding, she shouldn't have been alive.

The President, the Ambassador and twelve secret service members lay dead in the White House.

Within an hour they had tested her blood, which had spilled in copious amounts all over the carpeted floor. She was a mutant. A mutant prepubescent girl had assassinated the President of the United States.

Location Unknown, Today

The girl lay strapped on a metal bed. There were no traces of the life-threatening wounds she had received only yesterday. The room she was in was cold and clinical, white tiles and steel. Her breathing was erratic, rapid, her eyes glinted with the same rage she had shown the day before. She pulled at her metal restraints, letting the cold metal bite into her flesh. She didn't even take notice. She growled as she struggled to get free.

"Calm down, X-23," A man in a white surgical mask and robes approached, his voice irritated. "You should be happy. After the events of yesterday, you have earned your adamantium. It was too bad the Ambassador was foolish enough to get the Scent on himself. Still despite that, we all agree it's time you were upgraded."

At the man's words, the girl screamed loudly and struggled harder than ever, her eyes locking on the man. The man simply smiled and began to wheel her bed out of the room. Guards outside the door joined him and soon so did several military men. They all ignored her screams and struggles.

"It's too bad no drugs work on you, we can't numb you or put you to sleep. This is going to hurt, so so much." The man smiled as he said these words, she could see it crinkle his eyes.

Waiting for her was a water-filled take, about thirty large wide needles were waiting to pierce her flesh and cover her bones in boiling hot adamantium. They had all waited a long time for this triumphant day. They were going to have a powerful weapon in their hands. That is if she survived the procedure.

The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, Salem Center NY

Sam Guthrie, known to his teammates and mentors as Cannonball, had lived at the mansion longer than any other student. He had been the first of the 'New Mutants' that Xavier had recruited to his school since Iceman had graduated. He was in the lobby, trying to figure out what he wanted to do with himself. Next to him stood his teammate and friend Bobby da Costa, Sunspot.

"Come on, do you wanna join our tournament or not?" Bobby asked him for the millionth time.

"Ah told you I'm no good at video games," Sam said in his heavy Kentuckian accent.

"Come on, man," Bobby persisted. "How do you expect to get any better?"

"Ah don't, they are a waste of time, Bobby," Sam refuted, and just to make sure the conversation was over he turned and opened the door, stepping out into the chilly evening air. "Ah think I'm gonna go for a fly."

A shadow crossed him overhead and he glanced up. One of the teachers, Angel, took off from the rooftop, headed West. Sam scrunched up his face. That didn't make sense at this hour. With a thought Sam blasted off from the ground. Thanks to his mutant power Sam could fly at high velocity and the whole time he was protected by a nigh invulnerable forcefield, or blast field as he called it. He could move considerably faster than Angel, so it didn't take him long to catch up to the founding X-Man. Sam was only a few yards behind him when Angel turned and looked back at him in surprise, and something else on his face, perhaps irritation.

"What are you doing flying around this late?" Sam asked as he caught up side to side with Angel and slowed himself down.

"I could ask you the same thing," Angel said stiffly.

"Ah happen to know you can't see too well in the dark, and it takes you more work too as the warm drafts that lift you up are harder to find, that's why most birds don't fly at night. Everything okay, Professor?"

"Everything's fine, Sam," Angel said, but Sam could swear he heard the professor sighing.

"My blast field provides a bit of light, it helps me see at night. If you want I can accompany you to wherever you are going."

"That won't be necessary, Sam, I'm not going very far."

"Then it's no big deal, I won't be gone long and I need to get some fresh air, I'll go with you."

"I said that wouldn't be necessary!" Angel barked uncharacteristically at Sam. Warren sighed and calmed his tone. "This is personal, Sam. You should just get back to the mansion."

Sam was startled. Angel was usually cool-headed, in fact some described him as aloof, a man who rarely lost his temper. Of course, when Sam had first met Warren Worthington the man had been an angry wreck, Sam had been incredibly wary of him in the beginning but Professor had overcome his problems. Hadn't he?

"Sure, Professor," Sam decided not to pry. He turned mid-air and aimed himself back toward the school. Sam glanced back, and once he was sure Angel was no longer watching he turned back around and followed Angel, now a dot in the sky, low and slow over the ground.

"Something ain't right," Sam justified it to himself. "Ah'm gonna find out what is goin' on whether you want me to or not."

The White House, DC

"Mrs. President," the director of Homeland Security, Henry Peter Gyrich, reached toward her with an open hand. "May I first give condolences for the terrible circumstances which led to our meeting like this."

"Thank you, Director Gyrich, let's get down to business immediately."

"Agreed. Due to the mutant attack, I think there is no other alternative we need to reinstate the Sentinel program. I can guarantee funding and with the President's death I can almost guarantee a bipartisan vote in favor."

"I agree, consider it reinstated. What I want to know is what are we going to differently so that this never happens again?"

"Tours have been suspended indefinitely. We are placing mutant detectors throughout the District that are in sync with facial recognition cameras. If any known dangerous mutant comes anywhere near a government building we will know immediately."

"What else?"

"We have someone working on a mutant registration act that we think we can get passed."

"That was a public nightmare last time, what makes you think this is going to be any different?"

"While we have someone drafting the bill we have someone else coming up with an incentive for mutants to register."

"What kind of incentive?"

"If there was something that only affected mutants, say a virus perhaps, then we would need mutants to register so we could "find" a cure and make sure they get it."

"That sounds dangerous."

"A world filled with living weapons determined to supplant humanity is dangerous. It will only target mutants. Normal superheroes like Captain America and Iron Man will be unaffected. Besides, no one will know where it came from."

"You make sure it can't be traced. There will be independent scientists trying to work on a cure as well."

"I will make sure of it."

"What about personal security?"

"We are working to try and get a few super-powered agents from Shield to join your secret service team."

"Will this virus cause any mutant deaths?"

"Not if they cooperate."

"Okay, start your work. I expect to hear of some new measures tomorrow. I will not be slaughtered by a psychotic mutant child like my predecessor."

"He was too soft on them, you won't make the same mistake. Trust me, I've been planning for this eventuality for a long time."