ALL NOVEL Chapter 1: Wayward Soul
Chapter 1
Wayward Soul
-New York City, New York
Volume 1: Origin
X-Mansion, Westchester, New York
Hidden deep underground in the X-Mansion, down the long metallic corridor, behind a metal door that wouldn't be out of place inside the most prestigious of banks, stood a towering door with the letter X. On the other side, three individuals stood in a semicircle behind a ball-headed man in a wheelchair made of the same material as the room.
“Are we online Hank?” Said the bald-headed wheelchair-bound man, holding a helmet in his lap.
“And it's been updated.” Replied the beast man named Hank, pushing the floating keyboard away from him, the keyboard melded into the slick metallic walls.
“Professor, are you sure you felt this mutant?” asked the white-haired beauty, “and without Cerebro amplification.”
“Storm.” Growled the handsome man.
She glared at him, but continued. “There has to be boundaries that we, the X-men, shouldn't even cross.” Said Storm.
The Professor raised his hand, halting the argument and slightly nudging the two down with his telepathy.
“No one is above reproach, Scott.” The handsome man suddenly relaxed, unbeknownst that his mind and emotions were being tampered with.
“Ms. Munroe, I'm aware of your displeasure in the use of such a device but I promise you that it only boosts my ability to sense our kind. Those that are in need and the newly awakened need us to be able to act fast. This device is powerful but it's being safeguarded by me, we, and Hank has the override just in case I’m misguided in its usage.” The professor said, his admission coming out genuine but the man's inner thoughts were of another order. ‘This is for all of us. I must temper the mutant kind to live alongside humans as equals, no, not equals, we have power and extraordinary abilities we must show humankind that with power there is still goodness and service.’
Her electric blue eyes softened, and the deep lines on her dark beautiful unblemished skin retreated and she nodded, relenting and shelving her argument.
Cerebro was a powerful creation, it amplified the telepathic power of the user, by heightening their brainwaves. It also makes the user's brain work exceptionally fast by speeding up the neurons in the user's brain.
“I do trust you, Professor.” Said Storm.
Professor closed his eyes, his thoughts hidden from those closest to him, he massaged his temples as if he had a headache. He reached for the helmet, in his lap and placed it on his head. He moved amongst the lights before coming cross the beacon, and it was the brightest he had ever seen and the light stopped pulsating before hundreds and thousands of smaller lights appeared to be emerging from the beacon.
“This.” He muttered. Dread filled him as he reach out with his full power, he needed to know who or what this was but the light flashed brightly before going supernova and his mind was flung from the space, his physical body was sent tumbling out his chair and under the commotion and scrutiny of his eldest students he had discovered one detail.
“Cole.” He sputtered before he blacked out
Kamar-Taj, Tibet
The Ancient One eyes opened in alarm. Something had changed. She looked ahead, her eyes simply focused on a singular point, a point in time. Her hands formed a bizarre arcane circle, and she got nothing, her hands moved again, this time it was as if Buddha was superimposed on her figure as multiple golden hands created arcane circles.
A single circle remained, a void in space, her eyes unfocused before her head turned to stare into the stable circle.
The Ancient One frowned.
"The future is no more!” She floated from the ground, the artifact around her neck pulsating as she pried into the unknown, and for the first time in her long lifetime, the unknown stared back; alarm riddled her face, but it was far too late; the artifact dimmed, to her horror and the otherworldly force struck, she was sent hurtling backward, and before she could protect herself, she smashed into the stonewall.
“Cole.” she groaned as she struggled to get her feet. She only managed to glean so little.
Cole Stephens
He froze. He looked around but shook his head and kept moving away from the sound of the sirens. It was cold, and the threadbare second-hand jacket brought him no warmth.
He felt like the healing factor was still activated. His abilities gave him an inherent knowledge of their potential, but that ability didn't let him know anything other than it'll heal him.
He leaped from building the police cruisers, speeding up every street light shining toward the building. 'They just won't give up; that's a good sign, I guess.'
He kneeled atop a building, waiting for the patrol cruisers to depart. The surroundings looked depressing, and the eyes of the passing people looked bleak. This atmosphere summed up the vast majority experience of Marvel-New York City, namely the lower-end neighborhoods.
He disliked that he couldn't recall his memories before arriving in this new reality; everything of his previous life was a void inside him. With his knowledge of the comics and cinematic universes fully intact and with all of Jermey York's memories, he had little choice; he would reinvent himself.
He stared in wonder at his status sheet, and it was such a marvel; The System. The sheer implications could shatter minds and end the universe and all realities.
He was possibly the most dangerous individual; not even the gods, old and new, be it Aesir or the Olympians, could equate to this System. He had the potential to have it all. Not even those above the so-called gods could fathom his potential. But, he would need time to grow because what is potential if it's not seen to fruition.
His first persona: Red Hood-Jason Todd, the second Robin to be trained by Batman. Red Hood was a killer. Unlike Batman, he didn't allow his victims to breathe, which led to him and Batman coming to blows many times. Jason Todd was also murdered by The Bat's greatest foe, the Joker, only to be revived by the League of Shadows with the Lazarus Pit.
He ran onward, and his excitement grew the more he pressed himself, fatigue nowhere in sight, his body quickly adjusting to his needs. He didn't have the sheer speed like the Flash nor the quickness of Quicksilver. His breakneck pace was borderline Captain America; he knew he hadn't reached his limits; unlike Captain America, Cole had a Healing Factor that would make him far faster than the likes of Cap.
He dipped further into the untapped pool of his abilities. At such speeds, the human mind would have to keep up with the body; he learned this the hard way as in his mind, his leap over the trash can was near perfect, yet his body failed to meet that demand. He tumbled, his leg catching the top. He rolled across the ground and pain traveled across his body before vanishing as quickly as it came.
He stood before Sandy Carmichael's orphanage for troubled kids; a quick scan of his-and-Jeremy York memory had already told him of its troubled past.
His parents were once well-to-do members of the upper echelons of New York royalty; greed and corporate espionage led to their murder and his fortune being squandered by a particular group of people.
The greed of his extended family had no bounds. Using back channels, they managed to work out a lucrative but foolhardy deal with that 'group.' They even snatched away his inheritance. He wasn't even sure if his trust fund had survived his Father's older brother's greedy hands. Money was one thing he needed the most. The Hand alongside 'Hydra assassinated his family.'
The Yorks would have to give him a full accounting soon. But, his mind wasn't on machinations of mere men; his mind was on one glowing fact Jermey had always missed.
"Rich-boy! You're past curfew," and an all too familiar voice ripped him from his dark reverie.
"Won't happen again, Ms. Carmichael." He replied. He concealed all the malice he had for the woman.
"You forget yourself, boy! Under my roof, I'm Mama." Her voice waffled his ears as his eyes scanned through the darkness. The tall tail sign of a cigarette gave away her position.
"Another hour, and I would have thought you tried to run again." Her voice carried a trace of joy and ridicule. "It sure was fun the last time, huh? I hope you realize soon that your past life is over." She continued.
The last time she and her much older sons chased him down, and when they caught him, the beating left him little to do but stay in bed and nurse his injuries.
He was a mule for their enterprise and the lucrative check for them. Not only were they stealing from him, they went even further and ruined the York heir character. They won't let him go anytime soon.
"This place is the end of the line for the likes of you. How old are you now? Fourteen? Fifteen?" Her voice was wheezily and scratchy.
He analyzed her. That told him of a long life of alcohol, drugs, and nicotine abuse. He shifted on his feet and cast his eyes toward the dark region of the big rickety porch that was the view of Carmichael home for the wayward. Cole's quietness caused the older woman to flick her cigarette away and enter the house. She left it cracked, just enough for him to know she expected him on her heels, expediently.
He smiled coldly. Time. He only needed time. Soon he would be done with this place, but for now, he needed familiarity; there was also the added benefit of disguise.
He tossed his book bag on his bed, more akin to a cot. His room was the attic. Since the older kids took up most of the rooms in the old three-story house, it left him little to no choice; because at Carmichael's home, one either fought for a room or played their cards right and received one. Let's say the old Jeremy couldn't accomplish either.
He looked down at his watch, and it was 9:33 PM. Tomorrow, he had school. As he looked through the time-stained window of his makeshift room, a thought crossed his mind, running toward his secret compartment where he hid his precious items. Most foster kids learn this quickly, or they soon part with anything of value.
Turning on the outdated iPhone, he browsed the Internet. His inquiries were anything supernatural. He wanted to know how far along was the timeline. His search only brought more questions, but he at least knew the invasion of New York hadn't happened. Hulk hasn't surfaced either, there wasn't even a mention of an iron man, But Tony Stark had just been reported missing...
Before long, his search leads him to sight and witness accounts of extraordinary individuals. Sighting and witness accounts of a red spider-themed vigilante that shoots webs from his HandHand operating in the greater New York area.
He soon unearthed cellphone footage on the Hell's Kitchen daredevil. The If that was Daredevil, the other cloaked figures in the minute-long video were probably The Hand. He pondered on different significant scenarios.
Apocalypse. House of M. World War Hulk. Infinity War. He had no clue how he came to be here, but he knew unless he utilized all his cards, he wouldn't even have the slightest chance to find out how and who had placed him here.
He certainly had the most potential and could be considered the most significant threat or savior. He would have to proceed with extreme caution. He assumed that Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. should be getting the clandestine seal of approval about now.
He opened his eyes, not even knowing he had fallen asleep, his body must have really needed him to continue the upgrades.
The sun entered through the curtain, the light soothing him as it touch his exposed skin. He felt so much better than last night. His body felt like It was waiting to be tasked, to be tested.
He withdrew the sheets and started to prepare for school. Below him, he could hear the other occupants stirring and running about.
Before he could put on his shoes, a notification appeared before him, and with it came his very first mission, his quest for power and understanding.
