Prologue:  A Day in the Life

The wind whistled through the alleyway as Sam settled into the shadows to wait.  He leaned against the wall perfectly relaxed as he closed his eyes to listen to the night.  It was bitter January in Chicago and a light snow was drifting down, the flakes melting slowly as they landed on his face.  Silently, not opening his eyes, he slipped off his duster and gently lowered it to the ground.  The cold did not bother him; few things reached him when it was this close.  He kept his hand poised by the holster under his arm and waited.   An hour passed, then two as he silently stood in the shadows.  A noise at the end of the alleyway brought him out of his meditative state and the sound of several footsteps could be heard approaching.  He kept his body relaxed, waiting for the moment.  Suddenly, his eyes still closed, an image flashed in his mind and like a coiled spring he threw himself into the alleyway, drawing his gun at the same moment.  Before his reflexes had the time to open his eyes it was over.

Shaking, it still shook him; he put the silenced Berretta back into his holster and finished opening his eyes.  In front of him lay three dead men, all shot through the center of their head.  They were his marks alright, there was no mistaking the bloated man and his two personal guards.  He had watched them for over a month, and he had seen them in his mind just now.  He felt sick, but held his stomach.  It wouldn’t do to leave that kind of evidence around.  Walking back over to his hiding spot he picked up his duster and pulled it on.  Taking a knit cap out of one of the pockets and putting it on his head he silently strolled out of the back end of the alleyway towards home.  He managed to make it home before coughing up everything he had eaten in the past twelve hours.  The deal was done however, and that’s all that mattered in the end.  In fact it was the only thing that really held him together, the one ideal that had survived to his 16th birthday.  A few of his earliest clients learned that the hard way, now everyone paid him in advance. Client or mark they only ever met him once.

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Professor Xavier slowly took the specialized helmet off his head, setting it down on the desk near him.  Spinning his chair around he left cerbraeu's interface and went into his study where Logan and Ororo were waiting for him.

"Cerbraeu's detected a new mutant signature in Chicago, a boy by the name of Sam Twain.  I got some very disturbing images when cerbraeu made contact, but I feel that he can be helped here.  I want both of you to accompany Scott and Jean to make contact, I feel that he is potentially a very dangerous person to talk with."

"Whatever you say Chuck, but do you think it's wise to introduce this 'potentially dangerous' person to the institute.  We've had a few problems like that in the past."  Logan said in his usually gruff manner.

"I appreciate the concern and it is valid.  I can't be certain exactly what he has done; I was only able to get flashes in the brief contact I made.  However I got the impression that he was still troubled by his actions.  A person who still feels that level of remorse can be redeemed, but it is a risk nonetheless."  The Professor said with his usually cautious optimism.

"We'll try are best Charles," Ororo said and coming to a silent agreement the three of them left the room to begin preparations for the trip.

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He was sleeping on the couch when the vision flashed in his mind.  He rolled off the couch and went into the bathroom, washing his face. 'Four, nobody coming to buy a contract ever brings four.'  It was some sort of trouble he decided as he calmly brushed his teeth and then brushed his hair.  He stepped into his bedroom closet and changed into his black Armani suit, donning the beretta's holster before slipping on his Jacket.  'When you're a professional, always look like a professional.' His father's voice told him in his mind.  He went over to his dresser and put a fresh clip into the beretta before slipping it in its place.  Selecting a Nice midnight blue tie from the rack he tied it expertly and looked in the mirror to appraise his appearance.  He was still too young to really pull off the look he was going for, but he thought he looked professional enough for the trouble that was currently walking up the stairs towards his apartment. 

He closed the door to his bedroom, walking into his living room which he had long ago converted into his office.  Stepping into his kitchen he started a pot of coffee brewing, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a plate of freshly cut fruit.  Holding this in one hand he picked up one of his kitchen chairs and brought it out in front of his desk.  He set the fruit down on a small table in front of two upholstered chairs and then set the chair he was carrying down next to them.  He walked over to the corner and picked up another upholstered chair and set it down next to the others.  After spacing them appropriately, he walked back into the kitchen and got out a nice silver tea set that he had freshly polished.  He poured the coffee into the tea pot and set the pot and four china cups onto the tray with cream and sugar.  'Always remind them that you know more than them, your a killer, and your not to be fucked with.'  He heard his dad's voice say in his mind as he set the tray down next to the fruit, walked behind his desk and said,

"Come In," Just as the footsteps stopped outside his door.  There was a moment's hesitation then someone grabbed the handle and opened the door.  The first one in the door was a tall boy that couldn't have been more than a year or so older than Sam himself.  The boy was dressed in khakis and button down shirt with a thick jacket thrown over it.  The one glaring irregularity was the red sun glasses.  'Who wears sun glasses inside at eleven o'clock at night?'  Sam thought to himself as the boy was followed into the room by a strikingly attractive red head.  She was tall, dressed in khakis and a sweater with bright red hair framing her face.  She also was not much older than him.  Immediately following them was a very elegant looking African-American woman with stark white hair, her whole presence denoted a calm authority and Sam immediately sized her up as the leader of this group of people.  The last through the door was a heavily built man whose face betrayed no emotion, but whose eyes classified him as a killer. 'And he's not happy about being here either.'  Sam concluded.

"Please sit down, help yourself to coffee and fruit if you'd like.  I'm afraid the fair's a bit limited, you'll have to forgive me.  After you're settled we can discuss how I can be of service to you this evening."  Sam said while his father's voice spoke in his head about the virtues of being courteous.  'Whether they're marks or clients son, it's the last thing they expect out of a killer, and anything you do to get them off guard is one more step towards staying alive.'  As the group sat down it was clear that the two younger ones were surprised about the way things were going and Sam could see their minds trying to catch up with what was going on.  The older woman looked a little surprised, but he could tell already that she wasn't the type to let her surprise affect her judgment.  While the other one sat stone still, sniffing the air and betraying as little about himself as possible.  After they were all seated and the black woman had poured herself a cup of coffee Sam seated himself behind the desk and folded his hands in front of him.

"So, what may I do for you?"  Sam stated, purposefully directing his comment to the leader of the group.  She turned her head and nodded to the red head on the end, who after a brief moment of nervous hesitation started to speak.

"Well first I would like to introduce myself and the others here.  My name is Jean, and this is Scott, Ororo, and Logan.  We all live and work at a place in New York called the Xavier Institute.  The purpose of the institute is to help those with, let's say 'special talents', to learn to control them and utilize them to the best of their ability and for the betterment of their life.  Were here tonight because we believe you posses one of these talents and we would like to invite you to come to the institute and see if you're interested in studying there." 

"I am afraid I don't quite understand you, what do you mean by, 'special talents'?"  I asked her after she finished.

"Anything you can do that can't be explained, stuff that you probably have only been able to do for a short while," She said looking intently at me.  "Don't be nervous about it, all of us her have certain gifts that we've learned to use at the institute."

"Really? That's quite extraordinary.  I am afraid however that you are quite mistaken.  I have no secret paranormal ability.  I am just an ordinary young man trying to make it on his own in the big city." Sam smiled humbly. "Though I admit that just getting by sometimes seems a superhuman effort."

"But we know you have a talent, otherwise we wouldn't be here."  The one called Scott blurted out which got him a severe look from Jean.

"Really? And how would you acquire such a certain knowledge, indeed I admit I am curious as to how you select your invitees, even though that process seems to have led you astray in this case."  Jean looked at Ororo and she nodded her consent to something.

"One of the people at the institute has a very powerful talent, and he can detect when someone else uses theirs.  There are not that many of us, and so he makes an effort to contact all of them in order to help them through what in many cases can be a very trying time."  Jean said again picking her words carefully. 'These are people with a lot of secrets.'  Sam thought before speaking.

"I see, well as I have said this person must have been mistaken, I am sorry that you have made such a very long trip for nothing.  I can recommend a good hotel if you don't already have one, but if we have no further business I must say goodnight to you.  I have an early morning and a young businessman needs his rest."  Sam said as he smiled congenially and stood up, giving them the clear signal that this bizarre encounter was over as far as he was concerned.  As they stood up Jean spoke again.

"I just have one question for you, how did you know we were coming, and that there would be four of us?"  She looked at him expectantly, but Sam just smiled wanly and said.

"In a neighborhood like this it pays to be well informed, sorry to disappoint you."  As Jean and Scott headed for the door the leader looked at me and spoke for the first time.  Her was voice very elegant and exotic.

"You're a businessman are you Mr. Twain?" Letting Sam know that whoever they got their information from was good enough to have given them a last name that maybe two live people in the world knew.

"Yes I dabble in a few things; do you have a proposition for me?"  Sam stated with his practiced calmness, not giving away the fact that he was indeed impressed that they had his last name.

"How much would a month of your time be worth?"  Ororo asked.  'Ah now where getting into more familiar territory.' Sam thought to himself as he briefly closed his eyes.  Instantly a vision came to him of Ororo leaving his apartment with a cautious smile.  Opening his eyes he knew that some sort of deal was going to be struck here so he let himself relax just a fraction.

"That would depend on what I would be expected to do over the course of that month."  Sam sallied back confidently.

"The only thing required would be for you to take up residence for one month at the institute, agreeing not to leave the premises for that month without permission.  Also you would be agreeing to take part in two training sessions a week and two interviews a week with the Professor that runs the institute.

"I see, that certainly is one of the strangest business proposals I have heard.  It would mean of course completely neglecting all of my current clients for the duration of my stay.  I am afraid that I would have to have $50,000 in advance if I was to take you up on your venture."  She stopped to think for a moment and while Sam was studying her reactions the others weren't lost on him.  Logan let out what sounded like a barely audible growl and Jean and Scott looked completely dumbstruck that he would even ask such a sum.  After a moment of thought that Sam felt sure was entirely calculated for effect, she nodded.  I reached down and handed her a business card that was blank except for an exceptionally large account number.  "That is my account number at Swiss International.  When the money has been deposited I will leave immediately and be in residence at your institute within 48 hours.  I will then stay there for a length of time not exceeding one month under the terms you have stated."  Sam extended his hand and right before Ororo shook it he spoke up again.  He always saved this line for last; it brought people back to reality and made sure they knew what they were getting into.  "Do not agree to this unless you are in earnest.  If you double-cross, renege, cheat or trick me in anyway it will be the very last thing you do."  She hesitated for only a moment before confidently shaking my hand and then leaving me a business card of her own. 

Thirty seconds later they were gone, their footsteps receding down the stairway.  Sam let out a huge sigh shuddering slightly.  Slowly his alter ego slid off him and a nauseous feeling settled into his stomach.  He always felt a little bit sick after donning the killer, which was how he thought about it.  'Spending a month away from Chicago, working a contract where I don't kill anyone, well hopefully anyway.  It will almost be a vacation.'  He thought to himself.  He couldn't quite shake the feeling that things like this were just a little too good to be true though; he made up his mind to approach it like it was any other hit.  'Always expect the worst from people,' his fathers voice told him as he hung up his suit and got ready for bed, 'that way you know exactly what they are going to do.'  His father continued to silently lecture him in his head until the point he actually fell asleep.

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"Ororo your not really going to give him $50,000 dollars are you?!?  I mean that's extortion, we don't even know if he will stay or that we would want him to stay."  Jean was saying as they walked back towards the more populated streets of Chicago.  Scott was nodding, obviously agreeing with her.

"I am afraid I have no choice Jean, I made a deal with him, and he is not the type of person that I would want to break a deal on."  Scott looked thunderstruck.

"You didn't actually take that guys bluster about it being the last thing you ever do seriously did you Storm.  I mean he's got to be 15, 16 at max."  Logan looked at him with sort of a cold sadness in his eyes.

"Don't make to many assumptions based on that kids age Scott, Storms got it right.  I've seen eyes like that on a few people in my lifetime, never on anyone that young, but I've seen them enough to know.  He believed he could have killed us all in that apartment tonight and he would have tried to if he thought we were going to make trouble for him.  Take it from somebody who's had their fair share of killings in their past."   They walked in silence for awhile steadily making their way back towards their hotel.  Eventually Scott spoke again.

"I believe you Logan, you've seen a lot more of the world than me, but if you're right, are we doing the right thing by bringing him into the institute.  I mean everyone else there is a normal high school student, Okay maybe not normal, but you understand what I mean.  And you're saying this kids' a cold blooded killer...."  He left the sentence hanging waiting for a response that would make him feel better about what they had just gotten into.

"It don't matter what I think about it kid, It's to late now to do anything except be careful."  With that cheery statement they walked into the hotel.

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When Sam awoke the next morning the first thing he did was call and check his account balance.  The lady on the other end of the line said the $50,000 had been deposited early that morning.  Sam hung up the phone and started to put his things together for the trip.  He filled a duffle bag with all the supplies an extended and complicated hit normally required.  Needless to say it wasn't going to pass any airport security checks, one of the reasons he never flew anywhere.  Next he pulled down a garment bag a selected a handful of expensive suits and their accessories to fill it with.  Lastly he filled another smaller duffle with more everyday clothes.  He showered and dressed into his normal casing clothes, or what he called his desperado outfit, when in one of his rare lighter moods.  It consisted of heavy denim jeans, a black shirt, black boots, black knit cap his dark tan duster, and of course his gun.  Slinging the larger duffle over his shoulder and then picking up his other two bags he made his way downstairs.  The taxi he had called earlier was just driving up.  After setting his things in the trunk he told the taxi to take him to the plaza parking garage downtown.  Without a word the taxi driver put his car in gear and headed towards the better sections of town.

On the third floor of the parking garage under a cover stood his baby.  Gently he pulled the cover off and took it in.  It was a solid black 1948 Indian Chief with a matching sidecar and chrome trim.  It was completely restored and had less than 600 miles on it since the engine rebuild.  The bike was the only thing he had ever really spent money on; spending money attracted too much attention.  In fact he had only ever ridden the bike once, for that very reason.  It just brought to much attention, something that could be hazardous to your health in his business.  The thought of riding this to New York, on what was supposed to be a relatively mild and clear weekend brought one of the few pure feelings of joy he had ever felt.  He put the large duffle bag into the side car and then slid the smaller one in next to it.  The garment bag he ended up having to tie very carefully on top of them.  He felt safe ridding it since where he was going was to be well outside of his business area.  Even so He was Nervous as he slipped the tinted goggles out of one of the pockets on the duster and settled them onto his head.

Reverently he turned the key and kick started the bike giving it just the right amount of gas.  After letting the engine warm up for ten minutes he backed it out of the space and drove it out of the garage.  Carefully maneuvering through city traffic he made his way to the outskirts, having plotted the course last night.  Once outside of the city he selected a eastward bound state road and headed towards Bayville.

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