It's August, and you all know what that means. Time for the next
installment in the Tolken Chronicles.

The Chaos Factor:
Chapter One: "Waiting for the Sun"
by Jim Cannon

    When Albanus Alebane was a boy, dusk in the Baltic nation of
Litheria was a time of fear and supreme darkness. Trolls and demons
haunted the rocky hills, and men ventured into the night only on the
gravest of missions. It was safer, and much more comfortable, to stay
within one's home and bask in the glow of a fire, drinking mead and
planning the next season of raids.
     Fully a millenia later, little had changed in Litheria. Instead of
trolls prowling the hills, it was Soviets patroling the streets.
Instead of the hearth, one sat before the television, afraid of the
fierce anger of a repressive government or the few rebels who still
campaigned for Litherian freedom, transforming the city streets into
bloodbaths.
     Until the Iron Curtain fell, and the Union collapsed. Nations that
had once been satelite republics were now faced with the terrifying
prospect of self-government. Democracy.
     In Litheria, the rebels cheered as the tanks rolled out, while
the average citizen remained in their homes, anxiously awaiting the
government the rebels intended to form. From their actions during the
Soviet occupation, few people felt the new regime would be less
oppressive than the old one. And for two solid weeks, the prevailing
opinion seemed to be the correct one. Latislav Kordinisky, the rebel
leader, quickly became drunk with power and purged his heirarchy,
promoting sycophants and the wealthy to positions of power.
     The people rolled their eyes and nodded their heads, and went back
to their daily routine, still relatively unchanged from the days of the
Red Empire. It would be a little while longer before the loss of the
Soviet Union as the economic backbone of the region would begin to
effect the economy. Or so most people hoped.
     And then, on a bright Sunday afternoon, Albanus arrived in
Sudanka, Litheria's bohemian capital city. He strolled down the middle
of Valkos Street, the city's main throroughfaire, in his white three
piece suit, smiling and waving at everyone he passed. Most thought him
a clown or an idiot, and amiably waved back. A few people began to
follow him, curious and a bit befuddled.
     So it was that when he reached Kordinisky's palace, Albanus had a
small crowd of onlookers to witness his coup. With langorous gestures,
Albanus summoned up a terrible whirlwind that laid waste to the palace
and everyone in it. The crowd, which should have trampled in terror,
remained fixed to the spot, as Albanus turned to them and spoke.
     "I have returned to the land of my birth not as a destroyer, but
as a healer. And as the doctor must excise the cancer so that the
patient must live, I have removed that which would poison our homeland.
Only I can make this country great. Only I can give the fine people of
Litheria the prosperity and joy that they deserve."
     At this point matters had gotten so far beyond the average
person's experiance that few knew what to expect. They did know that,
should this Albanus become a tyrant, no help would be forthcoming from
the United States or the Soviet Union. Latveria was proof enough of
that. So the people waited, and some prayed.
     And, amazingly, Alebane proved true to his word. He brought his
munitions company, Magus Enterprises, to Litheria, creating jobs and
bolstering the sagging economy of the region. Technology and
prosperity ensured even the poorest household could afford creature
comforts that were unheard of in the old days.
     In Litheria, Albanus Alebane was a hero, a monarch, and a CEO.
Some would say his people loved him. Others would say they worshipped
him. And not enough feared him.

     Outside the curving windows of the study, an angry storm raged,
pelting rain striking against the thin pane of glass. Lightning
flashed, illuminating for a moment the turbulent sea, as it surged up
the cliff face, so far below the castle of Albanus Alebane.
    A cheerful fire crackled in the hearth, sending leaping shadows
all over the bookcases lining the walls, and the dark mahogany desk
behind which sat the monarch himself. Albanus Alebane was not a large
man, yet he carried himself with an air of dignity and intellignce that
seemed to make him look larger than he really was.
    His eyes were of a singular shade of golden yellow, and they,
combined with his complete lack of hair, gave him a naturally sinister
appearance. Yet he could counterbalance that impression easily enough;
his smile was full and could show genuine warmth and humor. He was
often quick to tell a joke or an amusing anecdote to set his visitors
at ease, drawing attention away from his strange looks and focusing on
his personality.
    But not this night. Albanus was not entertaining a dignitary or
coercing a customer into purchasing a squadron of Model III Stingrays.
He held a conferance with his most trusted advisors. General Phobos,
General Deimos, and Latislav Kordinisky.
    Phobos and Deimos were Rumanian twins, mutants both, gifted with
identical looks and powers. They were energy manipulators, capable of
unleashing devestating streams of energy or creating protective fields
of force, and even teleporting short distances. Experiments conducted
by Magus Enterprises had also served to enhance their strength, speed,
and endurance far past the human norm.
     Both men were over six feet tall, with long manes of shaggy white
hair and glowing eyes. Phobos' eyes gleamed blue, while Deimos
possessed eyes of an angry red. Both wore military uniforms that
seemed almost Victorian in their ostentatiousness. Phobos wore white
with black and silver markings, while Deimos favored black with white
and gold markings.
     Phobos was a cold, calculating man. He favored elaborate plans
and brutal methods. Deimos, however, possessed a terrible temper and a
sadistic streak comparable to the Black Queen's. Both men were
determined, efficient, and fiercely dedicated to the man they
considered their father: Albanus.
     Latislav Kordinisky was widely believed to have perished when his
palace was destroyed. Yet Albanus had ensured that the former rebel
survived, though barely. He was wounded severely by the tornado, and
only the addition of Magus Enterprises bionics managed to prolong his
life. Bitter, twisted, and cruel, he nonetheless owed Albanus his life.
Honor demanded some payment for that. And the wizard seemed to actually
value his counsel, so Kordinisky remained loyal. For now.
     Albanus sat back in his chair and regarded the three men seated
across the desk from him. Tonight was the time for Albanus to catch up
on current events and see how the projects his lieutenants oversaw were
shaping up.
     "Latislav, how are the efforts to infiltrate Latveria proceeding?"
Albanus asked. He had a deep, rich voice. The voice of a leader.
     "Not very well," the cyborg admitted. "Doom's automotons are adept
at ferreting out spies, especially the mechanical ones. And his people
are fanatically dedicated to him. None of them are willing to sell
secrets. And Doom watches all foreigners closely.
     "Some success has been achieved with the Zombs. But their
effectiveness in seriously limited. My people are trying to refine the
process, but attaching nanites to the brain seems to drive humans
slowly insane. We're experimenting with dogs right now."
     Albanus nodded. It was much as he expected. Yet he was not
dissapointed. Part of the thrill of antagonizing Victor Von Doom was
the challenge.
     "Phobos, how are things in Gotham City?"
     The blue eyed mutant sat up straighter. "The equipment Sinister
purchased has been shipped to and assembled at the agreed upon place.
Sinister himself should be arriving within the week. Test subjects are
relatively easy to acquire in an area as destitute as Gotham City. I
should expect the project will be underway shortly."
     Albanus smiled slightly. "And what about Gotham's defenders?"
     Phobos gave a slight shrug. "I anticipate little trouble from the
Batman. All reports indicate he is a normal human, and no match for me
or any of our agents. His child partner is even less of a problem. I am
concerned about the being known variously as the Sentinel or Green
Lantern. His power levels are in the Thor/Superman range, as far as I
can tell. Sinister has assured me though that he has a way of taking
care of the Sentinel."
     Albanus nodded again. "Excellent. Deimos. What do you have to
offer?"
     Deimos shook his head. "Little good news, I am afraid. I have just
recieved word through my contacts that the Wizard's experiment was
halted before it could begin. The Taskmaster switched sides, and the
Black Queen and the Abomination were defeated by -- get this -- Siphon
and Mars. The Abomination escaped, but Selene and the Wizard are in
Stryker's Island in Metropolis, courtesy of the Avengers."
     Albanus blinked in surprise. Siphon? Alive? The man had
dissapeared off the face of the Earth eight months ago. It had to be
more than coincidence that Siphon's first public appearance in almost a
year involved foiling one of Albanus' pet projects. Ever since Albanus
had harmed that Natasha Hawthorne girl, Siphon had made it his mission
in life to give Albanus trouble. And then he just vanished.
    Albanus had assumed the boy retired or got himself killed. But
apparently, he'd been lying in wait, preparing to strike again.
    Something had to be done about that.

                   *   *  *   *   *   *   *

    A log in the fire collapsed, sending a spray of sparks into the
starless night. Chris shifted on the log he was sitting on. He couldn't
seem to find a comfortable position on the slick, rain dampened wood.
The others on the beach seemed to have no trouble, though. Probably
because they still looked human.
   Chris reminded himself that everyone around him -- Mike, the kid
from Arizona, who wore sunglasses even now, Liberty Holmes, the
statuesque Houstan girl, Alissa, Hawaiian beach bum, Louise, the cute
Japanese American from Poughkeepsie, and Stephanie Ilyich, the pert
blond from Atlanta -- were all mutants, just like him. He was the only
one with an obvous mutation, Mike's sunglasses aside.
   Chris had morphed into a seven foot, lavender skinned gargoyle. A
pair of massive, bat-like wings, powerful and delicate at once, jutted
from between his shoulder blades. Spurs of bone erupted from his knees
and elbows. His hands and feet ended in curving, blackened claws. His
teeth were robust, and the canines were massive. Yellow, reptilian eyes
peeked out from under spiny, thickened brows. Chris looked like a
monster, and felt ill at ease amongst these laughing, average looking
teens.
   Part of him was still surprised the invited him down to the beach
for a barbecue on the sand. Classes at Tolken's new acadamy weren't
scheduled to begin for a few more days, so the students were taking the
time until then to examine the grounds and find the limitations of what
they could and could not do here. For example, Mike had smuggled a case
of Labatt Blue out of the big fridge in the kitchen. And Liberty had
flown over the breadth of the Tolken estate to locate a suitable patch
of land to have the party.
   Chris was out of his depth here. These people were taking the sudden
changes in their lives far too easily. Only two weeks ago, every one of
them -- as well as the younger students in the house -- had all been
normal, non-mutant children. Until the Wizard kidnapped them all, and
nearly succeeded in killing them all. The stresses of that ordeal had
quickened that extra, special gene that lay dormant within each of
them.
   Chris had become a grotesquerie. Mike Hawkins possessed superhuman
strength, nightvision, and, apparently, some kind of sixth sense.
Liberty Holmes, the only grandaughter of the World War II era heros the
Patriot and Bombshell, had inherited her grandfather's physical
strength and flying powers, as well as her grandmother's personal
force field. Alissandra Makoa could generate blasts of multi-colored
plasma. Louise Miyamoto's body created waves of vibrational energy that
could shatter steel. Stephanie could apparently manipulate light to
some degree.
   All of them were at this place at this time for the same purpose: to
learn how to master their abilities so that they could lead normal
lives amongst the unpowered masses. Chris knew he could never do such a
thing, he simply looked too alien, but the idea of being some kind of
two-bit mutant hero appealed to him even less. Liberty apparently
entertained some ideas about following in her predecessors' footsteps
as a costumed adventurer, and Hawkins was always talking about how cool
it would be to hang out with the Avengers, but most of the others
seemed to share Chris's desire for a normal life.
   "Hey, Chris, you okay over there?" Liberty's crystal blue eyes
peered out at Chris from under auburn bangs.
   Chris shook himself out of his reverie. "I'm fine," he said in his
new, gravelly voice. "I was just thinking."
   Liberty nodded, understanding. There was a lot to think about these
days. For Chris, one of them was definitely *not* Liberty. At least, it
shouldn't have been. She was only a few inches shorter than him, with
long, curling auburn locks, a finely drawn face, and a body one could
only find in a comic-book. She was one of those natural beautys
that never has to maintain her looks. The type of girl women hated and
men lusted after. And yet she was also a really nice person, with
an acute sense of humor and a genuine interest in the lives and
likes of other people. She was the first person to say "Hi!" to
Chris and many of the others, and she was the one who organized
most of the outing.
     Chris knew that a monster like him couldn't get far
with a girl like her, and he tried not to think about the prospect
much. To no avail. He reached for another beer.
     "Could somebody change the music?" Louise groused. "I'm getting
tired of the Dark Side."
     Alissa turned to her. "Dude, how? It's the best Floyd album
of all time. Lets just listen to 'Us & Them' one more time. Then you
can pop in your dance hall crap or whatever."
     Louise's nostrils flared, and she unconciously pulled on her long
braid. "Pardon me if I don't share your infatuation with dope music.
And for the record, I don't listen to dance hall crap. It is called
Techno."
     "Dope music?" Alissa said, an expression of shock writ across her
face.
     Stephanie spoke up, her soft voice tinged with the faintest
Southern accent. "Now gals, settle down. Please. This is supposed to
be a fun evening..."
     Mike chuckled. "Don't bother, Steph. It's been a while since I've
seen a good cat fight." Liberty playfully punched him in the arm.
"Watch yer mouth, buster," she said.
     Alissa glanced at Steph, then at Louise, and bit back whatever she
was going to say. Her expression spoke volumes, though. Louise smiled
cattily and then turned to Stephanie. "Quite right dear. I should just
relax and enjoy the vibes. Right, Alissa?"
     Alissa opened her mouth, but stopped when Mike touched her arm.
"You guys have been at each other's throats for most of the night," he
said. "What's the deal? We'll all be here for a while. Maybe years.
Things will go alot more smoothly if we get along." He took a sip of
beer. "Well?"
     Louise appeared to think it over, and then assumed a contrite
expression. "You're right Mike. I'm sorry Alissa." Makoa grudgingly
accepted the apology, and everyone lapsed into silence as the first
strains of "Eclipse" warbled out of Libby's CD player.
     Mike stood up, and tossed his beer on the sand. "I feel like a
walk. Anyone want to join me?"
     Alissa stood up quickly. "I'll go." She dusted sand off the back
of her jeans, and she and Mike headed off down the beach. Chris didn't
miss the glare Louise shot after them as they walked away. But which
was it aimed at?
     Stephanie gave a low whistle as she looked at her watch. "They
waited a whole two hours before pulling their dissappearing act.
Impressive."
     Louise just shook her head and got up to change the CD. Liberty
turned to Chris. "What kind of music do you listen to, Chris?"
     Chris thought a moment, reviewing his choices. He could say
something noncommital, and remain and observer in the conversation, or
he could give the full answer and possible become a full-fledge
participant in the evenings festivities. Instead of the statue in the
corner drinking.
     "All kinds of stuff," he said.
     Liberty looked at him, apparently expecting more. Steph tossed
another log on the fire and reached into the bag of marshmellows.
"C'mon Chris," she said. "What, you like R&B? Heavy Metal? Rap?"
     Chris let out a long sigh. He thought about just flying away --
those wings were for more than show -- but decided against it. "Jazz,"
he said finally. "I listen to a lot of Jazz. Mostly Davis and Parker.
Some Dizzy, and some of the crooners too. Don't like much of the new
stuff -- Harry Conick, Jr. blows. R&B isn't bad, but I go for more of
the funk. George Clinton and Parliament, y'know, that kind of stuff. I
used to listen to some Rap, but all the racist crap finally got to me.
I've sort of been getting into Ska and Hardcore. Rollins, the Misfits,
the Mighty Mighty Bostones. Won't touch No Doubt, though. Though that
chick is hot; music doesn't have enough brass in it. I guess just about
anything with a trumpet or a bone in it I'll listen to."
     When he was done all three girls stared at him.
     "What?" he growled, unconciously leaning back in his seat and
preparing for flight.
     Liberty shook her head. "Nothing, Chris. I just think that's the
most you've ever said at once since I met you. We should talk about
music more often." She smiled.
     And Chris's heart tumbled in his chest.

                 *  *   *   *   *   *  *

     "Now the circle is complete," Darth Vader told me in his heavy
bass voice. "When I left you, I was but the learner. Now *I* am the
master." He raised his gleaming lightsaber before me.
     "Only a master of evil, Darth," I said, bringing my hammer up to
meet his sword. Just in time, too, because in less than a heartbeat he
attacked, slashing at me with that heavy energy blade.
     I parried each of his attacks, a bit clumsily, and tried to launch
some of my own offensive moves. He blocked each with practiced ease. I
let this go one for a few more minutes, and then unleashed a blow with
my full strength. Darth's blade crumpled under the force of the blow,
and his head exploded in a shower of sparks.
     I stepped back, and the program ended, leaving me in the center of
my new Danger Room, a damaged robot at my feet. I looked up at the
control room. "Not a bad workout, Dexter. Programming it with your own
moves really had me working to keep up with it."
     I heard a chuckle over the intercom, as the man called the
Taskmaster accepted my mild praise. "Yeah, you get used to fighting me
and I avoid all the bruises," he said. "The systems running fine from
here, boss. There were a few glitches at first, but now that she's
warmed up, she's running fine."
     I nodded, and reached down to pick up the damaged robot.
     "What's this thing run on, anyway?" the Taskmaster asked.
     "A micro-fusion reactor developed in another galaxy," I said
absently, while I concentrated on finding all the little pices of robot
brain lying on the ground. I gave myself a mental note not to aim for
the head anymore.
     "Hey, boss, you shouldn't bother with that. Aren't there automated
cleaning devices or something?"
     "Yeah, but they aren't on line yet. And since the X-Men helping us
install all this machinery have returned to the X-Mansion, taking with
them the keen mind of Doctor Henry McCoy, it may be a while before they
will be up and running." Of course, if Tasha wasn't so busy running
Hawthorne-Tolken Industries, she might have time to do it herself.
     As it was, my lady love was taking some much needed rest in the
room we shared upstairs. Handling a corporation is a lot more than a 9
to 5 job, and when your life has the added complication of an alter ego
that fights crime, the stress tends to build up. Tasha took the weekend
off, and from what she told me, she wanted to spend most of it in bed.
>From her haggard expression, I wasn't sure if I'd be included in the
weekend's festivities, but I was looking forward to finding out.
     After cleaning up, I met Dexter in the control room. He had a beer
in one hand and gestured at the small refridgerator at his left knee. I
declined. Burt Dexter, better known to the public as the Taskmaster, is
an interesting man. He's told me a little bit of his story -- well, all
right, a lot of it. I wasn't going to hire a supercriminal without
seriously examining his background. I'm just a bit reluctant to betray
confidences. I know things about Dexter that few other people do,
things that could get him into serious trouble if they got out. His
real name is one; even the Avengers don't know that. Not that they ever
will know, whatever happens. I bet I'd get kicked off the team if they
knew I'm signing the Taskmaster's checks.
     Dexter came to me in desperation. When he aided our rescue of the
children from the Wizard's base in the South Pacific, he set himself up
for a fall. Emil Blonsky, who, like the Taskmaster, had worked for
the Wizard, escaped from us and migrated back to the states. He
sent word through the underground grapevine that Taskmaster was not to
be trusted. Dexter found himself blacklisted overnight. Even the Red
Skull wouldn't hire a turncoat. So Dexter came to me, the only guy in
the world he thought he could get a fair deal from.
      And like a sucker, I bought it. Now he works for me, setting up
the danger room and helping the kids get used to their powers, training
them to survive in a world that will try its hadest to eradicate them.
I have assurances and contingency plans should Dexter contemplate
betraying me. Not that I think he will. Strangely enough, he gets along
well with the kids, and they seem to trust him.
     I haven't decided yet if I'm going to tell them he is the man who
kidnapped them all in the first place. I'm kind of hoping Dexter will
get the balls to do that himself.
     "Tell me about those glitches," I said.
     "Nothing intense," Dexter said. "Some of the movements were a
little too complex for the computer to replicate exactly. Hell, I'm
probably the only guy who could do that." Dexter sounded arrogant, and
he was, but he was also stating a simple fact. He billed himself as the
Taskmaster because of photographic reflexes. Any move he's ever seen,
he can duplicate flawlessly. And he's studied guys like Batman, Captain
America, Daredevil, and Spider-Man. He could possibly the best natural
fighter in the world.
     I nodded. I'd have Dani run a diagnostic in the morning, just in
case. Danielle Moonstar, formerly of Xavier's School for Gifted
Students, was another of the instructors I'd hired for my school. Dani
wasn't all that far from the position these kids were in, and was only
two years older than my oldest student. She could relate to the kids a
lot better than I probably could. She might not be all that great at
installing machinery or balancing the checkbook, but I knew the kids
would like her, and be able to talk to her.
     Dexter stood up. "You need me to shut down for you, boss? Only
reason I ask is, Dani, Teresa and I are supposed to go downtown
tonight, and I'd like time to get ready."
     I grinned. More like the girls were going out, and Dexter was
tagging along. Neither Teresa nor Dani really knew what to make of the
supervillian turned instructor, though I think Dani had less of a
problem with it. Dexter knew how he felt about the ladies, though. He
was after both like a shark scenting blood; I don't know if he wanted
both or just wanted to keep his options open.
     "Go ahead Burt. I'll shut down here. Just stop calling me 'boss,'
all right?"
     Dexter smiled insolently and nodded. "Sure." Then he bolted for
the elevator upstairs.
     I sat down in the chair Dexter just vacated, reached into the
fridge and grabbed a beer. I popped it open with my thumb and took a
long draft. I looked over at the phone for a moment, and for the
thousandth time thought about calling Sam. For the thousandth time I
thought of a good excuse not to.

                    *  *   *   *   *   *   *

      The helicoptor slashed through the storm, lights flashing, cabin
shaking, crossing the brief strait between Scotland and Muir Isle.
Richard Grayson sat in the back, next to a fifteen year old Scottish
girl bundled up in a heavy rain coat, gripping the seat so tightly Dick
could hear her knuckles cracking. Desdemona Halloran, the daughter of a
friend, was a mutant whose powers recently activated. Dick had
contacted his acquaintances on Muir Isle for help just a few hours
previous.
     Twenty minutes ago Kurt Wagner, better known as Nightcrawler, and
Rachel Summers, the young Phoenix, had arrived in a glossy black
helicopter to pick up Dick and Desdemona. On Muir Isle, Dick hoped,
there would be a chance for Desdemona to study and get used to her
abilities. The girl, already frightened at the prospect of being a
mutant, was not enjoying the ride at all. Dick couldn't blame her.
     He leaned forward, and tapped Nightcrawler on the shoulder. "Can't
this thing fly above the clouds?"
     Nightcrawler shook his head. "Some kind of deal between the
Fantastic Four, Alpha Flight, and the Atlanteans is screwing with the
weather. This isn't a natural storm, and its up much higher than this
thing will go. If we keep it low, Rachel can grab it and carry it back
should anything go wrong."
     At mention of her name, the red-headed Summers smiled reassuringly
at Dick. "Kurt here is one of the best pilots I've ever seen, Mr.
Grayson. If anyone can get us to Muir Isle in one piece, it's him."
     Dick accepted that claim quietly. In his opinion, Roy or Donna
could fly circles around Nightcrawler, but that was that. "Please Ms.
Summers, call me Dick. Or Richard, if you prefer."
     "All right, Dick. As long as you call me Rachel."
     Dick was about to reply that that was fine with him, when a
lightning bolt slammed into the plane, and the control panel blew
apart. Dick involuntarily flinched, but nothing struck him,
Nightcrawler, or Rachel. The girl had erected a telekinetic shiled in
time. Almost as an afterthought, she halted the craft's plunge into the
cold water.
     Dick, seeing that the immediate danger was taken care of, sat back
in his seat. "You okay Des?" he asked, touching the girl lightly on the
wrist. She simply shook her head, unable to speak. "Don't worry, Des.
You're in capable hands. Nothing is going to happen. We're fine." He
continued to make similar soothing comments the entire ride to the
Isle, carried by the mind of Rachel Summers.
      Rachel gently dropped the helicopter to the landing pad, and Dick
unbuckled himself. He helped Des with her seatbelt, as her hands were
cramped from gripping the seat for so long, and then helped her out of
the aircraft.
      A massive man in trench coat came running up to the 'copter as
Dick and Des exited. "Welcome to Muir Isle," he said, wiping rain water
out of his eyes. "If you will allow Kurt and Rachel to escort you to
the house, I will see to the bags."
      "Peter, I can do that..." Rachel said.
      Peter, who, from the size of him, Dick took to be Colossus, shook
his head. "You're no doubt tired from carrying the helicopter all this
way. Get inside." Rachel seemed about to say more, but Kurt pulled
gently on her elbow, and she reluctantly followed him towards the
humped shape Dick could barely make out in the rain.
      Desdemona followed meekly at Dick's side as the foursome headed
across the tarmac, Peter Rasputin only just behind them. They were
halfway to the house when Desdemona suddenly convulsed, and dropped to
one knee. Dick, immediately alarmed, dropped down beside her and tried
to steady her.
      Kurt and Rachel drew to a halt, concerned.
      And the earth all around them exploded, and something big and
scaly and armed with hundreds of sharp, tiny teeth, launched itself at
Dick and Desdemona. Moving with a grace and speed honed in years of
combat, Dick pulled himself and Desdemona out of harm's way. There was
a flash to his left as the flesh and bone giant, Rasputin, transformed
into the metal Colossus. The creature slammed itself against a
telekinetic field erected by Rachel, and Nightcrawler grabbed Des and
Dick, and teleported them all to the safety of the house.
      The last thing Dick saw before the kitchen materialized around
him was Colossus aiming a mountain shattering right hook at the
creature's mouth.
      And then they were safe in the house, and the threat was being
dealt with by Excalibur. Kurt Wagner grinned sheepishly at the soaked
duo, and said, "Welcome to Muir Isle. Never a dull moment here."

NEXT: Rogue and Sam Nelson make an appointment with their doctor.
Strange, that is.
***********************************************************************

And so it begins. Obviously I've taken liberties with the chracters,
but since I disagree with most of the editorial decisions at Marvel of
late, thats to be expected. Write back if you like it, and don't worry,
things will pick up.

Dr.Doom, Excalibur, and so on are (C) Marvel Comics.

Nightwing and so on are (C) DC Comics.

Everything else is mine -- plot, characters, cereal tie-ins and movie
deals. Feel free to spread it around, as long as my name never leaves
the document and no money changes hands.
(C) 1996 James M.G. Cannon

Feedback is always welcome. Write to: x8cg@music.stlawu.edu, and ask
for Jim.

Archived at: http://www.stlawu.edu/x8cg:http/chaos.html