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ALL WE KNOW

CHAPTER THREE

The monotonous ticking of the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the common room echoed painfully in Zachariah's head. The

grandfather clock itself was something to be admired. Skilful hands had carved intricate patterns into the cherry coloured oak, framing it's glass face, hands whiling away the seconds and minutes like it had for decades.

The clock had been placed strategically as to catch ones eye, along with other ornamental objects that were dotted about the mansion, but the attempt had been made in vain, their beauty shadowed by numerous plasma wide screens, hi-fi systems, and other articles of technology that hadn't been put on the market yet.

Xavier smiled as he pulled up beside the boy, who had collapsed into a leather winged armchair by the window, light pouring over his body as his face darkened, aged and changed shape, loosing a foot in height and becoming rather large around the middle, now looking rather ridiculous in jeans that were far to tight around the waist and a T-shirt that barely covered his bulging stomach, Zachariah grimaced, adding to his now rather unpleasant complexion, catching his reflection in the glass.

"Disgusting, isn't it." He said, intending it to be less of a question than it was a statement, running a hand through his hair that had turned a bright shade of amber.

"I can hardly remember what I look like sometimes."

Zachariah closed his eyes, red light still burning brightly through his eyelids. Everything Xavier had told him, all that he already knew about his past, about his father and the other A Class mutants, how he understood him so well, and why he had done the things he had, was rather overwhelming and the pain that had consumed him before was threatening to do so again, itching at his mind and body tenaciously.

"Mr Gregory." Xavier said, cursing himself silently at the urgency in his tone. "Here at my school, we can provide you with everything, a place to learn and master your skills, the kind of attention that you deserve, shelter from the cold touch of hatred. I can only offer you these things, I cannot force them upon you, it is your decision and no one else's."

Zach let the words wash over him, eyes looking past his reflection at the grounds bellow, at the pine trees in the south-west stirred in the wind, his eyes drifted down to the immaculate box hedges cut perfectly square that followed the fence line and the blood-red blooms of roses that were scattered amongst garden beds, to the children that were dotted hither thither across the lawns and sports courts, all of which seemed, in a way, surreal and daunting. How could one man and a handful of followers pull together such an untouched sanctuary without funding or support?

"Never accept the hand of a man who hides his other" The very same words his mother had offered him before he left the house the day before. But he hadn't intended on going back to the crappy hell hole, had he? And Zachariah was certainly not one to refuse an offer where the pros clearly outweighed the cons, so he nodded before voicing his conditions.

"I need to talk to my mother; she needs to understand the arrangements."

Xavier watched the boy go through yet another painful transformation, sensing a different sort of change.

After a few moments of pressing silence, Zach turned to the bald professor and gave a lopsided smile.

"Quite a talent you have there, Sir, it may come in handy in the future, but now, I fully understand your means, as for your wish to round up the rest of the freaks that I share an origin with, I believe I can help you."

The train swayed violently, wheels sparking on the track as it sped through the dark subway, off white lights flickering in the carriages as it pulled to a shuddering halt at Central Park North. Logan cast a dark glare at a small boy perched on his mother's knee who had been gawping at him for most of the trip. The boy then promptly burst into tears and was dragged away, lost amongst the swirling crowds on the platform, their seats immediately occupied.
Scott, who had been drifting in and out of a light sleep was thrown forward as the train jerked to life, into a woman heading to work, legs crossed, Italian high heals moving with the rhythm of the train. She gave a disgruntled "Hmmf" eyeing his sunglasses with disgust before looking in the other direction. Logan barely managed to suppress a laugh, his chest shaking with the effort.

Behind the pair were the rest of the X-Men throng, Jean, Ororo, Rogue, who had refused to let Logan go without her, her boyfriend, Bobby, a very unamused looking John and Zachariah Gregory, who's body had settled in a form that suited him much more than any that he had taken in their company had before. A tangle of blond hair fell about his tanned face, a soft dusting of freckles covered his nose and cheeks surrounded his pale green eyes, he was tall, but not so tall as to draw attention to himself. He looked, dare he say it, normal

That wasn't a word he used often, and he had a feeling he wouldn't be using it much more.

As the train pulled up to 148 St, Zach made a move for the door, calling out to Scott as he did so.

It was 10:43 on a cold Friday morning , the surge of commuters was slowly dwindling which made it easy for Zach to navigate the underground tunnels that snaked away in different directions. His feet moved fast across the paved floor, dodging glances of others, drawing back sometimes as to not loose Xavier's crew.

After walking for some time in the dimly lit passageway, Zach came to a stop beside an escalator that had stopped running months ago, the exit above it, blocked off.

On the filth smeared wall several feet away, a poster condemning mutants hung boldly, even under the layers of dirt and graffiti that had built up over the years, the image was still clear.

'We come here every Friday, a stupid tradition, I know, but it keeps us connected, lets us know we're not alone -'

Zach brushed the hair out of his eyes as his voice trailed off, his gaze darting about the X-Men, not lingering long enough to show he had paid much attention to them.

'What do you mean "here"?" John snapped, his boredom getting the better of him as it always did. "This is a fucking subway escalator! What, do you just sit here, reliving the days when you outgrew your test tubes?"

"John!" was the word that escaped most mouths; Bobby dealt out a well deserved jab in the ribs while both Ororo and Scott gave their best That-was-incredibly-rude-and-inappropriate stares. Logan just snorted and stared at his feet, arms crossed.

Zachariah, who was used to attacks like this, just smiled at the boy's idiocy and began again.

"There is a group, as I'm sure your beloved leader must know, which is named, quite ironically, The Underground.

Not unlike your school, The Underground is a group that supports mutants who can no longer live under the contemptuous stare of the public eye for varying reasons. While I don't belong to this group, most of the A Class mutants do.'
Now leaving the group, huddled together to keep warm in the icy deserted subway, Zach approached the poster and ran his hands up the side of the metal frame that encased it. Glancing back down the tunnel, finding it devoid of life, (except stray rodents that had wandered to far from the tracks), he pried the advert clean off the wall and stepped into the dark whole it had left in its absence.

Then, one after another, hesitantly at first, the X-Men followed suit.

They walked for what seemed like hours, the passage dipped lower into the ground as the light dimmed. The hubbub of excited voices grew, echoing off the walls. Taking a sharp left, the X-Men found themselves in a crowded hall packed with mutants of all sorts, one, that only Logan recognised, who was all too familiar. Mystique glanced at the group as they waded their way through the masses toward the apartment doors at the other end of the room. She was, however, invisible to the others, taking a form that most would just look past. Looking back to the man beside her, red eyes peering out from underneath a truckie cap, she spoke quietly "If you miss this opportunity, Mr Le Beau, your position in The Brotherhood will be filled." He nodded weakly and drank heavily from his glass.

The boy who could be none other than Bear, rose to his oversized feet, towering over the others in the room at 6ft7 as the X-Men filed in through the apartment door, his powerfully built upper body coming level with Scott's line of eyesight. Derek Valmorbida drank in the new scents, blinking slowly, looking surlier as the moments drew on. After sourcing Zach's scent, he pulled him from the crowd and embraced him in a rib crushing hug. "thou' ya were dead, didn' we, ya little rat!" Derek roared, messing up his dirty blond hair.

"See loo' Snake, Ah told ya! Ah new he was alrigh'" Baring all of his oversized pointed teeth in a triumphant grin, throttling the poor boy in his arms.

She rose from the darkness like something out of a child's nightmare, bold red eyes searching the faces of each of the X-Men, daring them to say a word. Ebony scales carved intricate patterns over what should be her skin, feathery black hair hung jaggedly about her shoulders, and her flesh was pulled taught over her slight frame, Camilla Zahara or Snake as she had come to be called, was by no means the most conspicuous mutant in the room, and as her name suggested, she had powers to match. Smiling broadly, fangs protruding from her upper jaw, she paced the room in a matter of strides, bones moving underneath her skin, to were the wary group had positioned themselves.

"And you must be the X-Men." She said, addressing them all by name and shaking their hands firmly. "Xavier spoke of you all fondly. He has explained everything to me, and though we are not without our hesitations, we all know where we stand on the matter, so there will be no need for talk on the subject, If you wish to speak to those who are not so easily convinced of your brilliance, please do so only if they wish to hear you.' She glanced back at one of her counterparts, a small smile playing at her lips.

'Firstly, I would like to introduce you all.'

Wolf rose up off his seat to greet the group, sharp black eyes darting from face to face, registering the new scents. His thin lower lip twitched when his eyes came to rest on Logan.

Barely older than 16, William Blaine's hair was completely grey and stuck out at odd angles, accentuating his pointed facial features. Across the hodge podge of furniture, sat his twin, Artemis, soft grey hair, identical to her brothers, tied up messily behind her head, hard black eyes darting about their faces intently, pointed teeth glinting as she smiled, muscular arms folded across her chest. She muttered a barely audible "Hey" before sinking back into the couch.

The Next three, Xylina "Cheetah" Garth, Julian "Gorilla" Mollokov and Sophia "Vampire" D'ambrosio, the latter, who had disagreed so strongly with Xavier's offer, she had broken several lamps and a coffee table with her anger, the remains now sitting at the bottom of the rubbish bin, were lined up on a rather pathetic looking couch, all looking less than happy to see the Mutant Rights crusaders.

In the corner, huddled about a stove, were the remaining A Class mutants, or those who had bothered to hear to Professor out.

Lydia Alexander was scrubbing a dubious looking pan, her alias, Serval, barely described her, but it was her friend, Djilla Mahai that was perhaps the most interesting looking of the group. A Mohawk of ivory hair crowned her head, her amber eyes perused the group as she added another plate to the brown dish water in the sink and made a half-hearted attempt to clean it. The last of the mutants was Matthew "Hawk" Southward, barely visible behind tawny angelic wings that were protruding from his bare muscular back, feathers rustling as he turned to greet them.

After all were seated, (Logan finding himself perched on a lopsided dining table and John, who was looking less and less amused, had found a connection with Sophia, unknowingly rambling about how great the mansion was, something he would never admit to.) Snake stood up and looked directly at Scott.

"I believe there are some things that we are entitled to know, Mr Summers, and some things that Mr Wolverine should know as well"