An Ounce of Perspective is Worth More Than a Pound of 'Cure'

Summary: The most effective stroke in the fight against prejudice is not a violent battle, but winning a war of words. This takes place after Mutant Reality and during X-Men: The Last Stand. It ignores the 'Jean Grey comes back as the Dark Phoenix' story arc.

The information about the oaths taken by members of the military can be found in an essay, "Be Ready To Raise Your Right Hand" at the U.S. Military's website.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, X-Men: The Last Stand, or A Few Good Men.

Scott Summers gave his progress report to the headmaster, Professor Charles Xavier. "It is amazing to watch those two in action, Professor. Since the two half-ghosts have come here, and Vlad has become 'more reasonable,' or so they say, his work with Danny has been phenomenal. They have discussed Danny's ghostly cold core, and between Vlad and Bobby, they are helping to give Danny control over his ice powers."

"Indeed. I haven't seen two Mutants as close to protégés since my work with Jean."

Scott sighed sadly. He missed his wife, Jean Grey, but since dealing with the half-ghosts, he was too busy to languish in prolonged mourning.

The headmaster's phone rang. "Charles Xavier speaking."

"This is Hank, Charles. Something has come up and we need to discuss it."

"I'm assuming that it's rather serious."

"It is, and it would be best left to be discussed in person."

"We'll look forward to seeing you when you arrive." With that, the call ended.

Scott cocked his head. "What's up?"

"Henry is coming to bring us news."

The younger Mutant blinked. "Dr. McCoy's in President McKenna's cabinet as the Secretary of Mutant Affairs. Besides spending time with our scientifically oriented students, something pretty serious had to happen to bring him back here from Washington."

"So I would imagine. It would be useful to collect some particularly concerned parties on the day Henry comes."

A few days later, the professor invited Ororo, Scott, Logan, Magneto, Mystique, and Vlad Masters to visit with Dr. McCoy.

Charles welcomed him. "It is good to have you back, Henry. Even though your new duties keep you away, you will always be a part of this school."

Hank smiled. "It is always good to come back here. It will always be home."

Storm hugged him. "We've missed you. You look great."

"As do you, Ororo."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "So what's the fuss about?"

Dr. McCoy cleared his throat. "I have bad news. A major pharmaceutical company has developed an antibody to suppress the X-gene."

Magneto sat up straight, thinking, 'This could be devastating.'

Logan cast a sidelong glance at the Secretary. "Suppress?"

"Permanently. They're calling it a 'cure'."

Magneto continued to quietly fume as he gathered a head of steam.

Ororo grimaced. "That's ridiculous. You can't 'cure' being a Mutant."

Hank supplied, "Well, scientifically speaking…"

"How can anybody…"

"Storm," Charles interrupted. All eyes in the room flew to him. "They're announcing it now."

Vlad said, "Give me a moment. I'll announce it in the game room." He sent a duplicate to do just that.

Scott turned on the television in the professor's office, and they saw Warren Worthington II give a press conference from Alcatraz Facility.

"These so-called Mutants are people, just like us. Their affliction is nothing more than a disease, a corruption of healthy cellular activity. But I stand here today to tell you that there's hope.

"This site, once the world's most famous prison, will now be the source of freedom for all Mutants… who choose it." Worthington held up a test tube. "Ladies and gentlemen, I proudly present the answer to Mutation. Finally, we have a cure."

Magneto exploded. "How dare they! I knew this 'cooperation' was too good to last. They'll…"

Vlad held up a hand. "Hold on a moment. Perhaps this isn't as dire as you fear."

"Of course it is! Do you think I haven't…"

Mystique cleared her throat. "Vlad, this could quite possibly lead to… extermination."

Vlad frowned. "This 'cure' is voluntary. No one is talking about extermination."

Magneto sneered. "No one ever talks about it. They just do it. And you think it's possible to go on with our lives, ignoring all the signs around us. And then, one day, when the air is still and the night has fallen, they come for us."

Charles sighed. "Erik, I see where you are coming from, but I don't think this is quite that… drastic. At least, not yet."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "I bet the government's behind this."

Hank growled, "The government has absolutely nothing to do with this!"

"I've heard that one before."

Storm waved her hand to get everyone's attention. "Wait a moment. Before we get involved in discussions of genocide and other conspiracy theories, do we even know if this works?"

The professor closed his eyes. "Yes, it does. But…"

The door burst open, revealing Rogue. "Is it true? Can they really cure us?"

Charles gave her a sympathetic look. "Yes, they can."

Mystique spat, "No, they can't! There is nothing wrong with us."

Ororo emphasized, "Nothing at all."

Rogue cocked her head, frowned as she stared off in thought, and then glared at all the adults in the room. "You mean there's nothing wrong with y'all! None of your powers affect how you interact with anyone. I can't touch my… boyfriend without killing him."

All of the adults cooled down. Magneto regained his normal dignified air and tried to soothe the upset teenager. "Don't think of lowering yourself for some boy. Your power is what makes you special."

The girl yelled, "It's not for some boy. It's for me! You may not care, but I miss being hugged. Or kissed. Or even shaking hands. I can't stand missing human contact. If losing the ability to steal someone else's power or life force means making me 'less special,' I don't think that's a bad thing."

She turned a furious glower at Magneto. "Or am I only a tool for you to use and abuse 'cause I was born with this curse?"

He quailed and lowered his head in shame, knowing that he was guilty of abusing her by using her powers to her detriment. "Of course not, my dear."

Vlad tapped his chin thoughtfully. "No, no. The problem isn't the product. The problem is the perspective."

All eyes turned to him. Charles asked, "What do you mean?"

The half-ghost gesticulated as he spoke. "The part that makes this serum so hateful is that it is being referred to as a cure. But the fact that this pains you means that Worthington has already won the psychological battle. How easily you have all surrendered."

Logan sat back, curious to see where this man would take this.

Storm narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, we've surrendered?"

Vlad shook his head. "You have allowed this narrow-minded bigot to define you. He called it a cure, and now you're all up in arms about being defined as having a disease. Which, as you all know, is blatantly ridiculous.

"Instead, change the words being used. This serum isn't a 'cure,' as that implies a sickness that needs to be healed. Instead, call it a solution. Dear Anna Marie is one hundred percent correct. Every one of you in this room besides her is just fine. Mystique is also correct – there is nothing wrong with our dear girl. But she does have a problem, which she has explained so eloquently. Worthington's serum would not be a cure. It would be a solution to her problem."

Scott pointed out, "And you are excluding yourself from the group."

"Well, of course I am. This serum would have no bearing on me whatsoever. Unlike all of you, I wasn't born with the X-gene. My… mutation came from an accident involving electricity, ectoplasm, and a hyperactive idiot who was more concerned with his excitement over his invention than my safety."

Everyone but the professor, Magneto, and Logan turned this over in their minds. Vlad continued, "Since this wouldn't affect me in any way, I'm not so emotionally invested that I can't think rationally."

Logan smirked. "The man has a point. Hank, didn't you say that Cerebro was created by average humans with the hope that it would be used by someone like the professor? But between both of you and Magneto, you made it clear that its use would be under Mutant control, for the benefit of Mutants.

"So why can't we do the same for this… solution? Put it, and its distribution, in the control of Mutants." He looked meaningfully at Rogue. "Those of us who have a problem will have a solution. Those of us who don't will go on with business as usual."

The girl flashed him a smile that warmed his heart. He was fond of her, and had been since he picked her up in his pickup truck when she ran away from home.

Magneto shook his head. "So that's all? Change the name and all is forgiven?"

Vlad shrugged carelessly. "Of course. No one is sick, so no one needs a cure. However, people with problems should have a solution. Frankly, you might be sick if you let small-minded morons do your thinking for you, and you accept their judgment of you.

"I can practically hear the unthinking hordes cry, 'We don't need a cure!' Well… concerning your Mutation, no. Concerning diseased minds that refuse to be used… perhaps something might be needed to cure said ill. However, I've heard it said that 'A word to the wise is sufficient. A fool needs to be beaten about the head with a stick.' You might not get results, but you'll feel satisfied for having done it."

Charles started to chuckle. "Vlad, I find your unique perspective a breath of fresh air."

"What can I tell you? I haven't spent time in this dead-locked battle between Mutants and average humans, and I can see beyond the two options you've allowed yourselves to become attached to."

Rogue crossed her arms. "Do you do your own marketing, too, Mr. Masters?"

Vlad laughed heartily. "Sometimes, my dear. Sometimes it's only a matter of getting people to agree to my way of thinking. Psychological warfare and manipulation are more about word games and strategy than anything. And these weapons are usually far more impressive than any other powers or tools in your arsenal."

Erik looked askance at Vlad. "I understand waging war with words. But the masses are speaking of this…" He sniffed disdainfully, disbelievingly. "Serum as a 'cure.' How do you intend to change this?"

The half-ghost smiled. "I am a famous billionaire, philanthropist, and scientist. I'll engage in one of my favorite distractions. I'll hold a press conference of my own."

The expressions in reaction to this comment ranged from skepticism to curiosity. Vlad asked, "So what is the source of this serum?"

Hank answered, "The source is a young boy with an anti-Mutation power of sorts. His name is Jimmy…"

"Tell me, Doctor, is this Mutant there of his own volition?"

"I don't know. I'm taking a tour of the labs shortly."

Vlad grinned. "I'll come with you."

The Secretary raised an eyebrow. "The tour is classified, as it seems that this…"

Vlad was tickled at how much of a hard time the Mutants around him had for resisting saying the word 'cure.' He called them unthinking and reactionary, and they were trying to prove him wrong. The operative word was 'trying,' and he wasn't sure if their effort instilled pride or amusement in him.

Hank continued, "The serum is FDA approved. I'm going to see if Jimmy's rights are being violated."

Vlad sneered. "I can almost guarantee you that they are. How long has 'Jimmy' been in Worthington's hands before this 'cure' was announced? It's not even two full months since the President rejected the Mutant Registration Act. There is no way that the FDA approved of this product that was only cooked up two months ago."

Magneto's scowl sent chills down Rogue's spine as Vlad continued to talk. "If I had to guess, the boy was taken – with or without his personal consent – during Senator Kelly's last term. Before Stryker made you his personal lab rat, Mr. Lehnsherr, other like-minded anti-Mutant kidnappers took advantage of the child, I'm more than certain. Unless his parents sold the boy to Worthington."

Storm cried, "Sold the boy? As a slave?"

Vlad shrugged callously. "If you don't consider a person as fully human, it isn't that great of a stretch to think of them as property. While I think Erik's perspective is… rather pessimistic, it isn't precisely paranoid."

Magneto clenched a fist and growled, "I should…"

"Leave everything to me." Vlad laid a hand over Magneto's fist. "I have a plan."

In the helicopter on the way to Alcatraz to inspect the lab, Hank said, "Vlad, your being here could compromise this mission."

"What mission? You are coming to inspect the boy's living arrangements. Even if these people are in full compliance, I can promise you that they haven't been for long."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Besides my winning argument, you mean? My dear doctor, surely the professor has told you about my past."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "No, he hasn't."

"Interesting. Then I won't tell you, either. What you don't know can't be used against me, Mr. Secretary."

The blue Mutant rolled his eyes. Vlad continued, "Suffice it to say that I know a few things about underhanded dealings concerning beings not considered human."

"You've witnessed the mistreatment of Mutants?"

"No, dear Henry. Ghosts. Before Daniel's (and yours, for that matter) latest dealings with Showenhower, I had worked on a genetic experiment of my own. Exploiting mindless ectoplasmic entities harms no one. Or, at least, no one who counts. But you see, that is the difference between ghosts and Mutants. No matter how dramatic the mutation is, the person is still fundamentally human. That isn't always the case with ghosts. That is one reason the Mutant Registration Act failed, but the Anti-Ecto Control Act still functions.

"Daniel – and I, if they ever discover my secret – fell through a loophole in the law: we are ghosts, but we're also Mutants. Only one of the two classifications has the government's agreement to at least consider our sentience before attacking at whim."

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've made your point, Vlad."

"No, I don't think that I have. But that's alright. It is why, when Dr. Kavita Rao gives you the official tour, I'll do a little exploring on my own."

"You can't be seen here."

"Have no fear about that, Hank."

When the helicopter landed, an orderly of the lab opened the door to the vehicle. A young woman in a lab coat greeted Hank, as he stepped away from the slowing blades. "Secretary McCoy, welcome to Worthington Labs."

"Thank you, Dr. Rao. This place isn't the easiest to reach."

She smiled as she led him to the roof's door to inside the lab, talking as they walked. "It's the safest location we could find. That's why we keep the source of the cure here."

Vlad invisibly rolled his eyes and thought, 'And when you so blithely put it that way, is it a cause to wonder why this extra security is needed?'

Hank peered around at the machines and the industrious individuals checking gauges, taking notes, and manipulating chemicals. He thought, 'Perhaps the villainous ghost is right. She sees the boy every day, but to her, the boy is nothing but a source.'

Keeping his tone professionally disaffected, Hank asserted, "He is a Mutant. You understand our concern."

Dr. Rao walked faster but spoke louder. "We are in full compliance with your department's policy."

Vlad whispered in Hank's ear, "Perhaps now they deigned to get James' parents' consent."

The blue man took a deep breath to keep his temper as he followed his guide. "How long will you keep the boy here?"

The woman answered, "Until we can fully map his DNA. We can replicate it, but we can't generate it."

"In other words, they're never letting the boy go. However, if I altered a couple of my machines in my private Wisconsin lab, I could not only replicate said DNA, but I could even generate it. I have the technology. With a one-time donation of a few vials of James' blood, I could do this."

The Secretary closed his eyes for a moment. Clearing his throat, he asked, "The boy's power – what is his range?"

"Come and see for yourself."

She opened a door, and Vlad whispered, "Trefoil cookies and milk! This isn't a child's room; it's a blasted laboratory cage!"

The walls were a stark, oppressive white, made only more so by the florescent bulbs in the overhead lighting system that the boy had no ability to control, as there were no switches in the room. The few bright colors in the room were on the child's toys and bedspread. The television the boy was currently using to play videogames was gunmetal gray. To the lab's credit, the bed (with a cherry wood headboard) and its pillows were soft, and the green comforter was warm. There was a dresser with a few changes of drab gray and white outfits, primarily of sweatshirts, sweatpants, and summer shorts, as well as socks and underwear. That was all the boy had access to, as the door had no handles to open from the inside.

But the boy himself… The poor child was bald! What were they doing to him? Vlad fought the desire to grab the child and destroy this room. He was going to enjoy destroying Warren Worthington II.

Vlad tuned out the inane greeting between the Secretary and the boy. Hank was eager to meet him but stopped short when his extended blue hand turned to the peach skin tone the doctor was born with. The boy apologized – he couldn't help the fact that his anti-power affected Mutants within a three-foot range.

Hank left when the boy's keeper – Dr. Rao – expounded on what a marvel he was. The old geneticist could not express his disgust with her attitude – Jimmy was born with an extraordinary gift, especially if he learned to control it. The woman spoke as if the boy was little more than a well-trained lizard.

Once the door closed behind the two doctors as they continued their tour of the lab, Vlad materialized in his ghost form outside the boy's power range.

Jimmy was less concerned with the visual appearance of a floating blue vampire, as the Secretary of Mutant Affairs was just as scary-looking, than he was of the fact that he showed up in his room without warning. "Wh-who are you?"

"You may call me Vlad."

"What do you want with me?" Jimmy had watched a movie about vampires, and he was nervous.

"Only to talk with you, James. Come, sit on the bed. We can talk without Dr. Rao's knowledge." Jimmy rose from the floor where he sat as he played his game, gulped, and greeted this fellow politely, offering his hand to shake it.

Vlad extended his hand to take the boy's hand, and by shaking it, Vlad's gloved hand brought him closer to the boy than Dr. McCoy got. He stayed blue.

Jimmy's eyes widened. "How come you haven't changed?"

Vlad's smile wasn't intended to frighten the boy, so when Jimmy pulled his hand away, it made the ghost stop still as the boy jumped onto his bed and curled into a ball for safety.

The man cleared his throat and answered the question. "The reason I haven't changed, James, is that your power stops the effect of the X-gene. I wasn't born a Mutant, so your power won't affect me."

The boy blinked. "Then how…" He wasn't sure how to phrase his question as he digested the fact that this vampire was actually a Mutant, and he responded physically differently than Mr. Hank McCoy did.

"There are many ways that a mutation can be caused, dear boy. But let your heart not be troubled. Suffice it to say that your power won't hurt me, and you have my word that not only will you be safe with me, I also promise not to gawk at you like a zoo exhibit."

Jimmy had a hard time reading the vampire's – Vlad's – expression, with his pupil-less and iris-less red eyes, but he hadn't moved since Jimmy escaped to sit on his bed. He wasn't sure if he could trust this guy, but he said he wanted to talk, and that's all this guy did. Maybe things would be okay.

Taking a deep breath, the boy asked, "So what do you want to know?"

"How long have you been here?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Since I bumped into Warren three years ago."

"Warren?"

"Mr. Worthington's son. He's…" The vampire's eyebrows peaked, and Jimmy felt more at ease. "Warren has what I thought was a hump, and it got smaller around me. Mr. Worthington asked if I wanted to help cure his son. I did, but…" He shrugged again. "Warren doesn't have a hump. He has wings. I think Mr. Worthington is unhappier with Warren's wings than Warren is." He frowned. "I don't think much of this 'cure,' but I don't have much of a choice."

Vlad frowned and knelt in front of the child. "What do you mean, you don't have much of a choice?"

"I remember that some soldiers picked me up from school one day after my accident with Warren. They said it was a matter of national security that I go with them. The principal of my school let them take me. I haven't heard from my parents since then."

Vlad narrowed his eyes. "You know, they can't hold you against your will."

"No, not really, 'cause here I am."

The ghost closed his eyes to rein in his temper. He was furious at how the child was treated.

Opening his eyes, he asked gently, "How are they treating you here?"

"Okay, I guess. I have enough food to eat, the bed is soft. I've got stuff here to keep me busy. But I'd like to go home. I don't think Mr. Worthington or the doctors here will let me.

"But since Dr. Rao came a couple of months ago, things got much better."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's the one who draws blood and stuff. She makes sure I don't get bruised."

Vlad stroked his short black beard. "James, are you aware that your DNA is being used in a serum that strips Mutants of their powers?"

"Yeah. Everyone's calling it a cure. But I don't think it is. I think it would be cool to have wings, or be blue, or… to appear out of nowhere, like you did."

"You know, dear child, I agree with you. It can be 'cool,' as you said. But you should know that there are people who don't care for their powers."

"I know."

"Out of everything I've heard you say, my boy, I don't think I've heard you say what you would prefer."

"Nobody ever asked me what I would like."

"And so I'm asking. What would you like?"

Jimmy looked hard at this man. "I'd like to go home and see my family again. I'd like to go to school and have kids to talk to and play with. And… I'd like to know if I could turn my… power off, so other Mutants can be themselves around me. Like you can."

Vlad grinned, which caused Jimmy to shiver. "I think I can help you get what you want. The only question is timing. If you leave now, I'll have to sneak you out. It will be simple enough for me to do, but if they catch you once you're out of here, they might bring you back. Or if you'd prefer to wait a few days, you can march proudly out the front door without worry."

The boy squirmed. "That sounds too good to be true."

"I know it does, but I assure you that it is, indeed, true."

Jimmy glanced down at his green blanket. "I'd like to be able to leave here and not worry about coming back."

"Good boy. Then give me a little time. I can see if we can't make all of your earlier-stated wishes come true."

"Thanks… Vlad."

"Good-bye for now, James." With that, he swirled away in a puff of pink mist.

Warren Worthington II sat in his San Francisco office, counting the minutes until the day his Mutant cure was made available to the public. His secretary called him. "Mr. Worthington, I think you'd better take this call."

"Who is it?"

"Vlad Masters from Vladco is on the line."

The man blinked. "Thank you, Joanne. I'll take it in here." He pushed the button on his phone to get the extension. "Worthington."

"Good day, Mr. Worthington. This is Vlad Masters. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Mr. Masters! This is an unexpected honor. What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I'd like to discuss an impressive spot of business with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'd like to buy this 'cure' from you."

Warren shook his head in confusion. "I'm not sure that I understand what you're asking. The cure will be available to the public in a couple of days, and it will be given to any Mutant at no cost."

"Ah. Then I should clarify. I don't want to buy a dose. I want to buy the formula. The copyright. The right to distribute. The right to name it."

The pharmaceutical mogul blinked again. "You want to rename the cure?"

"And everything else."

"But why would you want to? You specialize in security and technology. This is strictly a medicine."

Vlad cleared his throat. "There are many reasons. Most of them don't concern you. But the biggest one is the right to rename it. Your product is a serum, true. However, I contest the concept that it is, in fact, a cure."

"It has worked in every trial. The FDA has approved it. Of course the cure works."

"I never argued its efficacy. I am arguing that it is not a cure. Mutants aren't ill. However, some Mutants do have problems. Your serum is a solution."

"Solution, cure… What could the name possibly matter?"

"It makes all the difference in the world to the Mutants in question."

"Why do you care?"

"That cannot possibly matter. What matters is that I'm willing to buy it, and every right to it, from you."

"I don't see what possible benefit that would be. I've worked ten long years to make this work. I've worked on a cure so that these Mutants can join normal society. To make them healthy. To make them normal."

"Fine. We can do this the hard way. I guarantee you that I'll enjoy this. I can also guarantee that you won't. You may live to regret this."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Masters?"

"No, Mr. Worthington. It is a promise. However, my 'threat,' as it were, is not to your person, but to your business. Sell me what I want, or I will destroy you."

"Blackmail and threats? Perhaps you are mentally ill."

"No, Mr. Worthington. My greatest weapon is the truth. And you, my good man, will not be able to handle the truth. Think on it. Have a good day." With that, Vlad hung up.

An hour before 'the cure' was made available to the public, the news media in San Francisco covered the huge Mutant anti-cure protest.

Charles, Magneto, Hank, Storm, and Scott watched this on the news from the professor's office.

Magneto groused, "Charles, remind me again why we're not rampaging and blowing up this building, but are letting young Vladimir handle this? And don't bother to feed me your lame 'we can all live together in peace' claptrap."

"Because Vlad's ideas are revolutionary. He's given me a hint of what he intends to do, and honestly, I'm curious to see how it will turn out."

They watched as the news portrayed the protesters as unruly college students until a limousine pulled up, followed by a car hauling a parade float with VLADCO in big block letters in an arch over a podium facing the protesters.

Vlad heard the chant, "We don't need a cure!" from his seat in the limo, even though the windows were up.

He covered his eyes and moaned, "Gumdrops and peppermints, these people are predictable. Ah, well. That means they are all the more tractable."

Vlad got out of the car, ascended the podium, and turned on the microphone. The amplifiers were more than powerful enough to be heard over the crowd.

"Settle down, good people. Of course you don't need a cure. And frankly, neither do they." He gestured at the people lined up, waiting at the building's entrance to receive the cure.

The crowd became quiet, and the media cameras focused on the white-haired gentleman with the long pony-tail in the expensive business suit. The members of the media knew him to be Vlad Masters, the President/CEO/owner of Vladco, an international corporation that produced security technology.

The man was a billionaire and he was never shy in front of the cameras, and they (as well as the Mutants on both sides of the street, the side of the protest and the side of the line to receive this cure) were curious to know what interest this man could have in what seemed to be a uniquely Mutant matter. However, anything with Vlad Masters was geared to garner ratings. He was their new focus.

"You are Mutants, not lepers. All of you have been blessed with a gift. The man who called this… serum a 'cure' is a small-minded drugmaker, playing on the fears of those not blessed with your gifts. This is no 'cure' – none of you are ill, hence requiring no cure.

"However, our friends across the street may indeed have problems. Their powers or other gifts may impede them as they attempt to achieve their goals. The serum that they seek will not cure them, for they, like you, have nothing to cure. Rather, they are looking to have their gifts removed so that their problems will be solved.

"Do not be so quick to judge your fellow Mutants who may, indeed, have legitimate problems that need to be solved. Go home, and be at peace. Be grateful that the gifts your Mutations blessed you with are valuable, and that you have the ability to appreciate what you've been given. Leave those in peace who may feel the need to give up one of their unique gifts to appreciate others that they may have.

"All you are doing here, now, is affirming that your Mutation is an illness that you stubbornly don't want to cure. Don't give narrow-minded bigots that power over you. No, you don't need a cure. You don't have a problem that needs to be solved. Live your life, and enjoy the gifts you were blessed with."

One of the unhappy Mutants carrying a sign clearly stating: 'Mutation isn't a sickness: WE DON'T NEED A CURE!' shouted, "Who are you, to tell us what to do?"

Vlad realized that everything about him that would catch the media's attention was worthless, as far as this crowd of protesters was concerned. However, he couldn't simply have his secret published for all and sundry to know. So he compromised.

"That is a good question. I am the honorary uncle of quite a famous Mutant – I'm sure you saw him in the news not quite two months ago. Daniel Fenton's parents and I were good friends in college." He paused as the name didn't seem to register with the crowd. "The Ghost Boy, Danny Phantom."

That got the reaction he was looking for. There were murmurs and head nods and looks of earnest curiosity.

"I've had a chance to meet some of his newer friends who are Mutants, and we've discussed their concerns. Many, like you, are proud of who they are and what they can do. And one friend is fiercely unhappy with her power. She is a bright child with a sterling personality. She has a legitimate problem that she would love to have solved. Like you, she isn't sick; she isn't longing to give up all of her natural gifts so she can fade into the drab woodwork of humanity."

The people waiting on line for the doors to open paid far more attention to this part of the man's speech.

"She has a place among her friends who are also Mutants. She isn't looking to sink into mediocrity just because other people, boring people, can't be bothered to look past what makes her different to see how truly special she is. No. The power she has hurts her, and she wants to be rid of it. Not because it will cure her, as she needs no such thing. But it will solve her problem."

Every last person who stood on the line shook their heads and wandered away. They fell into the trap of believing that being a Mutant was an affliction that needed to be healed. But their powers or appearances weren't problems, in and of themselves. People who were prejudiced against them gave them their problems, not their actual Mutation. And when they considered things in the light of this guy's speech, who was Danny Phantom's uncle, they had nothing to be ashamed of, except for being taken in by anti-Mutant propaganda. They didn't need a cure.

The dispersion across the street did more to convince the protesters to break up their rally than anything the man said, but not before a window high up on the Worthington Labs building shattered, and a man plummeted. The man had wings that unfurled, and he soared over the Golden Gate Bridge, and then headed east.

Vlad chuckled into the microphone. "Apparently, the great Warren Worthington's son doesn't need a cure, either."

Vlad was amused to receive calls from as many people as he did that day. Daniel, of all people, called to tell him how proud he was, and what a kind thing he did for the Mutants. Vlad wasn't sure how he felt to be congratulated by the boy for a job well done.

Jack called him to congratulate him for being in the news. Vlad remembered to be polite, but Daniel's call held far more meaning for him, as the boy had an inkling of the importance of his speech. The young half-ghost began to appreciate him. Jack was an enthusiastic friend, but he was still an idiot.

Charles called him to let him know that even Magneto was impressed. Everyone in the school in New York knew that this media event was only Stage One, and they were looking forward to seeing Stage Two. Further, the headmaster offered any assistance, should it be necessary. This made Vlad smile.

But the call that made his day was the one forwarded by his own secretary. (She had instructions to redirect this call to his cell phone.) Warren Worthington II called, his dignity in tatters.

"Mr. Worthington, so good of you to call. How can I help you this afternoon?"

"Mr. Masters, your publicity stunt made sure that no Mutants came for my cure."

"Of course they wouldn't. There is nothing wrong with them that needs to be cured."

"Mr. Masters, what you did was irresponsible."

"No, Mr. Worthington, what I did was remind Mutants not to allow you to define them as sick because they don't fit into your narrow image of what should be."

"I want to meet you in a debate in a public forum. Even the government agrees with me."

"Mr. Worthington, the only people who agree with you are small-minded morons who only wish they had the powers that Mutants have, are jealous that they have nothing similar, and are petty enough to try to make these people who are truly gifted feel like lesser people unless they conform to your image. It would give me great pleasure to debate you in a public forum. I know! Why don't we debate where you had your successful broadcast? Perhaps a home field advantage will shore up your confidence, hmm?"

"Why are you being so generous?"

"I can afford to be. I intend to destroy you completely. And remember – all of this could have been avoided if you would simply sell me the rights to your serum and allow it to be renamed."

"Are you so very confident, Mr. Masters?"

"Of course I am. I will win because I am right. And you will end up selling me the rights to the serum, if only as a saving grace. I may allow you to keep that shred of dignity, if I'm in a generous mood."

"Or what?"

"Or you can see what happens when your records are not as pristine as you pretend they are."

"Mister…"

"Just call me so we can confirm the date and time, on the steps of Alcatraz Facility. We'll make it a date. Don't disappoint me."

Vlad nodded happily to himself. Worthington's call was the most entertaining he'd had all day.

Three days later, there were two podiums set up on the steps of Alcatraz Facility, each with a sea of microphones in front of them, as if this event was a debate between Presidential candidates.

The audience present consisted of Mutants (including Dr. McCoy, Logan, and Scott), news broadcasters and other media mavens, a few military personnel, armed with cure cartridges among other weapons in case the event turned ugly, and other average humans who were curious and realized that this debate would be part of history in the making.

Warren Worthington opened the event. "I want to thank all of you for coming. Many of you were here when I first announced my cure for Mutants. Despite its success in trials, Mr. Vlad Masters is of the mind that it does not work, and I'm prepared to argue that it does."

Vlad smiled graciously. "Mr. Worthington, I have no doubt of the efficacy of your serum. I'm sure it works exactly as it was designed to. What I contest is the fact that you are calling your serum 'a cure.'

"In the broadcast of your announcement, you stated that 'their affliction is nothing more than a disease, a corruption of healthy cellular activity,' did you not?"

Warren preened. "Of course I did."

"So tell me, Mr. Worthington… Did you cure cancer? After all, I can't think of a more well-known disease that corrupts healthy cellular activity."

Worthington's head snapped up in surprise. "No, that's not what the cure is designed to do."

Vlad nodded. "Right, then. Down Syndrome will be eradicated, correct? After all, the poor dears affected by the disease have one extra chromosome in each of their cells. At one time, those who overcame their affliction and survived to adulthood were nothing short of heroic. While many have learned amazing ways to cope with the disorder, surely your cure can ease their way."

"Of course not."

"Perhaps, then, you've cured hemophilia. No? Tay Sachs? Still not. Sickle-cell anemia?"

"Mr. Masters, while you have listed many genetic diseases, you failed to mention the one my cure actually affects."

Vlad scratched his short white beard. "Hmm. Yes. Mutation as an affliction… Tell me, Mr. Worthington, does your cure work to heal people affected by a powerful mutagen or other radiation poisoning, such that they were born missing fingers, toes, or internal organs?"

The shade of red Warren turned in anger wasn't one Vlad knew could be achieved by average humans. "Of course not! The cure is supposed to help Mutants born with the X-gene, so they can be normal humans afterwards."

Vlad closed his eyes and nodded. "Ah, normal." The oil in his voice made more than a few people wince. Once Vlad opened his blue eyes, even Logan shuddered. "Mr. Worthington, I'm sure you remember that sweet girl who was in the news a few years ago: the child prodigy, who performed Bach and Beethoven's sonatas on the piano at the age of five. You remember her, don't you?"

"Well, yes."

"Would you consider her normal?"

"No. That child is extraordinary."

"So then tell me… does she need a cure to help her be normal?"

"No, of course not. Her natural gifts should be encouraged."

"Mr. Worthington, why should her gifts be encouraged, but Mutants gifted with the X-gene need to be cured?"

"Because they are dangerous, Mr. Masters. They can do things that most people can't, and they can use their powers against us."

"Hmm. You say they are dangerous. Are you aware of the military presence here this afternoon?"

"Of course. I invited them myself."

Vlad pursed his lips. "Very good, and we give our thanks to all in the Armed Forces for their service to this country. But Mr. Worthington, are you aware that once soldiers, airmen, seamen, and marines are trained, they are among the most dangerous humans who exist? Of course, we're thankful for this fact, but it is a fact."

"Yes, we are grateful. But they are normal."

"Ah, back to normal, are we? Then consider: have you ever heard of Special-Ops? Of Green Berets and Navy SEALs?"

"Of course I have. They are the best of the best our Armed Forces have to offer."

"They are the pride of the United States' Armed Forces, without question. But they are hardly 'normal.' They are special."

"Indeed they are."

"So, Mr. Worthington, do they need to be cured to make them normal?"

"I… No! I would never say so!"

"So please tell us why these very gifted, very dangerous men and women should be honored, when the only difference between them and the Mutants you seek to 'cure' is that the Mutants were born that way?"

Warren sputtered. The perspective that Masters shared was increasingly difficult to argue against. Clearing his throat, he attempted to get back some credibility. "The fine men and women who serve in our Armed Forces have taken vows that are part of their tour of duty. Whether as officers or as the enlisted, they vow to support and defend the Constitution of the United States and swear their allegiance. Mutants – unless they've enlisted or become officers, or have otherwise taken office – have not.

"At no time have I suggested that they have fewer rights than other citizens. But the same way we have different expectations for average citizens than those that serve, my cure would bring normalcy to average citizens who would choose to be more normal."

Vlad quirked an eyebrow. "Average citizens, eh? We can do that. Tell me, good man, if you are aware of martial arts."

Warren blinked. "Martial arts?"

"Yes, there are many, but today I'm referring to those that have come to our culture initially from the Far East, such as Karate, Aikido, Tae Kwon Do, Kemp-bo, arts of this nature."

"Of course I have. Who, present, has not?"

The half-ghost smiled. "Very good. You are probably aware that there are classes available to the public, particularly as fitness exercises and lessons in self-defense."

"Yes, of course."

"What you are probably less aware of is what happens when students succeed and become masters of these arts, themselves."

Warren shook his head, as he had no idea where Masters was heading with this line of thought.

"While many cultures of the world have any number of fine martial arts, the reason I'm singling out those from the Eastern Asian cultures is that it is common knowledge that the progress of the success of the student is marked visually, with different color belts. I wish to keep this in the realm of common knowledge, rather than wandering into the world of the esoteric."

"Alright."

"The beginner's classes are all about defense. But as one climbs higher in rank, the skills one learns can edge up to be lethal."

"That's right. They can. That's what I've heard about them."

"So, if a student of these martial arts progresses to the level of, say, a ninth-degree black belt, besides the tremendous control of the mind and body said student has, there is an undeniable lethal quality to what such a person could do, as a last resort."

"Right."

"So, if you had the means, would you 'cure' a person who has reached the battle-readiness of a ninth-degree black belt so that they could be 'more normal,' like your average citizen?"

"No, of course not!"

Vlad frowned. "Then I am sincerely confused. You quail in horror at the thought of removing the gifts, no matter how extraordinary, of young child prodigies or skilled masters of lethal martial arts, but you think nothing of removing the gifts Mutants were born with, because they – unlike your child prodigy or martial arts master – need to 'be more normal,' like average citizens.

"Why is one set of gifts in need of a 'cure,' while another set of gifts is perfectly socially acceptable?"

Warren Worthington II was speechless.

Vlad pressed on. "No, Mr. Worthington. None of these fine people with their assorted gifts are in need of a cure.

"However, it may be that some mutations may leave the Mutant in question wanting. Perhaps a gift that makes a Mutant blessed to be so causes distress to themselves or others, such as a sensory dysfunction, or any such thing. I think the socially responsible thing to do is to have the Mutant in question seek counsel with those who better understand their needs, and if no further solution can be sought, then your serum could be used to solve said problems."

Warren blanched, gulped, and said, "Perhaps you are right."

Vlad's smile turned smug. "Indeed. I am willing to buy your serum, the rights to distribute it, name it, and the very source of your solution. Then, I will place the rights and means in the control of Mutants who would safely determine who among them – if any at all – should, in fact, submit themselves to a permanent suppression of their X-gene."

"But that's no different than what I had in mind."

"On the contrary, Mr. Worthington, it is very different than what you had in mind. It is about perspective. You, an average human, hold the power to destroy a Mutant's uniqueness, and are set to make them feel like diseased monstrosities that need your 'cure' to be healed, human, and whole.

"If the Mutants control who has access to the serum, you can be sure that its distribution would only be as a last resort as a solution to a possible problem, and all of them can proudly hold their heads high as they determine if the solution which would remove a Mutant's uniqueness is necessary.

"It wouldn't be something to 'help them fit in.' Rather, it will be something only to solve a problem that cannot be resolved in any other way."

The proud pharmaceutical genius bit his lip. Vlad Masters had indeed made a fool of him, and he wasn't sure what his next move should be.

Vlad crooked a finger and beckoned Warren up the stairs, in full view of the audience, but away from the microphones. Warren gulped. "So, what now, Masters?"

"You are in luck, Mr. Worthington. I am in a very generous mood. We'll smile and make nice in front of the cameras, and once the media and military disperse, we will discuss this as businessmen and gentlemen. The boy James will leave here with me this very day.

"Or, I can expose you for your exploitation of a boy whose head you shaved for no purpose but your own convenience, who hasn't seen or been in contact with his parents for three years, and who has had no contact with his peers since he was kidnapped for your purposes. You may have danced within the realm of legalities, but if you do not do as I demand, your image will never recover from the damage I'm more than ready to wreak upon you."

"When do you propose to do this, Mr. Masters?"

"As soon as the crowd leaves. I'm sure that the Secretary of Mutant Affairs and two members of the personnel of a school for Mutants would join us and Dr. Rao as we hammer out the details of this momentous sale. And once we are surrounded only with the lab's personnel and all of us taking part of this transaction, I will take the boy and bring him home. Agreed?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Vlad snarled, "Was James given a choice?"

Warren cleared his throat. "Agreed."

"Right, then. Shall we do the pretty and finish up? The media waits. And smile – you aren't being bankrupted. Your pharmaceutical company can continue to operate. You are only selling one solution, and gaining plausible deniability, as we won't betray your dirty little secret."

"Fine." The man was still curious to know why Vlad was so concerned with this venture, but Masters made it more than clear that his reasoning was irrelevant. He was driven, and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, regardless of why he wanted it.

Warren Worthington II fixed a smile to his face and thought of his son, who he hoped might forgive him some day. Both businessmen regained their places behind their podiums. "Mr. Masters and I have reached an accord. While the details still need to be ironed out, I have agreed to sell my… solution, and all of the rights thereto, to Mr. Masters, who has further agreed to place the control of its distribution in the hands of the Mutants it was always intended to benefit."

The applause was tremendous. Warren appreciated that he was soundly defeated, but he might not have lost everything. Perhaps he might have gained something – respect from the people he intended to help. Well… Maybe, eventually.