First story:
(the recent past)
Wolverine recalls the times he spent hitting the bars with his old friend, Betsy Braddock, better known as Psylocke. They’d trade war stories and the like over a few beers; or a lot of beers. She may have had the body of an amazing Asian hottie, but underneath there was always the classic pint-swillin’ “bloody ‘ell” Brit chick. She used to give Wolverine crap for drinking beer with a moose on the label. He told her not to be profanin’ his religion. Anyway, this one time Betsy regaled Logan with a story about one of her hush-hush “covert oops” missions. She always liked the ‘covert oops’ line for some reason. The mission sounded like they typical wackiness. Blades flashin’, blood sprayin’, thugs screamin’ like little girls. And stuff blowing up good, of course.
(the story)
Psylocke is being chased and crashes through a window carrying her katana. As she lands, the building behind her blows up and, when she stands, debris rains down around her. She casually wipes the blood off her katana with a tissue and looks around. Out of nowhere, a crazy guy leaps towards her enveloped in flames. He smashes her katana in two and she drops it. “Final command: Get the girl,” he says, his eyes widened as if high on drugs.
(the recent past)
Betsy explains that she was tussling with one of those cyber-enhanced, jacked-up, wired to hell an’ back kinda goofballs. It turns out the sucker had emergency backup neuro-software wired into his backbrain. So, instead of passing out from shock or forebrain trauma, he could keep on fighting on programmed autopilot.
(the story)
The thug tries kicking Psylocke and then takes a backwards swipe at her, forcing Betsy to keep on her toes.
(the recent past)
Betsy says that ol’ propane hair actually seemed to fight better with his body being run by backup software, though his conversation left a bit to be desired.
(the story)
“Final command: get the girl,” he repeats, as he goes toe to toe with Psylocke on a van roof. Flames continue to burn both him and his clothes but he seems oblivious to the extreme pain this causes. Betsy parries his blows and lands some of her own.
(the recent past)
Wolverine points out the obvious to her. Doing Chi Sao moves, the old ‘sticky hands’ with a fella whose arms are on fire might not be a brilliant idea. Sadly, she didn’t seem to appreciate his helpful insight.
(the story)
The thug fails to land a right cross and this allows Betsy the opportunity to summon her psychic blade from her left hand.
(the recent past)
Wolverine tells her that the real badasses use adamantium blades, of course. She tells Logan to sod off. He says, “Blimey! You’re a cheeky bird, ey wot?” Ridiculing her British accent only gets him more crap from Betsy.
(the story)
She plunges the psychic blade into the thug’s left temple, but he continues to repeat this mantra. “Final command: Get the girl.” Betsy realizes, not for the first time, that her blade has failed to stop an opponent.
(the recent past)
Poor Bets, thinks Wolverine. She hadn’t clued in that a fella with a software-run backbrain might not be especially vulnerable to psychic disruption of his frontal lobes. He tries not to laugh, but fails.
(the story)
The thug connects with Psylocke and sends her crashing helplessly to the ground. She hits it hard and sees the guy leaping towards her, once again repeating the same old sentence.
(the recent past)
Betsy says that it only lasts for a fraction of a second but that moment where you clearly see the opening for a fight-ending strike, that’s some sweet stuff. It’s relief and triumphant anticipation, all wrapped up into a tiny slice o’ time. Logan likes her poetical waxing.
(the story)
Before he lands, Betsy recovers her composure, stands and lets loose with a bone-crunching kick to the face.
(the recent past)
She nailed him good, right in the sweet spot. She felt the cartilage mashing under her foot, like stepping on a bag of potato chips. Of course, Betsy had to say bag of crisps, needless to say.
(the story)
The thug rocks backwards and his head breaks one of the van’s windows. She accentuates the break by kneeing him in the face and following up with a hard left into the same spot.
(the recent past)
“Yeah, a good takedown’s always a thing of beauty,” says Betsy. Finishing moves, on the other hand, are as fulfilling as chopping wood. Wolverine says she should try using goons and thugs in a woodstove sometime. They burn even worse than the greenest wood. She replies with a crack about uncivilized, backward Canadians for that line.
(the story)
A few more hits and Psylocke reckons he’s down for the count. She walks to the front of the van, with blood trickling down her chin, rubbing her head after a tough battle. Although she’s begun to relax, noises behind her cause her to turn around. The guy is still coming. “Final command…”
(the recent past)
Betsy says that there’s nothing more annoying than overly durable wankers, who just won’t stay down. Fellas who are just too dumb to know when they’re supposed to be dead. She says this with a twinkle in her eye and a smirk, as it’s aimed squarely at her drinking buddy. Wolverine grabs a pretzel and replies that it’s better to have a body with an annoying healing factor than to be transplanted into a body with a genetic and enzymatic inability to hold her liquor. She replies, “Well, that helps make me a cheap date, don’t you think?” Then, Betsy burps, making a sound like she’s strangling a toad. Very demure and ladylike.
(the story)
The thug by now is flailing a little and his body appears much less responsive than it was before the beating he’s taken. However, his software just tells him to keep on going and he approaches Psylocke once again, his teeth smashed and his left eye closed over like a boxer’s.
(the recent past)
Betsy shows Logan a move she used. The situation called for a very abstruse and rarefied martial arts technique. The technique is known as ‘omotai mono de kare no atama wo nagaru’ and was taught her by her sensei. Translated, it means, ‘beat his head in with the heaviest object you can find.’ Betsy giggles and picks up her glass. That’s what she always liked about the martial arts; the spirituality. She did exactly that, twice, and this time there’d be no coming back. She tells Logan that she signed up for all the cool badass stuff, like strutting around bare-legged, trash-talking with aliens and cutting bad guys down before disappearing into the night. All the stylin’ stuff. She didn’t expect to end up playing cranial hockey with some cyber-enhanced jerk with a palm pilot in place of his medulla oblongata.
Logan is shocked, as she doesn’t use the word ‘jerk.’ Logan asks what became of him. She explains that she was sitting there, all “Bloody ‘ell, thank goodness that’s over.” It was at this point that the other two wired-up goons, also on autopilot, came stumbling from the wreckage. Wackiness ensued. Betsy says her story wasn’t funny at the time, but it got a lot funnier in retrospect.
Well, Logan thinks that what isn’t funny is that there’ll be no more cheap dates. No bad jokes or getting crap about moose on his beer labels. There’ll be no more Betsy. All he has left of her are stories about war stories. Bloody ‘ell!
Second story:
An ageing ophthalmologist fiddles with his optical equipment, preparing to carry out some work on Scott Summers. He adjusts the left lens and asks Scott to read the bottom line on the chart. He reads them perfectly and the ophthalmologist says he did very well, but then he already knew he had good vision from his file. He says that Scott has powerful vision, in addition to powerful eyes. It’s funny, the doc thinks, he’s been trained for nearly everything regarding or relating to the eye, but he’s never had to operate on a Cyclops.
This is no ordinary eye-doctor. He uses a cybernetic glove and adjusts some of the gadgets on it as Scott sits beside him. A strange ruby quartz helmet keeps his optic blasts in check, while clasps keep him locked tight to the chair. He is helpless and the doc has some gruesome-looking equipment at the ready. Scott asks if the comment was supposed to be a joke and if that’s what passes for a bedside manner these days among organ-harvesters.
The doc replies that he is just masking his nervousness with a little levity. He’s never operated on anyone with his…abilities. His employer is a very thorough man. He is very rich and is used to getting his way. He feels that Scott’s abilities should be his abilities and so he wants Scott’s eyes. The doc says he should never have stopped at that grocery store. Scott replies that super-powered mutants have to buy groceries too. The doc adds that they needn’t be so predictable, however. He makes it a point to stock up at the same time, every Wednesday.
(flashback)
A casually dressed Scott Summers enters a Fast Mart, watched from outside by a burly man in a Greans Market Co. truck. He informs his comrade by radio that the subject is heading inside. Scott wheels a trolley along and an elderly woman helps him find the canned vegetables. When he turns around, she speaks into her watch to the guy on the checkout that the subject is approaching the contact area. He confirms visual and says that, when he’s in position, take him. He then serves a customer. As Scott checks out a jar of pickles, three people appear wearing black military-style suits and he spots their reflection in the glass jar.
Instinctively, he leaps for cover as the three open fire. The pickles go everywhere as Scott flicks a switch on his sunglasses which allows his optic blast to go through them. “I don’t suppose anybody feels like telling me what this is about?” he asks. He finds that surprisingly, his blast is deflected away from the trio and one of them informs Scott that their boss has requested an audience with him. He is the apple of their boss’s eye. She adds that they’re wearing a synthetic polymer, simulated ruby quartz, filled with a simulated ruby quartz gel for further protection. They were specially designed by their employer; all patents pending.
Her colleague says that Scott’s optic blasts can’t touch them and asks what he thinks of that. Scott touches his glasses again and replies that he thinks that perhaps, he shouldn’t aim at them. He unleashes another thumping barrage which smashes the roof above them. As the shop’s customers flee for their lives, masonry falls on his three assailants. Scott adds that there are a few things that his boss didn’t know about both ruby quartz, and himself. He fires again but the target scorns him for missing. His aim’s off. Scott replies that the first thing he should know is that his aim is never off. The pinpoint blast pierces a canister behind them which spills out all over his target. The second thing, he continues, is how hard ruby quartz is to synthesize and exactly what it is resistant to. The guy’s outfit begins to disintegrate as the flammable liquid eats through it.
Cyclops proceeds to use small blasts to rip away the rest of his outfit. “Note I say resistant,” he says. He then tells his assailant that the third thing to know is that there is a world of difference between resistant, and impervious. Suddenly, from behind him, several more members of this strike team appear and one targets him with a laser. He thanks Cyclops for the tip and says it’s a good thing that their boss came up with a Plan B. “If you can’t beat ‘em, outnumber ‘em.” The leader orders his team to fire and Cyclops finds that he is, indeed, outnumbered and everything goes black.
(present)
The doc flicks a syringe filled with a green liquid. He grins, as he finishes his tale by asking Scott to lie back. He is going to administer the anesthetic. Once he wakes up, he’ll never see the world in the same way. In fact, he’ll never see at all. Scott warns the doc that he’d better kill him after he’s finished. He replies that this was never part of the agreement. He’s no killer. Besides, he assures Scott, he’d be surprised how many people lead rich full lives without the benefit of a sense of sight. Scott smirks. He says that he wasn’t worried about himself. The thing is, he’s memorized the serial number of his machine. It’s a phoroptor, model number WK5; manufactured in New Jersey, if he’s not mistaken. One doesn’t have a power like his without knowing a thing or two about eyes. This is a pretty expensive piece of hardware and will be pretty easy to trace.
The doc now looks anxious. Things aren’t exactly going according to plan. Scott says that, indeed, the smart thing to do would be to kill him. Of course, then he’d have to deal with his teammates. He asks if his file has anything on the X-Men. Professor X is their leader and the world’s most powerful telepath. He uses a machine called Cerebro that can track mutants all over the world. It probably won’t be too hard to recalibrate it to find the mysterious recipient of his eyes, drop into his brain and extract information on him. Then, there is Jean Grey. She is another unbelievably powerful telepath who is also telekinetic. She’s also his wife. Between them, they could turn his brain to vegetable stir-fry without even leaving the house. She’s probably wondering why he’s not home yet. “Oh, and have I mentioned Wolverine?” Scott asks. “Mutant healing factor, enhanced senses, indestructible adamantium skeleton; razor-sharp retractable claws. Homicidal tendencies!”
The doc gulps, and realizes that this plan has gone all to pot. He fumbles with the arm restraints and removes the quartz helmet that kept his blast in check. He nervously informs Scott that there are a few guards outside the door but they shouldn’t give him any trouble. He’d also be appreciative if he could work him over on his way out. Scott says he doesn’t think that’s a good idea. The doc pleads that he has to. He must rough him up a bit; hit him or something so it looks like he put up a fight while he managed some daring surprise escape. Scott takes his glasses and puts them on. He reaches up to the switch on the side. “Well, since you asked for it…here’s looking at ya, doc.” He unleashes a final blast.
