Keep in mind that this takes place right after Alter-X and that I ignore minor elements of continuity that I find trite or silly, rewriting them to make the story work. I hope everyone likes it. Send feedback! I'm not much for requests but feedback and constructive criticism regarding my style and content are muy important, so have at it. Thanks!
Chris

Note: the first part of this story is taken from X-Men Omega and Wolverine #90

The Avalon Project: Chapter 1: Rubicon

Part I
by Chris Campbell


I. Hell on Earth - Armageddon minus eight

Beast chuckled. "Ooooh! Nailed by a stray blast! I'll bet that hurts, Morph! Let me get some ice on that!" A teleportational field began to form around him. "Oh! I forgot! I'm all out of the ice, aren't I?"
Quicksilver and Blink ran, panting, into the room. Quicksilver saw the field and shouted "The Beast! He's teleporting!"
The Beast sneered, and said "Indeed...to a land of dreams and schemes! Ta-ta, twinkletoes! Give my regards to Ragnarok!" As Quicksilver ran to a console, the Beast's sneer became a look of terror. "Wait! Don't touch the--you're scrambling the--stop!" He screamed, his bellow fading as his molecules scattered.
Blink gaped. "Holy cheese, Petey! So much for seeing *that* furball ever again! You play dirty! I love it! You scatter his atoms good'n'rough?"
Quicksilver had a look of horror on his face. "I'm not certain! What I did, I did not to punish our foe--but to save ourselves!"
"Meaning?"
"According to his readouts, the beast had planned to rematerialize--in the very center of the M'kraan crystal!"
Blink paused, and then said, shocked, "Cripes! If he goes through, there's no telling what will happen. What were those coordinates? We have to stop him!"
"I damaged the machine in my attempt to stop him...I don't think it will even work now, and the coordinates are lost."
"Damn. We'll just have to make do, then. C'mon!"

Armageddon Minus Five

Victor Creed, AKA Sabretooth, looked around him. 'Jesus," he thought, 'everyone's gone nuts! X-Men are backstabbing each other, bodies are everywhere...reminds me of an op gone sour.' He laughed to himself. 'Yeah, back when we had ops.' He'd taken a score of hits himself, but the wounds healed as soon as they were made. He howled with delight as a trio of infinites approached him. "C'mon, genejokes!" he taunted, "Uncle Vic's got something for you!" With blinding speed he rushed the one in the center,
grabbing its gun and shooting it in the faceplate. He dodged behind number 3 as the first fired its rifle, drawing the hapless infinite into its comrade's field of fire. "Oooh, you should be more careful!" He grappled with the infinite for the rifle. "Guns can hurt people." He muscled the weapon away and slammed the butt into the infinite's faceplate. "See?"
As Creed looked for more targets to destroy, a burst of superheated plasma ripped across the field to his right. He turned to see Gambit blown to pieces by an infinite's fire, and barely had time to see the source as the fire tore into him as well. He saw a flash beside him, and heard Blink's voice cry out in alarm.
"Mister Creed!" She hurled a javelin at the infinite, who fell dead.
Creed had seen better days. "What's what's the story on the the citadel, kid?"
Clarice knew better than to mother Creed. "The Beast attempted to teleport into the crystal...Pietro thinks he stopped him, but we're not sure. All I can think to do is go in after him, but I've never been there so I have to physically jump in there."
Creed grunted. His wounds were healing, but they were bad. It would take time they didn't have for them to heal completely. "Alright, go. The shit's hit the fan out here, but you should be able to make it." He paused. "Mags is making this other place, this other reality, sound like a better world. Maybe it is, for the most part, but..." He fell silent. Then, "Whatever's happened, if you make it there, find me. Make sure--"
"I will, mister Creed. I promise."

Minus Three

Blink ran toward the crystal as fast as she could, the sounds of battle erupting from all around her. The crystal was surprisingly easy to reach, considering the fact that she was in the middle of a warzone. Once she saw it, she took a deep breath and plunged headlong into it.

Minus Zero

Erik Magnus Lensherr looked upon the cataclysm that had unwound this evening, and felt a torrent of emotion wash over him. 'It's over...it's finally over.' But what price victory? The missiles of the Human Alliance approached even now, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The only other option was to be elsewhere. "Drake! Paris!" The two X-Men heeded his summons, and he said "Take as many as you can, as far as you can."
He turned to Exodus. "Paris, your abilities are near infinite. If you can reach Europe, Asia, Australia, whatever it takes, do it."
Paris took a deep breath. "I'll try, sir."
Bobby spoke. "Magnus, I can't make it that far. Anyone I take will die before we get there."
"Drake, if you can't we're dead anyway. You may as well try. You must."
As the missiles swarmed down to cleanse what used to be North America in nuclear fire, the survivors of the last great battle against Apocalypse winked out one by one, taking with them the seeds of hope and the promise of new beginnings.

II. July 23, 1994. 5:04 p.m. Denver, Colorado.

Donna Carson shifted to third gear and headed downtown. The calls today had been murder, and all she wanted to do now was relax a bit, maybe unwind and dance a little. To visitors, Denver's a pretty nice place. She'd lived here long enough to know better. As an EMT, what she saw every day was pretty damn depressing, and definitely not nice.
As she shifted into fourth, she yawned and wondered why she'd been so tired for the past few months. Everything was fine up until that mess with the mutants a while back. She still didn't know what happened; all she knew for sure was that her partner Harry Palmer was dead, and that the folks there kept going on and on about demons and mutants like there was some war on or something. It was weird, but she didn't know why it would screw up her sleep patterns.
She turned into an alley (parking was a bitch, especially on a Friday night), parked, and headed for Jake's Bar and Grill. She paid the cover and headed for the bar. 'Yeah,' she thought, 'this is just what I need. Unwind a little, relax, maybe get a decent night's sleep for once. That'd be really nice.' She saw a couple of guys checking her out farther down the bar. She smiled and added, 'Maybe have some fun, too.'

Ray saw the woman come in and did a double take. He nudged his friend and said "Hey, Psi, you see that chick? She has fine lines, man."
Jeff nodded. "I see her, all right. Just a sec, I'll be back in a few." The night might not be a total waste after all.
Ray watched as his friend head over to the woman, spoke to her for a few minutes, and headed for a room in the back with her. He shook his head. 'Must be nice to be a telepath,' he thought. 'Never fails to get you laid.' Jeff closed and locked the door behind him, thinking with relish about the night ahead. He took the woman--Donna, she said her name was--into his arms and kissed her. She purred. He noticed something about her had changed subtly, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"You taste wonderful," she breathed. "Yeah, I think you'll do nicely."
"What did you have in mind?" He smirked to himself. Half the time they didn't even need a telepathic nudge.
"More than you think!" She grasped his head and gave him the most intense kiss he'd ever experienced, twining her tongue with his as though she wanted to shove it down his throat. It dawned on him that something wasn't right, but by the time he realized what it was her grip had turned to iron and he was helpless to do anything about it. He struggled for a few moments as she flayed his insides to ribbons, then relaxed as the last vestments of his mind winked out forever.

Half an hour later, Ray was ready to head home. He'd gotten nowhere with anyone, and he was itching to get airborne. It was about time to meet up with the others, anyway. He was about to go get Jeff when his friend appeared behind him.
"Hey buddy, how was she?"
"The best, man. Wait 'til you see for yourself." Jeff grinned.
"That kinda woman, huh? We gotta make it fast; it's time to meet up with the others."
"Don't worry, man, it won't take any time at all. Trust me.
Donna surveyed the fruit of her labors. She'd done well. She'd embraced Foxbat and Psynapse of the Riders of the Storm, a freelance group of mutant mercenaries specializing in wetwork. One of the group's members, Hard Drive, had just what she needed to intensify her efforts. With these additions, she felt confident that soon nothing could stand in her way. Nothing at all.

III. January 17, 1995. 7:49 p.m. Xavier School For Gifted Youngsters

Victor Creed was furious. It wasn't his runt of an opponent, Wolverine, that really set him off, though God knew there was no love lost between them. His anger wasn't directed at himself, either; he knew who he was, and didn't have a thing on his conscience. No, his fury stemmed from being out of control. A feral madness gripped him, pushing him in directions he never wanted to go, forcing him to extremes that were beyond the scope of sanity.
And he was sick of it.
"Step back from that door, Creed...or..."
Creed scoffed. "Or what, ya little hypocrite!" He lifted his chin, exposing his throat. "All it takes is one good slash!" He pointed toward his neck. "Right here boy! Get some payback for Silver Fox! That's what ya really want, ain't it? Let's you and me finish this once and for all!"
"It ain't up to me to punish you for what you done, Creed." He retracted his claws. "It's just up to me to see that you don't leave this room!"
That wasn't good enough. Not even close. Creed snarled, growling in a low whisper "Dyin' time, boy!" He raked his claws across Logan's face, and said "Ya know, boy--it surely ain't enough just to rip ya until ya dies! No, boy--" He slashed again-- "After I kills ya and hangs ya out to dry, I'm gonna go after all them frails ya been sweet on!" He tore through Logan again and again, desperately trying to get a response. "Ha! I'm gonna rip' em just for grins! Gonna start with that uppity Jean Grey!" Rip! "Then maybe I'll mosey up to Canada and do that to Heather Hudson!" He slammed his foe in the gut, and added, "I really can't wait 'til I gets to rip up them young ones, like Kitty Pride and Jubilee--" Ah, that did it.
Wolvering grabbed Sabretooth by the collar, saying "That's it...you just stepped over the line, bub--" He heaved Creed head-first into the wall-- "You just gave me all the reason I need to stop your filthy clock!"
Creed sneered. "Oh, I do believe the lil' fireplug found the guts ta get heavy on me!"
"You said it, bub!"
"I guess you're just a low animal like the rest o' us--"
"I'm fed up with holdin' back the wild part o' me--" He stuck his fist under Creed's chin.
"Then quit yappin and do it!
Logan popped his claws.
Creed was disappointed. Logan had only popped two of them. "Ya punkin' out on me, short-stuff? You pull this half-way malarky out in the jungle, you'll be bad breath on a hyaena! I ain't lyin'--" Jeez, what did it take to push him over? "--You let me walk an' I swear, I'll track down every livin' thing you ever cared about one way or the other... Kitty Pryde... Jean Grey... Jubilee... Ororo... Cyclops... and I'll make 'em suffer a good long time before I kill 'em! I'm ready for that last big glow, Logan--do it!" He was screaming now. "DO IT! D--"
Logan popped the third claw.
Reality shattered, and then reformed. Logan looked down at Creed's motionless body. "Damn you, Victor," he whispered. "You won. You filthy bastard, you finally won." What the hell was he gonna do now?

IV. January 31, 1995. 7:13 a.m. Westchester, New York.

Clarice looked around her, surprised by the change in scenery. She had wanted to go home, back to Mister Creed and Magnus and the others, but this was Westchester. And it looked a helluva lot better than the last time she'd seen it. In fact, the entire landscape looked different. Was this...could this be the alternate reality Bishop was raving on and on about? The newer, better place? If so, she wasn't impressed. Much. Well,
going back wasn't an option. She didn't even know if the place she'd come from existed anymore. What was important now was finding Mister Creed. Once she'd done that, she'd figure out her next step.
As she approached the mansion, she found that its defenses were comparatively weak. The mansion she'd lived in was a fortress, virtually impenetrable to any entry. She could get in there, so this version was child's play. She couldn't figure out why so few people were here, though. *Someone* had to be around, but she had run into no one as yet. Perhaps in the medlab...

"Hell's bells and panther tracks!" These were the words that greeted Gambit as he sauntered into Medlab. Something had the X-Men's resident geneticist crawling up the walls.
"So, Beasty boy, how's our favorite psychopath?" Gambit was rather chipper this morning, but that was understandable. He'd finally gotten his kiss with Rogue. It had knocked him unconscious for half an hour, but it had apparently been worth it.
"Tolerably well, I suppose." Beast was fiddling with a rather boxy piece of equipment, apparently trying to figure it out. "His healing factor is remarkable. Whereas Logan appears to be a much faster healer, Creed's abilities appear to focus more on resiliency. Logan's claw destroyed quite a bit of Creed's brain, and it's regenerating. This is an incredible opportunity to study neural regeneration, which is practically unprecedented, and if I could get this damn scope--" He smacked the box-- " to work I'd be having a field day. The cantankerous little bugger refuses to cooperate, however."
The Cajun X-Man approached the lab bench and looked around. He saw the source of his friend's problem, and said, with a slight smile, "Can it be, is it possible, that Henry McCoy, The Beast, world reknowned geneticist, card-carrying member of both the Avengers and the X-Men, the brilliant 200+ I.Q. mind we all look to in times of distress, has forgotten--" He hefted his prize-- "to plug it in?"
Beast stood stunned, snatched the cord, jabbing it into the AC outlet on the wall. He flipped the switch, and the machine hummed to life. He scowled at Gambit. "There's a word for people like you."
Gambit laughed, filled with mirth. "Yes there is, mon ami, but don't go repeating it. Tender ears about, and all that."
Beast grumbled good naturedly, mumbling about the irreverence of youth. He hooked the scope up the his multimedia system, and set receivers to record all incoming information. He then set the probes to observe Creed's brain and left the system to its work. "There. That takes care of that. Now, I think, it is time for lunch. Care to join me?"
"I'd love to, friend Beast, but I have other plans in mind." He winked.
"Ah. I see." He sighed. "Give my regards to the fair lady."
"Will do." Gambit headed off down the corridor, whistling a disgustingly cheerful tune as he went.
'Silly Cajun.' Well, at least someone was happy. Hank headed toward the cafeteria, wondering what his new toy would reveal. As he turned the corner, a young girl, no more than 16, nearly collided with him. A look of terror appeared on her face when she saw him, and she dove back faster than her feet could carry her, landing solidly on her rump. Beast extended a hand to her. "May I be of assis--ooff!!" The girl had recovered quickly, and landed a foot in the good doctor's solar plexus. Beast fell, panting, and was about to ask what was going on when she grabbed his shoulders--she was quite fast, he noted--and slammed him head-first into the wall.
He reached up and palmed the intruder alert right before he slumped into unconsciousness.

Clarice took off down the corridor, passed a hallway on her right, and headed toward the hanger bay. Where the hell was Victor? Sabretooth was many things, but hard to find wasn't one of them. And what the hell was Beast doing here? She'd killed him, hadn't she? It was beginning to dawn on her that this was, indeed, a different reality. Another Sabretooth. Another Magneto. Another Beast.
Another Clarice?
She rounded another corner, and saw a man in running shorts with a towel around his neck. He wore red glasses. 'Prelate Summers,' she thought. She didn't care what the reality was, he was going down. Now.

The alarm rang in Scott's ears as he saw a girl charge around the corner toward him. As soon as she saw him, she disappeared. A teleporter? The thought barely had time to register before he felt a solid thump to the back of his head.
"Okay, prelate, listen up. I want to know where Creed is. Now." She held a javelin to his throat, and apparently knew how to use it. Scott paused a moment, pain lancing through his skull. This was apparently the intruder, but what did she want with Creed? Perhaps it was best to play along, for now.
"Medlab, back the way you came." The corridor. Clarice took off, leaving a wounded Scott crumpled on the floor. He grabbed his communicator and shouted "Medlab!"

Clarice entered the medical room and saw Victor lying on the table. 'Jesus, Victor, what have they done to you?' She stopped, just now realizing that she had no idea where she was going to go.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the door. "Step away from the table, miss." It was Bishop. She couldn't out fight him, not right now anyway, and she had to decide where to go. Fast. Bishop chambered a round into his weapon. "Whatever your interest in Creed, we can discuss it. Step away from the table immediately."
Clarice made her decision.
As Creed and the intruder disappeared, Bishop lowered his shotgun. He had a lot of questions on his hands, and no answers; this was not a very good beginning to the day.

V. January 21, 1995. 9:12 a.m. Cybernet Industries, San Diego

Holly Majere completed her sweep (for the umpteenth time in the last hour) of the defensive software guarding the Harlequin mainframe. The system was the core of Cybernet industries' extensive database, and she was responsible for all it was. It very nearly had artificial intelligence...she was close, but couldn't quite make it. It wasn't necessary for the system's functioning, but it was a personal project of hers. She had a fascination with the idea of consciousness, and hers was as intimate an understanding of the concept as a human being could possibly get. Part of this was due to the fact that she had a Master's degree in psychology; the rest stemmed from the fact that she happened to be a member of that ever-increasing group of individuals society erroneously labeled as mutants. She had a gift for understanding computers and their workings; shen also had a gift for understanding minds. To her, the two weren't really that distinguishable.
Her gifts aside, however, she was currently bored out of her skull. Routine systems checks and personal projects couldn't keep her busy enough to avoid wanting to go home, crash by the pool, and get some sun. She slouched in her seat and grumbled to herself, "What am I gonna do with myself tonight? All the new releases at Tower suck, I haven't gotten so much as a peep on my answering machine, and if I don't get away from the damn terminal soon I'm gonna throw up." She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and thought 'Girl, you need to get out more. Badly.' She cursed the fates for giving her such lousy luck with men. A date wasn't that much to ask, was it?
"Ms. Majere?"
"What is it, Harlequin?" At least she had the voice synthesizer working. Thank God for 32-bit sound.
"A red flag has been activated."
Holly snapped to immediately. "No shit? Where?"
"There's no need to swear, Ms. Majere. The activated flag was in the central database of the Baxter Building, in New York City."
Holly frowned. That system was all but impenetrable. Who could break into it, and what did they want?
Malcolm Encarres was looking over reports on the status of several projects when Holly Majere flew through his door. "Sir, we have a problem."
Encarres glanced up at her. "Yes?"
"A red flag has been activated; it's in the Baxter building's CPU."
"Accessing?"
"The archives on xenobiology and point to point tachyon transmissions."
"Explain."
"Just about anything could be accessed in Xenobiology; it's such a mish-mash of logs that we can't pinpoint exactly what was read and what wasn't. The tachyon bit was very specific, though. Apparently it deals with sending a transmission across interstellar distances and adjusting the tachyon strength to the distance travelled. The net effect is instantaneous communication with just about anyone in the galaxy--universe, I guess--even though the signal may take hundreds or thousands of years to get there. I really don't know why it'd be hacked, though. It's just one of Richards' pet theories and it's not very highly regarded in scientific circles, even by him. It's mostly just a joke."
"Is the tech available for it?"
"I'm not sure. he mechanics would be really goofy, but I suppose it could be done. Waering might be playing with something like this.
"And the flag?"
"Huh? Oh yeah. The ident originated in Colorado. It was mobile, and the BPS was incredible. System ID, but it didn't look user originated. It was almost like the system *was* the user. Very unusual."
"Not beyond your talents, I assume."
"I could do this, but this amounts to basically jacking in and running the net straight from your brain. We're the only ones with the tech, and it's experimental. The only other option is a computer telepath, and we know how common those are."
"Certainly. Have you copied the information accessed?"
"Yeah. Looks like something off the Sci-fi channel. Trek's got nothing on this."
"Watch the area, and let me know if the tech is used. We have to know who did this and what their plans are."
"You got it." She wandered off, mumbling about plasma dynamics and tachyon generation.
Malcolm smiled, and wondered at what he'd learned. It seemed someone wanted to contact an alien race. The question was who...and why?
Feedback is always welcome! Please send e-mail to sankarah@ix.netcom.com
Last updated 4/10/96.
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