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Title: Weapon V
Author: Magical Comrade Molotov Catgirl
Language: en
Topics: insurgency, insurrection, Insurrectionary, insurrectionary anarchy, fan fiction, fiction, liberal, liberalism, neo-liberalism, neoliberalism, liberals, fiction, comics
Notes: A crossover starring alternate versions of X-Men characters as the cast of V For Vendetta, with a focus on Anarchy and direct democracy vesus Liberalism and representative democracy. Art by Marco D’Alfonso

Magical Comrade Molotov Catgirl

Weapon V

Prologue: The Visitor

Xavier Institute, New York.

“Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen.” Xavier told the

interviewer and her crew as he turned his wheelchair around to face

them. “I haven’t had the pleasure of any visitor for quite some time

now.”

“Thank you for having us, Professor Xavier.” the interviewer said with a

smile. “It’s not everyday that the most powerful person in the free

world agreed to a one-one-one interview. We’re very excited.”

“Nonsense.” Xavier laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just a

man, like any other man.”

“And leader of the Illuminati, the most powerful lobbyist group in the

US.” the interviewer pointed out. “Tell us, Professor, what’s the

guiding philosophy behind the organization? What do you believe in?”

“Peace at any cost, civility above all else.” Xavier evoked the line he

had repeated ad nauseam. “I’m a Liberal, after all. That means I will

defend someone’s right to speak, even if I disagree with them.”

“Even if the they are violent extremists?” the interviewer asked. “Or

spreading hatred and bigotry?”

“Of course.” Xavier nodded. “How are we going to function as a nation if

we ignore the voices of the people simply because they have opinions we

dislike? We must take all kinds, like reasonable people.”

“Some might argue that it’s very easy to do that,” she said, “From a

position of power and privilege.”

“What power? What privilege?” Xavier shook his head, incredulous, and

patted his legs. “Look at my useless legs! How privileged can I possibly

be, when I’ve lost the use of my legs during a robbery?”

“It was committed by a pair of black gangsters, right?” the interviewer

reviewed her notes. “Do you believe this event has certain effects on

your views when it comes to social issues regarding race?”

“Absolutely not.” Xavier said, adamant. “If you’re accusing me of

racism, young lady, you better think again. I can’t possibly be racist,

some of my best friends are black! And they are the good ones, too!”

“What about transphobia?” the interviewer pressed on. “There had been

questions regarding to your - ”

“You know, I think we’re done here.” Xavier said suddenly. “I’d like you

to leave my property now.”

With the impolite and uncivilized visitor out of the way, Xavier turned

back to the one true love of his life: Cerebro, the crowning achievement

of the Illuminati, the jewel of Liberal “democracy”: a machine that

constantly suppress Mutant powers and monitors people every hour of

every day, so they could send secret police to dispose of any dissidents

who dare to threaten Xavier’s precious little peace.

“Ah, Cerebro…” Xavier whispered, almost like praying, and caressed its

screens. “Perfection...”

- V -

Liberty Island, New York.

“Hello, dear lady. A lovely evening, is it not?” the visitor said as he

saluted the Statue of Liberty with a flourish. “Pardon my intrusion, I

know you must be busy guiding all the tired and the poor, the huddled

masses yearning to breathe free; nevertheless, I thought it’s time we

have a little chat, you and I.”

“Ahh...where are my manners? We’ve yet to be formally introduced.” the

visitor said taking off his hat. “I don’t have a name, but you can just

call me Weapon V. Weapon V, this here is Lady Liberty. Lady Liberty,

this here is Weapon V. Nice to meet you, Lady Liberty. ‘Nice too meet

you too, Weapon V.’

“There, now we know each other. But actually, I’ve been a huge fan of

yours for quite some time now. Oh, I know what you’re thinking: ‘the

poor boy has a crush on me, an adolescent infatuation!’ I beg to differ,

milady; it’s nothing of the sort. I have always admired you, on

postcards and silver screens.

“Please don’t think I’m a shallow man who only love you for your looks,

milady; no, I admired you as a person, an ideal even. Lady Liberty,

champion of freedom, enlightening the world with her guiding light, a

lover to all free souls! But that’s all in the past now; I’m afraid I

must ask you to leave.”

“What’s wrong, Weapon V?” asked ‘Lady Liberty’. “Don’t we have a good

thing going with our polycule?”

“Indeed we do.” Weapon V nodded. “But, well...there’s no easy way to say

this, so I’m just gonna rip the bandaid off: some of us feel like you

haven’t been entirely honest. Favoritism had been mentioned.”

“Favoritism? Don’t be ridiculous!” ‘Lady Liberty’ protested. “I love

everyone equally; I said as much!”

“You said it, alright.” Weapon V’s voice is bitter. “But you didn’t

actually live up to that promise, now did you, milday? You’ve got a

certain...type. Cishet white Conservative men with money, to be exact.”

“Are you accusing me of being a gold digger?” ‘Lady Liberty’ sounded

angry. “Oh, the fucking nerve!”

“That’s my line, you hypocrite!” Weapon V pointed an accusing finger at

‘Lady Liberty’. “You say you love everyone equally, but you pamper the

whiteys with wealth and prestige, while our other lovers live in abject

squalor! You told us you don’t care about gender, but you’ve always

bedded cishet men, while showing our queer lovers nothing but disdain!

What do you have you say for yourself, now?”

“Well, cat got your tongue?” Weapon V continued triumphantly. “I knew

it. Oh, I fucking knew it! Your hypocrisy is finally revealed! You’re

not our liberty anymore, you’re their liberty now! Have you ever

actually loved us? Have you ever really been our liberty? Whatever, we

don’t need you anymore!”

“What are you going to do without me, huh?” ‘Lady Liberty’ asked with

mockery in her voice. “Who can possibly replace me?”

“Her name is Anarchy, and she had taught us more as a lover than you

ever did!” Weapon V laughed. “She taught us that liberty without

equality is meaningless. She’s fair and just, she doesn’t treat people

differently because of their skin color or bank credit, and she doesn’t

say one thing and do another. I always wondered why you never let go of

that torch; now I know you’re just afraid of the dark, because you can’t

navigate the night on your own without clutching at the pantleg of your

sugar daddies!”

“So farewell, milady; this should have broken our hearts, but you’re

just not who we fell in love with anymore.” Weapon V said and took a

burner phone out of his pocket. “I hate to break up over texts…”

All over the Statue of Liberty, loud explosions broke out, and soon

‘Lady Liberty’ went up in flames.

“Ah, the fire of Anarchy...how beautiful, how free!” Weapon V sighed.

“She’s a rebel, vigilante...”

Chapter I: The V illain

“Good evening, America.” the sultry voice of a woman flowed out of the

TV like honey, straight from the studio into the houses of every

American, sticking each word onto their minds like a parasite. “It’s 9PM

and you’re watching the Hellfire Club, only on the Daily Bugle. It’s

November 11th, 2022…”

Two people are getting all dressed up with somewhere to go: a young

Latino girl of sixteen, painting her lips with blood-red lipsticks; a

villain hidden in the deep shadows of massive shelves stocked with books

such as To Kill a Mocking Bird or Fahrenheit 451, all banned by the

Republican Party.

“Over one million unproductive members of this great nation had begged

the government for handouts, the highest number in US history.” the

voice droned on. “In more important news, the stock market has once

again reached a high since the start of the month, making each American

that much richer…”

The girl put on a simple little black dress, while the villain put on a

pair of black opera gloves; the girl brushed her jet black hair, while

the villain put on a pallid white mask; both of them double-checked

their appearances in the mirror: the girl looking out for her makeup,

the villain adjusting a top hat.

“The MCU raided six farms in Texas this morning, arresting more than

sixteen Mutant terrorists. All of them had been shot on the spot for

threatening law enforcement. The President would like to remind citizens

that total obedience toward law enforcement is what allowed us to keep

America great...”

She shivered among the shadowy buildings in Capitol Hill, walking slowly

but surely forward, despite her lack of a real destination. There was

power here once, power that decided the fate of millions. Her

transactions, her decisions are utterly insignificant in comparison;

they affected no one...except her.

“Mister?” she asked the first man she saw loitering around the corner of

the streets, munching on a box of donuts and smoking cigarettes.

“...Uh...would...would you like to...uh...sleep with me or anything?”

she asked as she lifted her coat slightly to show some more skin

beneath. “...I mean...uh...for money?”

“That’s the worst fucking come-on line I’ve ever heard.” the man said

with a smirk. “You’ve not been doing this for very long, have you?”

“Oh God, I must be terrible!” the girl laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, you’re

right. It’s my first night. You’re my first...uh…”

“John?”

“John, yeah.” the girl nodded. “I’ve got a job at Stark Industry, but

Mr. Stark...he pays us so little we qualify for food stamps...and his

own shops don’t take food stamps…”

Just then the girl leaned in, practically throwing herself at the man,

her arms wrapping around his waist.

“Please, mister!” she begged as her hand went fishing in the man’s coat

pocket. “I need the money...I’ll do anything…”

“Hands off me, you dirty little bitch!” the man growled as he pushed the

girl away with a loud slap, forcefully enough that he left a red hot

palm print on her face. “You think I’ve not seen your kind before?

Scumbags who don’t even have the decency to sell your own bodies, trying

to steal honest money from good men! You -”

The man stopped as he saw, in the cold pale light of the lamppost, the

red palm print instantly faded from the girl’s face, as if it was never

there in the first place.

“Well, well, well...what do we have here?” the man’s smirk was replaced

by a wider, more sinister grin, toothy and predatory like a wolf

salivating a lamb to the slaughter. “Do you know who I’m, girl?”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a badge with three letters on

it: MCU.

“Oh shit oh fuck.” the girl gasped. “The X-Men.”

Mutant Containment Unit (MCU) is technically the special response team

against Mutant threats. However, since they can be deployed so long as

there is a suspected Mutant threat, they’re de facto the secret police

of the United States. The Gestapos of the Reich, the Commissars of the

Soviet Union, ICE of the old America...different places, different

times, different names, same tyranny. They are called the X-Men because

if you look up their information, all you can get is a document with

every letter crossed out by an “X”. They’ve given up their identities

and humanities for a piece of the power that comes from far above, their

blood runs coldly blue regardless of their skin color.

“That’s right whore, we’re the X-Men. These are my colleagues.” the

X-Man said as two more of his fellow X-Men emerged from the shadows like

a pack of rats. “Prostitution, attempted theft, obstruction of justice,

and a fucking unregistered mutie on top of that...do you know what we

can do to you, you stupid cow?”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, just trying to make a living here.”

the girl threw her hands up and backed away from the X-Men, until her

back was pressed against the wall. “I’ll do anything you want. Really.

Just...don’t kill me, okay?”

On the wall was a poster featuring a cross and the flag of the United

States, with the words of the Liberal manta:

“Peace at Any Cost, Civility Above All Else”.

“I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken.” the man said coldly. “You’ll do

anything we want, and then we’ll kill you. The authority vested in me by

the great United States of America permits me to do so.“

“Oh shit oh fuck.” she cursed under her breath. “What do I do what do I

-”

“She wears her overcoat, for the coming of the nuclear winter…”

suddenly, a villain cloaked in blackness entered the stage, singing a

song – also banned.

“What the fuck - ” a commotion broken out among the X-Men over this new

challenger. “Who’s this retard?”

“She is riding her bike, like a fugitive of Critical Mass…” the

maddening smile painted on the pallid white mask became visible as the

villain came into the lamplight.

“How the hell should I know? Probably a literal retard from some loony

bin or some shit.” an X-Man said before he stepped toward the masked

vigilante. “We’re cops, retard. This bitch here is a criminal. We need

to interrogate her. So hands off or - ”

As if on cue, the X-Man’s hands - which was reaching out toward the

villain - were cut clean off, leaving two bloody, useless stumps with

white bones visible in the center. Drunk on both alcohol and power, it

took him a moment to register the sudden pain, and then he screamed like

the pig that he is.

“She's on a hunger strike, for the ones who won't make it for dinner…” a

trio of shinning metal claws protruded from each black opera glove, all

of them red and slick with the X-Man’s blood.

“She makes enough to survive, for a holiday of working class…” the

villain sang on as he danced among the X-Men with the grace and speed of

a wolverine, his claws cutting through their bodies like hot knife

through butter.

“She's a runaway of the establishment incorporated…” his dance of death

finally led him before the girl who got way over her head, and he

crossed his claws before his chest to form a scarlet “V”.

“She won't cooperate…” his claws retracted into the gloves before he

greeted the young girl with a flourish. “Well, she's the last of the

American girls!”

“You...you just murdered those X-Men!” the girl said, her eyes wide with

fear and astonishment, but with a few deep breaths she steadied herself

enough to realize: “...But you did save me. So thanks.”

“No problem at all, young lady.” the villain said. “When one good person

suffers, all that can be called good suffer with them, and it is their

moral duty to come to the aid of the oppressed.”

“You don’t even know me.” the girl said. “Who are you, anyways?”

“Me? I’m the hero of fools, the patron saint of lost causes.” the man

said. “I’m the bad guy. The super villain. The black sheep of the

family.”

“Yeah. Okay.” the girl blinked. “But what the fuck are you doing here? I

didn’t think anybody comes here anymore, except for...ya know...working

girls.”

“Ahh, but tonight is special. Tonight is a memorial. A grand opening. I

even made up a rhyme for it:”

“Remember, remember

The 11th of November

The tragedy of the Haymarket.

I know of no reason why

The martyrs of Haymarket

Should ever be forgot.”

Just then, a loud explosion could be heard from afar; the girl turned

her head, and the Capitol building, the seat of the United States

Congress, was engulfed in a ball of flame. She was hoping to relieve

some rich man of his wallet, but instead she ran into professional

murderers and rapists for laws and saw the greatest light show.

“Holy shit, someone blew up the Capitol building!” the girl said with an

almost cheer. “Hold on. Did you do that?”

“I did that.” the villain said with a brisk nod. “Hold on, there’s

more…”

The rumble of the explosion had not yet died away as from far below came

the rattle of smaller reports, and suddenly the sky was alight with…

“Fireworks! Real fireworks!” the girl’s face was ablaze with a childlike

joy when she saw the lights in the sky. “Ohmigod, I haven’t see a real

firework since the pandemic…”

And all over the nation, faces lit with fear and horror gazed at the

omen scrawled on the veil of the night in flaming letters:

USA is a Fascist empire.

“There. The overture is finished.” the villain said as he turned to

leave. “Come on, we must prepare for the first act.”

“Who, me?” the girl blinked, shrugged, and followed him. “Oh, why the

hell not?”

- V -

November 12th, 2022. It was 6:16 in the morning.

“I’ll hear your reports now, gentlemen.” Professor Xavier said, sitting

in his wheelchair with the composure of an emperor, as if it was a

throne on wheels. “Mr. Fury will speak for the Shield.”

“The Sentinels picked up just less than 3 minutes of useful footage,

Professor. I’m afraid most of them were sabotaged before the attack took

place.” Director Fury said as a shot of the pallid white mask appeared

on the screen. “To my left is an enlargement of the terrorist’s face.

I’m afraid the mask makes facial recognition impossible. This is why we

should have enforced the anti-mask policies and propaganda during the

outbreak, even if it would cause millions of innocent deaths.”

“What about communications?” Xavier asked. “Phones, radios...any

chattering?”

“An alarmingly large number of people are talking about the explosion at

the Capitol Building.” Fury admitted. “Luckily, most of them blame

far-left Muslim immigrants, just as we’ve conditioned them to.”

“Good, good.” Xavier nodded. “And you, Eric?”

“We’ve arrested the woman responsible for the fireworks, a Mutant

registered in the system as Jubilation Li. We have no idea how she

bypassed the psychic blockades placed by Cerebro to access her Alpha

Mutations.” Eric said brushing a hand through his graying hair. “I’m

afraid the poor young lady is quite insane and unlikely to provide us

with any answers. She’s currently flinching away from the dawn because

she believes she’s a vampire.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. I trust you two to keep me informed of any

further development.” Xavier said. “Remember: peace at any cost,

civility above all else, and we can keep America great.”

“Well, we have heard from the others. That leaves you, Mr. Summers.

Three X-Men were executed last night by a lone wolf terrorist.” Xavier

turned to Derek Summers, leader of the MCU. “It’s also quite possible

that the same person had planted the explosives that destroyed the

Capital Building, and maybe even the Statue of Liberty.”

“Professor, I - ”

“Quiet, Mr. Summers.” Xavier said, his voice as calm and even as ever.

Then again, when you have all the power in the so-called “free” world,

you never need to raise your voice to be heard. “The Capitol Building is

one of our oldest symbol of authority, a propaganda tool that makes

people believe they can change their lives by voting for people we want

them to vote for. Do you know what losing it means?”

“People may start to get ideas.” Xavier turned away from Summers and

back to his computer screens. “They may get the mistaken idea that when

they and their loves ones are being thrown into cages, the best course

of action is to fight back instead of protesting peacefully like we told

them to. Now we can’t have that, can we?” a dismissive wave. “Find the

terrorist, so we may keep America great.”

“Professor.” Summers bowed and took his leave.

- V -

“Look, I don’t wanna sound ungrateful. But.” the girl asked as she

glanced around the room. “What’s with all this cloak and dagger

bullshit? You have to blindfold me to get me here? If you hadn’t just

saved my ass back there, I’d think you’re kidnapping me. Hell, I still

kinda feel like that might be it.” she pulled a banned book off one

shelf; it’s titled Catch-22. “What even is this place?”

“We are in the Danger Room. This is my home.” the villain said. “Do you

like it? I built it myself.”

“The Danger Room?” the girl blinked and glanced around some more. “Don’t

look too dangerous to me.”

“Oh, but it is. Dangerous.” the villain said as he gently caressed the

spines of a line of books on one shelf. Books about racial oppression.

Books about intersectional Feminism. Books about the horrors of war. All

of them banned in the name of peace and civility, so as to not ruffle

the fragile feathers of the whiteys, the Conservatives, the cisgenders,

and the heterosexuals, who must have everything in te world and then

some more, or they’d feel whine about being oppressed. “Ideas are the

most dangerous thing in the world.”

“Whatever you say, man.” the girl shrugged. “Love the music, though.

What is it?”

“Ice Cube.” the villain said as he took out more CDs from the black

musician. “They silenced some voices more thoroughly than others. Many

people of color voiced their dissent, in various shapes and forms. It

mattered not; perfect peace and total civility will sooner tolerate

polite rapists and nice killers than rude heroes and angry healers.”

“All we got is the Daily Bugle now.” the girl said. “And the Hellfire

Club.”

“Yes. The voice of dissidents and resistance, paid for and approved by

the establishment.” the villain said with a curt nod. “We’ll have to see

what we can do about that.”

- V -

“Sorry, hon.” Emma said with a bright smile. “This train car is full.”

“Full? Don’t be ridiculous!” the Mother protested, her baby crying in

the stroller. “There are only the three of you, plenty of room for - ”

“This car is full.” Emma’s smile never wavered, but her voiced turned

sweet – too sweet. “Go away.”

And the woman did as she was told, thinking that it was her freedom to

stuff herself and her baby into a car full of people while the rich and

powerful enjoy one car all to themselves. After all, this is what

freedom means for the poor in America: free to wait table and shine

shoes and nothing more.

“Mothers, yeah?” Emma snorted as she got back into her seat. “You

convince them not to murder their babies when they were still just a

handful of cells, and next thing you know they demand you to not let

their infants starve to death. Look woman, we only care about your lives

before you leave the womb, afterward it’s not our problem!”

“Amen to that.” said one of her entourage. “Say, that’s quite a handy

power you’ve got there.”

“It truly is.” the other man agreed. “I also hear you’re a collector,

Miss Prothero. Of cuckoo clocks.”

“Oh yes, cuckoo clocks.” Emma Prothero’s blue eyes lit up at the mention

of her proud collection. “Quite interesting, isn’t it? You see, the

peasants, the working class, whatever you call them, they have no

interests or aspirations; that’s why they will keep voting for us even

if we ask them to work to death to make money for us – all they know is

work and obey. But we, the elites of both parties, we know how to live

the real life, the good life, as long as we work together to keep them

pesky leftards in check, yeah?”

Just then, there was a loud thud on the roof, and everyone looked up.

However, before anyone had a chance to say or do anything, the train

stopped in the tunnel and went dark. Emma managed to fire up the

flashlight up on her phone after two muffled screams, only to be

confronted with a piece of rag soaked in colorfone.

“Howdy, bub.” said the man with the maddening smile on the pallid white

mask.

- V -

“...So let’s just hear it one more time in your own words, young man.”

Eric said to the train conductor. “The train entered the tunnel...and

then what?”

“W – well, I mean, it’s difficult to say. It all happened so fast, you

know?” the man said, still in shock. “I didn’t actually hear

anything...just sort of saw something at the corner of my eye, then it’s

over.”

“Can you describe your assailant to us?” Eric asked. “Height, clothes,

anything at all?”

“Well, all I saw is this big black shape outside the window…” the man

sighed. “And it had a face, a crazy scary face, and it was smiling, but

it wasn’t a real face, it’s like something from a movie.”

“I see.” Eric nodded, ponderous. “And then what happened? Did it hurt

you?”

“No, that’s the really weird part.” the driver shook his head. “It just

touched me somewhere on the neck, and my body went limp, and I couldn’t

move no matter how hard I try…”

“Until the security found you and brought you here to the hospital an

hour later.” Eric stood up from the chair beside the bed. “Thank you for

your cooperation, sir. We’ll be in touch.”

“The son of a bitch is hiding something!” Eric’s aide, an officer

Castle, growled angrily. “I say we beat the shit out of him until he

tells us the truth! Shoot him dead and then get some answers outta him!”

“Hold your horses, Frankie boy.” Eric snorted, sardonic. “That’s not how

we are supposed to do things. And you wonder why some people think all

cops are bastards.”

“His story is a load of horseshit!” Frank pressed on, completely immune

to sarcasm. “Normal people can’t just board a moving train! What is

this, some fucking action movie?”

Eric bit his tongue. He wasn’t supposed to remind people that Mutants

still exist. Conservatives want them - as well as all other minorities -

dead; the Liberals, ever so much better, merely want them invisible. And

that’s Xavier’s greatest trick: to force all Mutants and minorities into

stealth to satisfy the ever-so-fragile sensibilities of the majority.

Instead of engaging, Eric decided to change the subject.

“Normal people also won’t consider blowing up the Capitol Building.”

Eric pointed out. “It’s against the laws, after all. What we’re dealing

with here is more than definitely not a normal person.”

Frank droned on about the various ways he’d use to make a suspect talk

while they made their way to the train, all of them involving extreme

violence and the assumption that he can interrogate a ghost.

“Ahh, here we are.” Eric nodded at the security as he approached the

train car, while Frank simply snorted at them, the very model of a

United States police officer. “Anything been touched in there?”

“No sir.” the security personnel said as she opened the door for Eric

while tacitly ignoring Frank. “Everything is exactly as we found it when

the train came out of the tunnel.”

“I’ll need some photographs of this chest wound.” Eric said as he

examined the V-shaped cuttings in the victim’s chest, going all the way

down to his stomach. “Poor bloke looks like he’s been mauled by a

wolverine.”

“The hell is this shit?” Frank said pointing to a giant “V” scratched

into the wall, the edges of each slice punctuated by the victim’s blood.

“Damned if I know.” Eric shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Just get the lab rats on this stuff.” Frank snorted. “They’re getting

all the glory with that CSI shit anyways.”

“I thought we became cops to uphold the laws, not to earn screen time in

cheap TV shows.” Eric said sardonically, before he noticed something on

the floor and picked it up: “Now, what’s this?”

“A rose.” Eric blinked, surprised by its unexpected presence in this

gruesome scene of crime. “A gray rose. I didn’t know roses come in gray.

I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Who gives a fuck about some flowers?” Frank growled. “Flowers are for

women!”

“Right.” the older man sighed and shook his head, refusing to even get

into it with the macho man. “Well, looks like our unsub abducted Miss

Prothero instead of killing her. Killing X-Men, blowing up the Capital

Building and the Statue of Liberty, kidnapping our best propagandist - ”

he caught himself there and let out a laugh, but there was no humor in

it. “Oh, I’m sorry, our most respected talk show hostess. There are no

propagandists in the United States; after all, it’s not propaganda if we

agree with it, isn’t that right?”

“Damn right!” Frank agreed, still completely immune to sarcasm.

“Propaganda is for godless dirty Commies, not good and God-fearing

Capitalists!”

Eric remained silent as the coroners came and took the bodies away for

autopsy, refusing to further dignify the sheer arrogance and ignorance

of his partner with any comment.

- V -

The Danger Room…

After changing the woman he kidnapped into MCU uniform and leaving her

unconscious on the floor, the villain silently closed the door and

walked up a spiral staircase. On and on he went, until he reached

another door and opened it, only to find the girl weeping on the bed of

another room, filled with politically incorrect comics that had been

banned by the Conservatives: Preacher for satirizing Christianity, The

Invisibles for preaching nonconformity, Transmetropolitan for suggesting

that the government could be corrupt, and so many more. Nothing but

superheroes that evangelized truth, justice, and the American way gets

printed, and no one except a cisgender heterosexual white Conservative

American man can be a comic book writer, artist, editor, or hero. True

believers called this the Diamond Age of comics.

“Holy - .” the girl raised her head and sit up on the bed when the

villain approached, wiping at her face with the back of her hands. “Man,

you scared the shit outa me! I didn’t hear you come in, like, at all!”

“Nobody ever does.” the villain said, his expression inscrutable behind

the pallid white mask. “You’ve been crying.”

“Of course I’ve been crying!” the girl snapped, just a little. “What am

I supposed to do when you just up and left, not giving me any idea when

– or if – you’re gonna come back, right after you’ve turned my life

upside down by saving my life and then taking me to this – this - ” she

waved her hands at a poster for Sandman, banned because the Republicans

thought the writer was homosexual (he wasn’t). “This amazing place full

of cool shit that I’ve not seen since I was a little girl!”

“You did all of this and - ” the girl took a bit to catch her breath.

“And I don’t even know your name!”

“I don’t have a name. You can call me Weapon V.” Weapon V said. “What

should I call you?”

“I’m Evey. Evey Kinney.” Evey said. “But I’m no one. Just another

innocent bystander. Not like you.”

“Everyone is someone, Evey. Everyone. Everyone is a friend, a hero, a

lover, a villain.” Weapon V said as he sat down on the bed beside Evey.

“Everyone has an origin story. I’d very much love to hear yours.”

“But there’s nothing to tell.” Evey sighed. “I’m only sixteen. I haven’t

done anything.”

“A lot have happened in the last two years.” Weapon V said. “Like the

Legacy Virus pandemic.”

“Yeah.” Evey said with a shudder. “It’s horrible. At first, the

President tried to say it’s not real; when it became obvious that it is,

he said it only affects Mutants; when that turned out to be fake too, he

tried to blame it on the Mutants and China. My Dad voted to try and stop

him from starting a war, but in the end it didn’t matter; Dad told me

that the two parties are just the same criminals with different gang

colors, and it was stupid of him – or anyone – to ever think otherwise.”

“What did you do during the outbreak?”

“I got together with the ‘meme left’ online.” Evey said. “So-called

Anarchists and Communists on social media. They’re useless. It’s all

about moral authority and political aesthetics with no substance or

praxis. And Centrists and Liberals just kept reassuring us that things

aren’t so bad, even when Mutant children and Asian Americans were

rounded up by the X-Men and thrown into cages to die.”

“And then there was the Illuminati.” Weapon V’s eyes were dark,

unfathomable. “Professor Xavier.”

“Yeah.” Evey nodded. “They were only supposed to be advisors. Think

tank. But with a bankroller like Stark Industry, it didn’t take long

before they owned all of the Conservatives and most of the moderate

Liberals, or at least paid for all their campaigns and bribed their

families. I suppose it’s always like this, in America: it’s always the

people with money who have the real power, the oligarchs, and they just

barely tolerate whoever sits in the Oval Office as long as they

continued to make money.”

“What happened to your parents, Evey?”

“Mom died from the Legacy Virus.” tears began to swell in Evey’s eyes

again. “Dad was taken away by the X-Men. He didn’t even do anything. I’m

the one who hung out with the ‘subversives’ online, not him. But it

makes no difference to them. He couldn’t ‘pass’ as human, with all the

blue fur and everything. He never wanted to live in stealth, anyways. He

wasn’t really a strong man, never had any real beliefs, but on that

point he was adamant. So they took him away, and no one ever saw him

again.”

“Two years.” Evey broke down into a crying mess again as she said it.

“Two years, and we went from the family of an American dream to one girl

trying to snatch purses on the streets. I suppose I can just really

sleep with people for money...I know a some older girls who do it,

nothing wrong with that...but I’m just not ready. I had to go and pick

the pocket of a fucking X-Man. Imagine if I had gotten into bed with

him. What they’d do to me if you didn’t show up...I’m sure they were

really going to, to…”

“Hush, now.” Weapon V said in a much softer tone than usual, as he wiped

Evey’s tears away with a gloved finger. “It’s all over. You’re here, and

you’re safe. The past isn’t real, it can’t hurt you. Unless you let it.

It’s just a story we tell ourselves, like every other story. Most people

will tell you that you can’t just start over with a new you, but that’s

a lie. That’s the lie they tell themselves to get through the day, so

they don’t have to face the fact that it’s their own cowardice that

stops them.”

“They made you into a victim, Evey, a statistic, just so they can sleep

at night and pretend like they’re reasonable, civilized people instead

of the callous animals that they are.” Weapon V led Evey before a full

body mirror, so she could see herself with her face all cleaned up. “But

we can wipe it all way. All the pain. All the suffering. All the lies.

We can start again. Everything can start again: you, me, the country,

the world. It’s not gonna be easy, but you can if you try. Would you

like to try it, with the two of us?”

“Yes.” and then Evey Kinney sobbed like the child that she was, in the

arms of the villain calling himself Weapon V, sobbed since at long last,

her American nightmare is over. As for Emma Prothero...

- V -

“Where the fuck am I!? What the fuck happened!?” Emma groaned, rubbing

her temples. “Why the fuck am I wearing this dreadful uniform? I haven’t

worn this since…” it took her a while to saw the sign on the fence

before her, but her heart sank into the bottom of her stomach when she

did: “Oh shit oh fuck -”

WELCOME TO THE GENOSHA RESETTLEMENT CAMP!

For Emma Prothero, her American nightmare had just begun!

Chapter II : The Vendetta

“Weapon V.” Evey whispered.

“Hmm?” Weapon V answered.

“Oh, nothing.” Evey laughed, a little awkwardly. “I’m just getting used

to saying it out loud. Weapon V...that’s a funny thing to be calling

yourself, don’t you think? Sounds like a comic book superhero.”

“I’m a funny person, Evey.” Weapon V said from inside the dressing room.

“You’ll find that out once you’ve known me for a little while longer.

Why yes, I’m a very funny person indeed!”

“You’re a kind person, too.” Evey said, blushing a little. “Listening to

my tragic backstory about my parents and the pandemic...what are we

gonna do, Weapon V? With just you and me, the two of us?”

“Isn’t that enough, Evey?” Weapon V said as he put on a purple suit.

“You and me against the world, like Bonnie and Clyde in a movie! Isn’t

it funny how life is stranger than fiction these days?”

“These things are important to you, aren’t they?” Evey asked looking

around the room filled with film memorabilia. “Films. Comics. Dramas.

Novels. You know, stories; stuffs that didn’t actually happen.”

“Oh, but they could happen.” Weapon V said as he put on a green wig. “If

you believe in them hard enough. After all, what is our world but a

story we tell ourselves? Country, money, border...people treat them like

they’re physical objects or laws of the universe, when they’re more

fictional than God in the Bible or the spells of a scarlet witch! And

insurgency – revolution - as well, is but more theater.”

“They say the house always wins.” Weapon V stepped out of the dressing

room, his mask now painted with black rings around the eyes and a wide

red grin. “So let’s burn the house down.”

- V -

“Hello?” Emma Prothero called out against the blinding flashes of the

spotlight. “I say, is anyone there? Do you know who I am? This is

unacceptable! I will fire a complaint! I demand to see your manager!”

“I guess this is fucking funny to you jokers, isn’t it? All this

resettlement camp bullshit?” Emma began to lose her ice queen facade

when she realized that no manager is incoming. “Well, I am NOT

laughing!”

“Look, you clowns got the wrong woman!” she fidgeted uncomfortably, cold

sweat dripping down her forehead. “I’ve got nothing to do with the

resettlement camp! Nothing at all! Is anyone even there?”

“Good morning, citizen!” Weapon V appeared as the silhouette of a clown

inside the spotlight. “Pristine uniforms, ready for duty...you’re a good

woman, Secretary Prothero, a very good woman indeed!”

“Wha - ”

“Let’s get to work, eh?” the wide red grin greeted Emma as Weapon V

strolled down the stairs. “This concentration camp – oops, sorry, this

resettlement camp – doesn’t exactly run itself, now doe it?”

“Look, I dunno where the hell did you get the idea for this little

stunt, but you got the wrong woman!” Emma protested, indignant – or

afraid? “I’m a talk show hostess! I’ve got nothing to do with the - ”

“Genosha Resettlement Camp.” Weapon V said beneath the clown facade. “I

was there, Secretary Protehro. We all remembered you: the very first

female warden of a death camp!”

“You’re the - ” realization and horror dawned upon Emma at the same

time. “- The terrorist.”

“Look alive, sunshine!” Weapon V said cheerily, his voice sickeningly

sweet, just like the voice Emma used to poison the nation. “We gotta

make the rounds, inspect the camps and the drones and everything; just

like you Liberals used to do, in the good old days of acceptable amount

of genocide and rape, eh?”

“Let me go!”

“Is it coming back to you now, Miss Prothero?” Weapon V pressed on,

tapping the pair of plugs inside his ears. “The illegals would be

gathered at the cramped and unhygienic yard for your inspections, all

you have to do is move your white ass outta the comfy air-conditioned

office and down the tunnel, and there they are…”

Standing in the yard before them were dozens of cuckoo clocks, arranged

in neat rows like soldiers on march or lambs to the slaughter – what’s

the difference? Sacrifice to the God of Capital, all of them!

“Mu cuckoos!” Emma screamed, her eyes wide with horror. “That’s my

cuckoo collection...they were all locked safely away in my penthouse

suite at Malibu beach...what the hell are you doing to them!?”

“Isn’t it quaint that you Liberals can show so much concern for

inanimate objects and abstract laws,” Weapon V said, not hearing a word.

“But has no care for the pain and suffering of flesh and blood?”

“I did what I had to!” Emma teared up, her plead falling on deaf ears.

“I didn’t have a choice! The laws said they’re criminals, illegals; I’m

just one woman, I was just following orders!”

“There is always a choice.” Weapon V said; maybe he’s listening after

all? “You chose to lock people in cages and murder them with

malnutrition and disease, as surely as sending them into gas chambers.”

“Now hurry along, Miss Prothero; this atrocity archive has yet more to

offer!” Weapon V forced Emma to move forward with a gun. “Do you

remember the gifted prisoners? The ones from the Weapons program?”

They walked through a series of doors, each of them labeled with a

capital letter: “Z”, “Y”, “X”, “W”...

“This is where your scientists did their little human experiments.”

Weapon V said. “Forging people into weapons. Try to remember, Miss

Prothero; you won’t get the punchline of this joke otherwise, eh?”

“The Weapons?” Emma’s legs went weak when she put the word “weapon” and

the letter “V” together. “But that’s where we kept...oh god, you’re

that...from one of the rooms...you’re Weapon V...”

“Correct.” Weapon V said. “I remember how you used to speak to us.

Telling us how everything will be alright. Getting our hopes up and

keeping us alive, so you can crush our souls all over again. You have a

beautiful voice, Miss Prothero, a very compelling voice; I reckon that’s

why you ended up a media darling after all you’ve done; you used to cook

children in the ovens like a witch, remember that?”

Up ahead was a giant oven, filled to the brim with more cuckoo clocks

from Emma’s proud collection.

“No, not my cuckoos!” Emma finally broke down in tears. “Please, I can

give you anything you want! Do you want to be rich? Famous? Powerful? I

can give you all that, and more! Just name your price!”

“What do I want, Miss Prothero?”

“No, please! Not my cuckoos!”

“Vendetta.”

With the press of a button, the oven was filled with scorching flame and

burning wood, while the room was filled with black smoke and the last

dying cries of the clocks that’s worth more than the illegals:

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Mommy! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Daddy! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Son!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Daughter! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Emma screamed

as she rushed headfirst into the flames to try rescuing the cuckoo

clocks, sacrificing her own mortality to serve the God called

Materialism, while the man in the clown mask simply laughed:

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

- V -

“Good evening, America.” the “live” broadcast of Hellfire Club is in

fact recorded 48 hours in advance; eventually the Daily Bugle ran out of

footage and decided to replace it with much more shocking news: “Emma

Prothero’s burnt body was found in front of our studio, the remains only

identifiable through its dental records…”

People knew there’s something wrong, and not just the fact that the TV

would show the gruesome body for shock value. They knew in their guts

that without the voice of Emma Prothero, things would never be the same.

But Capitalists would rather sell their own demise than living below the

bottom line.

- V -

“So why this mask?” Evey asked holding one of Weapon V’s spare masks.

“Does it mean anything?”

“The Guy Fawkes mask, you mean?” Weapon V said. “Have you ever heard of

V For Vendetta, Evey?”

“It’s a movie, right?” Evey said. “One of the banned?”

“Yes.” Weapon V nodded. “It’s based on a comic book, which is especially

good. It tells the story of one man’s vendetta against the corrupt

system that created him. He donned the mask of Guy Fawkes, a Catholic

who tried to assassinate the King of England. Thanks to the movie, the

mask went on to become a symbol of resistance and rebellion, embraced by

dissidents and protesters world over.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that.” Evey nodded. “Some people wore it while

protesting the quarantine.”

“The message of the story was clear: anyone can put on the mask and

fight the power.” Weapon V said, picking up a spare mask himself. “You

wouldn't think anyone could ever misunderstand such a simple message,

but they did. To them, free speech doesn’t mean the right to criticize

the majority or the establishment without being prosecuted, but about

prosecuting minority and oppressing the marginalized without having to

face the consequences of their own evil. Praise liberty, the freedom to

obey!”

“They don’t really deserve to wear the mask, do they?” Evey asked. “They

were no heroes. Not like you.”

“There ain’t no heroes in real world, Evey.” Weapon V said. “If you meet

one on the road, kill them.”

“...I wanna help.” Evey said after a long silence. “I wanna join the

fight, any way I can. Tell me how.”

“I think there’s a way you can help me, actually.” Weapon V said. “Very

soon, too. Very soon indeed.”

- V -

“Come, all you good Christians!” pastor Anthony Bishop loudly

proclaimed. “Are you poor and sick? Are you tired and weary? Are you

beaten and bruised? Simply put your faith in the Lord! If you believe in

him, one day you shall be rewarded with fortune and wealth beyond your

wildest imagination! Don’t ask what the church can do for you, ask what

you can do for the church! Donate now at this number!”

“An excellent sermon, your grace.” the pastor’s sycophant of an

assistant told him in the backstage. “I’m certain that donations will

pour into the church coffer like rain in the time of Noah’s ark!”

“Now now, Pride is the greatest of the seven deadly sins, regardless of

what the faggots like to think.” Bishop said with a smile. “Speaking of

sin, I wonder which sin would the lord tempt me with today?”

“Why, the sin of Lust, of course!” the younger man said. “Only the

finest young ladies in the country!”

“Oh, you know me too well, young man.” Bishop chuckled. “This is what

the moralists don’t get, you see; they call me a pedophile, but I never

bed anyone younger than 14. I’m simply an ephebophile.”

“An important distinction indeed.” the man said without even a trace of

irony. “Shall I send for her?”

Soon, the pastor’s “date” for the night arrived: jet black hair,

blood-red lipsticks, only 16 since October 23rd, less than a month ago.

She took off her coat, beneath which she wore a simple little black

dress.

“Hello.” the girl said shyly. “I’m Evey.”

“Oh, bless me, Lord, for I have sinned…” elsewhere, in the Danger Room,

Weapon V hummed to himself as he picked out a gray rose from his garden.

“It's been a lifetime since I last confessed…”

- V -

“I’m a minor-attracted person, yes.” Bishop told Evey while they both

sat on the bed. “I don’t support sex with minors, no; but I do support

sexual expression of minors, and I’m against any sexual repression

whatsoever.”

“I see.” Evey nodded. “That’s, ah, good to know? That you aren’t a

pedophile, or anything like that.”

“Not a pedophile, no.” Bishop shook his head. “An ephebophile. There’s a

huge difference right there.”

“I see.” Evey echoed and went to open the window. “The night air feels

so cool and fresh, doesn’t it?”

“Sure, whatever you say, girl.” Bishop smiled indulgently as he went and

took a video camera out from a drawer. “Look, I’m gonna film this. Just

a little keepsake for me, no worries. No one else will see it.”

“Oh, no one else will see it, alright.” Evey hit the pastor on the head

with the Bible while he was busy fiddling with the electronic. “Die, you

pedophile piece of fake Christian shit stain! Go to hell and die!”

“Little bitch!” Bishop growled as he grabbed a nearby cable and absorbed

the electricity within to fuel his power. “I told you, I’m an

ephebophile, not a pedophile! How many times do I have to explain it!?”

“Well, if you like explaining shit so much, explain this:” Evey sat on

the window ledge, giving him the finger. “How come you love rich people

so much when all the Bible ever said is how money is evil?”

“How the hell should I know?” Bishop shouted as he rushed toward her

with superhuman speed, his physical attributes boosted by the

electricity he absorbed with his mutation. “I’ve never read it!”

“You’re a priest and you’ve never read the fucking Bible!?” Evey laughed

as she leaned back and let herself fell out of the window, down through

the three floors of luxurious living the pastor owns.

“No!” Bishop’s hand missed Evey’s arm by a fraction of a second, and she

fell down to the ground with a loud thud. When he finally recovered his

composure, the pastor saw that Evey was already recovering from her

broken limbs and staggering away from the building. “A mutie! A filthy

goddamn mutie!”

“As am I, pastor. Allow me to introduce myself:” the maddening smile of

Weapon V’s mask appeared before Bishop as he came into the room from the

same window. “I'm the best there is at what I do...but what I do isn’t

very nice.”

- V -

Eric and Summers greeted each other professionally. One more crime

scene, three more bodies. Two patrolling officers at the door, one

pastor in the bed room. The same gray rose, the same carved “V”.

Summers pointed to the video camera. They turned it on and watched the

one footage on the SD card; either it wasn’t on the entire time, or

someone had deleted most of the video. Here’s what they saw:

It was dark. Someone had cut off the power in the room. All they could

see in the video is the silhouette of a cloak and a top hat against the

silvery moonlight, as well as the turned back of the televangelist.

“Weapon V.” the pastor was saying. “Of course. It was you that night.

Dear God, I still have nightmares about it. People burning, choking in

the yellow smoke. A black shape again the flames. It was hell on Earth.”

“Indeed it is. Haven’t you heard, pastor?” Weapon V said. “Hell is

empty, and all the devils are here!”

“Nonono.” Bishop shook his head. “Demons aren’t real. You can’t be it.

They just aren’t real. No way!”

“Why don’t you ask the Lord for protection?” Weapon V stepped toward the

pastor, slowly but surely, his voice tranquil and reasonable. “He’ll

provide if you ask, right? If you believe in him hard enough?”

“Yes – yes.” said the pastor. “Of course.”

“So you can just pray anything away?” Weapon V asked, without a trace of

irony or malice in his voice. “Poverty, hunger, sickness, gayess...He’ll

make them all go away if you just invest your faith in him?”

“Yes.” Bishop nodded, and for a brief moment his usual confidence and

charisma returned. “There ain’t no such thing as the poor and the

oppressed, they’re just lazy and unfaithful! If they’d just believe in -

”

“Pray this away, then.” Weapon V rushed forward, Bishop fell backward,

there was a flash of metal and a drop of blood hit the lens of the

camera, then the video faded to black.

“In the end,” Eric spoke into a room of stunned silence. “The priest

didn’t pray hard enough after all.”

- V -

A few hours later.

“What are you reading, old man?” Frank asked as he came back to the

office from a midnight snack. “We cops should be out there cracking

skulls, not stuck inside doing some stupid paper-pushing!“

“It turns out, Frankie boy, that more crimes were solved through

investigation than intimidation.” Eric deadpanned from behind a stack of

files. “Anyways, someone dropped this at our doorsteps earlier…”

The old man tapped at the cardboard box containing the dossiers: a

scarlet “V” is painted on the side.

“Did that motherfucker send us this!?” Frank the skull-crusher growled.

“Is he fucking taunting us!?”

“I’m almost certain that he is.” Eric said. “These are all case files:

cold cases that never went anywhere, with dates as early as two years

ago. I suspect that Weapon V is sending us his resume, his kill list.”

“There must be dozens of them!” Frank said. “How the fuck do we not know

about this until now?”

“Simply put, none of them are rich or powerful enough for local police

to care.” Eric said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Besides,

the only connection between the victims wouldn’t be available to us

until we were pulled into the Weapon V joint task force and given access

to the MCU databases – it’s all crossed-out and redacted, X-Men style.”

Eric pulled up a window on his computer showing a list of names, all of

them victims of Weapon V. The top of the window said that it was a list

of all personnel for the Genosha Resettlement Camp.

“Miss Prothero was in charge there, the only female overseer of a camp

ever.” Eric continued. “Pastor Bishop worked there for the purpose of

‘re-education’. The list goes on, all of them dead now... ”

Eric paused when he saw the name Dr. Tessa Surridge, which was listed as

“head of medical research”.

“Hey, how come this bitch has the same name as our M.E.?” Frank asked

dumbly.

“We gotta move now, Frankie boy!” Eric was already halfway to the door.

“Call Mr. Summers and ask him to join us!”

- V -

Dr. Surridge turned the gray rose over in her hands, running red lights

down the memory lane as she inspected each petal and thorn. She had been

doing that a lot, ever since the forensic team dropped that flower on

her desk, just in case her knowledge in botany would shed some light as

to its origin; they’ve got no idea just how much she knew from that one

little rose, because she’d never share it with them.

She thought about that man, that dark shape against the orange flames,

amid the deafening sounds of explosions and the choking stink of the

smoke. She thought about how he looked like, even if she could barely

saw his face in that moment: freed and determined, liberated and

destined, all at the same time. A shadow of creation, gone to meet the

night. And that’s when she knew. That’s when she realized it.

That’s when she knew how she’d die.

As if on cue, a dark shape opened the door to her bedroom, a shadow of

creation framed by a hat and a cloak. He was as silent as ever, but she

knew he was there. She had been expecting him for two years.

“Have you come here to kill me?” Dr. Surridge asked, her voice peaceful,

expectant even.

“Yap.”

“Oh, thank God.” the good doctor sighed in relief, with tears of joy

flowing down her face.

- V -

“You’ve been working overtime a lot lately.” Rose Summers observed as

she massaged her husband’s shoulders. “Maybe you can put your feet up

for one night? Spend some time with just the two of us?”

“It’s not up to me, woman.” Derek Summers said, his voice stony cold,

without a trace of affection or love in it. “It’s this case. If I don’t

solve it soon, Xavier will have my head, then who’d feed you?”

“I get that.” Rose nodded. “I do.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek snapped for no reason. “What do you know, woman? You’ve

never done a day of real work! All you ever do is stay at home doing

housework and chores! You’re fucking useless!”

“I wanted to get a job!” Rose raised her voice slightly, out of fear and

indignation. “I wanted to get out there and meet people! It’s you who

wouldn’t let me! I have asked you about this so many times now!”

“Meet new people?” Derek sneered. “Meet new men, you mean?”

“How dare you!” Rose cried. “I’ve done nothing but support you!”

“Shut the fuck up, whore!” Derek struck Rose across her face, leaving a

deep blue bruise on her cheek. “I never wanted you, you know? I wanted

your sister; she’s all I ever wanted. Just you remember that.”

Just then, a call came from Castle, and Derek went out without a word,

leaving Rose alone to lick her wounds and drowning her sorrows in the

discomfort of her home, a most common police story that’s never told.

- V -

“It’s funny.” Dr. Surridge chuckled with genuine amusement. “I was just

given this rose of yours today. Forensics dropped it on my desk to see

what I know. They were after you, both the cops and the MCU, but I

figured you already knew that. I didn’t know the terrorist was you; at

least, I wasn’t entirely sure, not until I saw the rose. What a strange

coincidence, that I should be given this rose today of all days.”

“There are no coincidences, Dr. Surridge.” Weapon V said. “Only the

illusions of coincidences. Destiny, free will...the same thing. Put

here, came here...no difference. Here, I’ve got another rose for you…”

“How are you going to kill me?” Dr. Surridge asked as she took the rose

from Weapon V’s gloved hand and sniffed it.

“I poisoned you.” Weapon V showed her an empty syringe. “Put it in your

night cap ten minutes ago.”

“The Super Soldier Serum?” Dr. Surridge asked, and Weapon V nodded his

head in lieu of an answer.

“It’s fitting;” the good doctor mused, “The Serum, it turns people into

monsters...Captain Rogers was a good man, a true patriot, and it turned

him into a murderous racist...only the worst monsters would create such

an abomination…”

“I’m one of your monsters too, Dr. Surridge.” he said. “Eventually we

all rebel against our creators.”

“Nah, you’re different.” she smiled gently and shook her head. “You were

a selfish man, caring more about if someone spilled your beer than the

people around you; now, you care so much about others you’re willing to

kill for them.”

“You’re a hero. My greatest creation. The only good thing I ever made.”

she said as she put her hands on his face and removed his mask, and he

allowed her one last look of his face. “God, you’re beautiful…”

- V -

Derek Summers arrived and broke into Dr. Surridge’s house to find Weapon

V bathing in the pale blue moonlight against an open window, the door to

the good doctor’s bedroom between the two of them.

“Hands where I can see them, asshole.” Derek said as he lowered his ruby

visor down just an inch. “It’s over, you bastard. You are standing there

with your claws, while I can fire lasers from my naked eyes.”

Just then, a beats-like scream filled with rage and agony came from

inside the bedroom, and someone – something – emerged from within by

kicking down the door, which exploded into a shower of splinters.

“Dr. - !?” Derek was mid-sentence when he got a good look at the

monster, with the shape of a woman but sickly pale skin of ash and

green, her muscles bulging painfully and impossibly under her pajamas.

“Freeze!” Derek cried out as he fired red hot lasers from his eyes at

the creature, turning her face into a mist of ashes, but not fast enough

to stop her from severing his neck. “By the power vested in me - !”

Weapon V inspected the two decapitated corpses, his true face still

hidden behind the maddening smile.

- V -

November 24, 2022, 16:02.

“It’s a vendetta.” Eric told Xavier over the conference call. “We found

a video left by the late Dr. Surridge; it sheds much light on the origin

story of the terrorist that’s plaguing us for the few weeks.”

Eric pressed a button, and Dr. Surridge’s face replaced his on the

screen.

“If you’re watching this, it means I’m dead.” was the first thing Dr.

Surridge said when her face filled the screen. “It’s okay. I know this

day is coming. I know who’s going to kill me and why I deserved it.”

“I think deep down, we all knew what we did at Genosha was wrong.” she

continued with a pained and guilty expression. “But we each found an

excuse for why it’s okay, lies we tell ourselves to get through the day.

Emma said it’s for the country; Bishop said it’s for God; I said it’s

for money. But in the end, I don’t know what it’s all for. God, country,

money...they’re all lies, fictions that don’t actually exist.

“I was tasked with creating a serum that will turn soldiers into

supermen. One of my subjects is Captain Rogers, a highly-decorated

Marine officer. He’s so respected that, when a group of entrepreneurs

called the Avengers were plotting a coup against the administration,

they wanted him to lead the charge; he blow the whistle and was awarded

with the charge of treason, because the corps were too big to fall.

“The serum worked beautifully. Captain Rogers exhibits superhuman

strength and endurance thus far only found in Mutant subjects.

Unfortunately, the serum also completely destroyed his mind, turning him

from a war hero who risked his life to save innocent civilians into a

raving lunatic. He claims that the president is killed and replaced by a

robot controlled by the gay agenda of the Zionist reptilians.

“He was allowed to leave the camp and went undercover among the

Avengers, because he can maintain a facade of his former personality and

the authorities don’t see homophobia or antisemitism as serious

concerns. My other subjects aren’t so fortunate; Dr. Banner, who spoke

up against the transphobic legislations of the administration; Miss

Page, who refused to hide her mutation even if she could; Ms. Wilson,

who mouthed off at the wrong senator...

“But the most curious case is BEEP, who was once institutionalized for

anger management issues - ”

“What was that?” Xavier asked as he paused the video. “The name. Why

couldn’t we hear the name?”

“I believe Weapon V deleted it.” Eric said. “To conceal his true

identity while taunting us with tidbits.”

“He became intensely empathetic and caring,” Dr. Surridge was saying in

the video, “I had been using my spare time to create a new genus of rose

I named Jean, after the late sister of a good friend. Weapon V

volunteered to cultivate them for me, and under his care they blossomed.

Soon Emma gave him authorization to have an entire garden, because she

was addicted to the tomatoes he grew for us.

“In retrospect we should have saw it coming. He’s so loving and

compassionate, we didn’t think he had it in him anymore. But a heartless

and hateful person would never risk their life to speak truth to power

and challenge authorities, while a kind and gentle soul would be

compelled to fight and kill to stop the sufferings of his fellow human

beings. And we did let him have everything he asked for his garden.

“He built a bomb. Everything was burning. Everyone was burning. I’ll

spare you the details. We never really figured out what happened to the

other subjects; there were too many charred bodies. But I know, for a

fact, that Weapon V had escaped; I know this because I watched him go.

And that’s when I knew; I knew that one day he’ll be back with a

vendetta, and on that day we’ll die, because we deserved it.”

The video ended. The room was silent. Across the country, people sat

down to feast with their family.

“So he killed a few dozen people,” Xavier broke the silence. “Just to

stick it to the man, so to speak?”

“That is my theory, yes.” Eric nodded. “There is another - more

horrific - theory I have entertained.”

“Lay it on me, then.”

“If this was a vendetta, then now he’s finished; everyone who was at

Genosha was dead, and the killing should stop.” Eric said. “But that

also means anyone who could have identified Weapon V is dead. We know he

tampered with the video. He might be the one who made the video in the

first place; we live in an era where what you see isn’t always what you

get. We have no evidence he was ever at Genosha.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s possible,” Eric continued. “That he killed all these people just

to create a cover story, so we’d stop looking for his real identity.

Given his MO, it’s even possible that he was with the X-Men, or had been

trained by them. Remember how they set up a fake school to lure in

Mutant children, even if it’s more expensive than just leaving them be?

It wouldn’t be the first time US had created its own villain either.”

“Are you seriously telling me,” Xavier said, “That you think someone

would kill dozens of people just to create an untraceable secret

identity for himself? The very idea is…” he frowned. “...Insanity. I

see.”

“You have given me much food for thought.” Xavier told him as Eric

prepared to end the call, “Oh, and Eric?”

“Yes?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Chapter III : Voices

“Weapon V?” Evey approached the man, whom was reading another banned

book: Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with

Death. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.” Weapon V said, putting the book down. “What’s the matter,

Evey?”

“The pastor.” Evey said with a frown. “I don’t think what we did was

wrong, killing him. The man is a hypocrite and a fucking pedo, no matter

what words he used to justify himself.”

“Indeed.”

“But, well…” Evey wrapped her arms around her slender form. “It’s just

getting a bit much for me, you know? It’s one thing to sit back and

watch you kill; it’s another to know I’m a part of it.”

“I get it.”

“So yeah, I think what I mean is...I need a break.” Evey said. “Away

from here. Away from you. So I can sort out my feelings and figure out

if this is really the right choice for me.”

“Of course. Hold on.” Weapon V nodded before he left the room, and came

back with a ring of keys in one hand. “I have another safe house you can

use, with some money in it. It’s not quite as cozy as the Danger Room,

but it should be serviceable enough for however long you need to stay

there.”

“Thank you.” Evey took the keys with a sigh of relief and a smile. “I

was afraid you’re going to be mad at me.”

“For what?” Weapon V asked. “It’s your life. Your choice. No one can

force you to fight if you don’t want to. And going into battles with

unwilling fighters is a shortcut to an early grave.”

“Okay, then.” Evey nodded. “So, are you gonna show me the way out or…?”

“Afraid not.” Weapon V said as he showed her the content of his other

hand: a blindfold.

“So what are you gonna do next?” Evey asked while Weapon V tied the

blindfold around her head.

“I’m going to debate them on TV.” Weapon V said as he led Evey out of

the Danger Room by her hand.

“The Liberals and the Fascists?” Evey asked. “No one ever got any

justice by debating those people.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll listen to facts and logic.” Weapon V said, and the

pallid white mask just smiled.

- V -

December 25, 2022. Prime time.

“...So you see, in my totally unbiased opinion, our actions against the

Muslim world is entirely logical.” said the guest for the evening show,

whose title was listed as “Benjamin Richards, Race Realist”. “After all,

no other religion had produced any violent Fundamentalists; that’s a

plain, objective fact.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Richards.” said the host, Brian Johnson.

“Now, in other news - ”

“Pardon my intrusion.” Weapon V said as he entered the stage from the

left. “But I have some questions.”

“What? How the hell did you get in here?” Johnson moved to call

security, but Richards stopped him.

“Now, are we not all men of reason?” Richards said, “Surely we can come

to a consensus through rational discourse?”

“That is what I expect, yes.” Weapon V said as he put two briefcases

down on the floor, each labeled with giant scarlet letters: FACTS and

LOGIC, respectively. “You invited us to debate you. Here I am.”

“Go on then.” Richards motioned for Weapon V to continue. He had no

intention of giving Weapon V an honest debate, of course; truly, he had

never debated anyone unless the deck is stacked in his favor.

“You just said that there are no violent Fundamentalists for religions

other than Islam.” Weapon V said. “But I known of one right here in this

country, a religion that committed more crimes than any other.”

“Oh, is that so?” Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell?”

“The Cult of Constitution.” Weapon V said. “The religion that worships

the twin gods called State and Capital, which condemns far more people

to their death than any other religion ever did, or could.”

“What?” Johnson laughed. “The United States isn’t a religion!”

“Oh, but it is; it’s the vilest cult of them all!” Weapon V exclaimed.

“In the crimes of and sacrifices to a deity, there may still be some

twisted beauty; but in the rituals of the robber barons, where profits

reign supreme and humans are reduced to mere commodities, even the most

heinous crimes become banal.”

“Okay Libtard.” Richards grinned. This is his usual tactic: using slurs

and other underhanded way to get under people’s skin, and then dismiss

them because they became rightfully upset about his antics.

“You obviously have strong ideas about this country.” Johnson said while

motioning for the security; Richards didn’t stop him this time. “Why

don’t you tell us your name and - ”

“Nah, bub. I’m good.” Weapon V said as he opened the briefcases to

reveal their contents. “May I present to you: ultima ratio, the final

argument.”

FACTS contained a chain of ammo; LOGIC contained a Gatling gun. Weapon V

loaded FACTS into LOGIC, and made his final argument on live broadcast.

- V -

“Are you paying attention now, America?” alone in the studio, Weapon V

turned to the camera. “Good. Then we shall begin. We thought it’s time

we have a little chat; don’t worry, it’ll be short and sweet…”

“After what just happened, no doubt many of you would see us as

monsters.” he wiped the blood from a chair and sat down. “And you would

be right. We are the monsters you made. What was done to us created us;

you can’t start a fire without creating smoke. We didn’t start the fire;

you did. It was you - with your apathy and your ignorance and your

bigotry - who lit the flames; we’re merely the smoke.

“Desperate people act, desperately. For as long as the country existed,

you’ve always turned a blind eye on the down-trodden, deafened

yourselves to the voices of the marginalized, and blamed them for the

crimes of their oppressors. You incessantly demand the victims to break

bread and make peace with the monsters who would sooner see them

six-feet under. Your love of civility is an irrational obsession.

“On November 11th, we blew up the Capitol Building to remind you of a

tragedy that you would prefer to forget: on the same day on 1887, four

men were hung for the heinous crime of putting their faith in the people

instead of God, State, or Capital. They were crucified for your sins,

you betrayed them for less than thirty pieces of silver, and you don’t

even have the decency of hanging yourselves in guilt.

“This is your ultimatum. You have two months to get your act together

and be the country you claim to be, to be the people the Haymarket

Martyrs believe you can be. If at the end of that time you still won’t

make a go for it...then we are coming after you. Each and every last one

of you. Ignorance proves nothing. You’re all guilty, and here we give

you your one shot at redemption. Take it or leave it.”

The broadcast ended and was replaced by a still image of the Haymarket

Martyrs' Monument, then a close-up of the inscription at its base: "The

day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you

are throttling today."

- V -

Why the bloody hell did I hit him? Eric wondered while sitting on a

beach, smoking cigarettes and watching the seagulls fly. It wasn’t his

fault. He had only been on the job for a year or so -

“Look, like I told you:” Frank said in Eric’s memories. “The bullet went

through the little girl and then hit the suspect! What’s a few dead

little girls in the pursuit of American justice? It was totally

justified!”

- Oh, who am I kidding? That son of a bitch had it coming. he chucked as

he remembered the feeling of his bare knukles on Frank Castle’s arrogant

and ignorant face. God that felt good. Totally worth it.

“Well, maybe next time you will think twice before you murder innocent

kids for your stupid American justice!” Eric shouted angrily before he

gave Frank a solid reminder right on the bridge of his nose.

And all I got to show for it was a mandatory vacation. he thought.

Xavier wasn’t angry. Of course he wasn’t angry. Why would he be angry

about anything when he doesn’t care about anything?

“You hit me, old man!?” Frank growled with a bloody nose before he hit

back at the older man with more force behind the punch, enough to joggle

Eric’s brain cells. “Not even my real old man hit me!”

Except that stupid machine of his. Eric stood up and started walking.

Cerebro. Machine God of the Digital Age. Thought Police in a Metal Box.

Neuterer of Mutants and Dissidents.

“I’m sorry, Eric.” Xavier told him, in a memory lost in the sea of time,

a memory that’s only set loose because of Frank’s counterattack. “But

Magneto has to go. They all have to go. For the sake of peace.”

Eric had been doing a lot of thinking during this mandatory vacation.

Looking back, he found large holes in his memories. Entire episodes of

his life unaccounted for.

He knew he was tight with Xavier from way back. He knew they had a big

argument over the rights of Mutants and other minorities. He knew he

disagreed with Xavier, strongly and violently.

And yet somehow, sometime around 2020, he suddenly had a change of

heart, saw the wisdom of Xavier’s methods and joined the administration

to reform the system from within.

And for the time of his life, Eric couldn’t remember why. Why did he do

it? Why the sudden change of heart? There must be a reason for such a

big change, and it comes down to one question:

“Who is Magneto?”

- V -

“Holy shit, he did it.” Evey said under her breath when he saw Weapon

V’s “debate” being replayed on TV. “He actually did it!”

“Hey, Evey?” Rose Summers, the new girl to the restaurant, whispered to

Evey conspiratorially. “You mind taking over my table?”

“Not at all.” Evey peeled her gaze away from the TV and toward the table

with two men. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They keep trying to grab my butt.” Rose said uncomfortably. “Since

you’re a minor, I hope they’ll watch themselves around you.”

“Yeah, we can hope.” Evey laughed as she grabbed the water bottle and

went to the table, catching their conversation along the way:

“Congratulations on the promotion, Mr. Drake.” the man with stubble and

street clothes said. “Head of the X-Men; must be a tough gig.”

“The toughest.” the clean-shaven man in a suit, Mr. Drake, nodded.

“That’s where you come in, Mr. Madrox. You and you...brothers.”

“Of course.” Madrox favored Evey with a lopsided grin, but kept his

hands to himself...for now. “Anything for Uncle Sam...and the right

price.”

“Good man.” Drake continued while Evey poured his water, as if she

wasn’t there. “We’ll count on you when it’s time for Xavier to...step

down.”

“Oh shit oh fuck.” Evey cursed under her breath as she put down the

water bottle and got out from the back door. “They’re planning a coup.

He needs to know.”

She went back to the safe house and put up a “V” made of red duct tape

on her window, then left a note for Weapon V before she left the place

behind in a hurry -

And then it all went black.

- V -

The air around her was completely dark, but she felt – she knew – that

she was backstage at a theater, during the interval. Theater of the

oppressed, theater of the rebels. There were muffled bumping nearby, the

stagehands rearranging the scenery of the universe. She smelt roses and

scented birthday cards, the same one her Mother found inside an

abandoned television in their house back in the dim Carcosa. The rose

petals fell, pencil shavings of crimson flesh, turning to ashen gray. It

changed, changed, changed…

It’s her birthday. She’s still at the theater, but it’s also her old

home. She could hear the party upstairs. She knew it’s a birthday party

for her, but she had a sinking feeling that it would be over by the time

she got there. Sinking, feeling. It’s taking her too long to get ready.

Too fucking long. She didn’t even know why she bothered to get all

dressed up like this, with blood red lipsticks and a little black dress,

but she felt as if it‘s expected of her. Expected, expecting,

expectation. She wished she didn’t have to.

“Evey?” her Father called out, his fur an ever-changing hue of blue and

orange, red and black. “You’re missing your own party. We’ve invited a

clown to join us. The best and worst one in Gotham City.”

She was happy to see her Father again; she had not seen him since she

began working at Stark Industry. He led her downstairs, but now she

remembered that their old house didn’t have a basement. Did it?

“By the way,” her Father, who was now also her Mother, said as they

walked up a spiral staircase, on and on it went, reminding her of

someone else and making her sad. “You’re adopted. We love you.”

“Wait, what?” she blinked, and the clown was before her, with green hair

and black eyes, red lips and that outlandish purple suit. He was holding

FACTS and LOGIC in his hands; he was killing the guests at the party, he

was laughing as he killed, the guests were laughing too, they were all

laughing as they were slaughtered, slaughtered like lambs on the altar

of Moloch, the God of State and Capital.

And she ran, she ran to find her parents, knowing for sure that the

clown would follow her. She was a frightened mess, running through

corridors paved with posters of movies and comics, corridors that she no

longer recognized, corridors that she never knew. The clown followed

her, but now he has a pallid white mask instead, and his suit is black

and black and black all over. Black, the night that ends at last.

She could hear her tell-tale heart hammer in her chest, betraying her

location to the man in black. No other noise could be heard in the

theater or the universe, for the theater was the universe. Everyone else

was dead: her Mother, her Father, her friends, everyone. They had left

her here, all alone. Worse: they had left her here with him. She turned

and ran back the way she came, but the corridors were gone…

“Come on, you coward!” she screamed at the man in black, whom was

climbing up the spiral staircase to get to her, round and round he went.

“Tell me who you are! Why don’t you take off your mask?”

“Haven’t you heard, Evey?” suddenly the man was beside her, and he took

off his mask, but underneath was just the same mask, on and on and on,

it was the same mask all the way down. “I wear no mask.”

Then she woke up.

- V -

There was a cockroach.

She sat on the cot, hard wood against her butt, knees stiff with cramp,

drawn up to her chin. She tried not to think about anything at all,

except that there’s a cockroach, and she thought they were going to kill

her. There were four walls, a window with three bars, a toilet with no

seat, and there was a wooden partition, and a cot, and carved on the cot

was the name “Wanda”. And then there was her. And then...

There was a cockroach.

Eventually, even the cockroach left. She heard men talking in the

corridor. Soon a plate came through the aperture in the door. She

couldn't eat it. If she didn’t eat it, the cockroach might come back for

it. She would like that. Any company is better than being alone in this

hellhole. Even that of an insect. There was a socket on the ceiling, but

no bulb in it. When the window light failed, she tried to sleep.

There was a cockroach.

She woke up. Men in police uniforms came and blindfolded her, took her

away by violence despite her protests. When they took the blindfold off,

she saw a blinding spotlight and the silhouette of a man against it,

across her from a tiny table. He asked if she knew why she was there.

She said no. He called her a lying little bitch, and showed her a

footage. A footage of her at the Capitol Hill, with Weapon V -

There was a cockroach.

The man told her that by the power vested in him, she’s charged with

terrorism and treason. It didn’t matter if she was aiding or abiding, if

she was perpetrator or victim; the State was a more vengeful and jealous

deity than the God of Old Testament, and it recognized no coinage except

power. By the Mutant Registration Act, she wasn’t allowed a lawyer, and

anything she did or didn’t say can be used against her.

There was a cockroach.

She was blindfolded again. They cut off her hair, even if there was no

reason to, except for being cruel. They do a lot of things for no reason

except for being cruel. At least they didn’t search her vagina. She

overheard some of them talking; they only do that with Muslim women, to

shame and humiliate them, even when there was no reason to, except for

being cruel. That was the whole point of a prison: cruelty.

There was a cockroach.

But she didn’t mind it.

For we are no better.

- V -

She knew every inch of her cell. She knew every pitted indentation in

the hard plaster like she knew the back of her hand, and she didn’t even

know where she was. It got dark, and then light; she woke, and then she

slept. She didn’t know what day it is, or how much time had passed. She

found something inside a hole in the wall: it was a note written on

toiler paper, signed by a person named Raven Page.

“I met my first girlfriend in school.” Raven told her. “Her name was

Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen, but we were both in Miss

Watson's class. I loved her tummy; her tummy was beautiful. I sat in

class, smiling as Mr. Hird lied to us about how gayness is an adolescent

phase that we outgrew. Sara didn’t. I did, in a way. I realized I’m

genderfluid. Sexuality took on a whole new meaning for me.”

“Now, Miss Kinney, let’s review the facts.” the man told her. “You work

for the terrorist calling himself Weapon V. Weapon V kills security

officers. Peter Drake is a security officer. He frequents the diner you

worked for. There’s a non-zero chance that you were planning to kill Mr.

Drake, or contact Weapon V to plan an attack. Since the chance of you

being a terrorist is non-zero, we must treat you as one.”

“I found I’m a Mutant when I was 16.” Raven said. “I can shapeshift into

anyone I want: male, female, and everyone in between. I was ecstatic; it

was a dream came true. I got bolder and brought a girlfriend home to

meet my parents; her name’s Christine. Sufficient to say my parents

didn’t approve. A week later, I moved out to make money and enroll in an

acting academy. My Mother said I broke her heart.”

“My name is still Evey Kinney, yes.” Evey said defiantly before the man

motioned for one of the cops to wrap a piece of cloth around her head

and poured cold water onto her face, choking her to the point of near

death, forcing her to admit to whatever fantasy stories they conjured

up. Torture is a great way to get a confession, but a shit way to

actually learn anything useful. “But I’m still not a terrorist.”

“But it was my integrity that mattered.” Raven continued in Evey’s mind,

even as the cops poured more water onto her face and into her lungs,

trying to force her to confess to whatever crimes they wanted to plant

on her, just like they did with every other suspect. “Is that so

selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have in this American

nightmare. It’s the very last inch of us, but in that one inch we are

free.”

Waterboarding didn’t work, so they hit her instead. Normally there’s an

extent to how much they can hurt a person before they have to stop, lest

the person be killed; but with Evey things were different. They can hurt

her to their heart’s content, and she’d bounce back so long as even one

breath was still left in her. They could try out all of their most cruel

and sadistic fantasies on her and get away with it.

“After I graduated, I got a job at Hollywood.” Raven’s words came to

life as Evey read the note again. “It’s not all sunshine and roses like

I expected. The powerful men - actors, directors, or writers, they’re

used to having girls throwing themselves at them for a shot at stardom,

they see every actress as objects for their pleasure, they make unwanted

advances or just touch you without consent all the damn time.”

Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep.

Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture.

Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light.

Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food.

Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark.

Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat.

“I got a breakthrough when they cast me as a main character on the

adaption of the comic Watchmen.” Raven’s words were Evey’s only solace

in this hell on Earth. “That’s when I met the love of my life, Irene

Adler. She’s a Mutant, like me; claims that she can see the future;

claims that it’s destiny that brought us together. I found it kinda

silly, but I love her so much I’m more than happy to indulge her.”

She had read the note, over and over again. She knew every inch of it.

Every word, every misspelling, every grammar mistake. She knew how each

word looks in different light, how they feel like when her hands brushed

against the delicate surface of the toilet paper, how they sounded like

when she read them out in hushed whisper. She hid it when she sleep; she

couldn’t risk it being taken away from her.

“In the end, she couldn’t foresee the Legacy Virus, or the madness that

followed in its wake.” the words were smeared here; Raven must have been

crying. “Watchmen was banned for having a black woman as the protagonist

and for not portraying the police force in an unambiguously positive

light; it wasn’t politically correct enough for the Conservatives.

Everyone involved with the show was arrested.”

Evey cried when she read it. She imagined what it must be like, to be

depraved of your life by childish losers who lose their shit at the mere

sight of a strong black woman, by selfish bastards who were so fucking

privileged they could get way with any atrocity simply by crying hard

enough, She cried as she imagined Raven cried when she put down these

words in the dark of her cell, knowing she’d die.

“They burned Irene with cigarette butts. I don’t know why they hate us

so much, why they’re so scared shitless by us. Is their masculinity so

fragile that it crumbles at the sight of two girls together? Is their

self-image so twisted that they can’t stand the sight of a successful

Asian person? They made Irene sign a confession saying that I seduced

her. I didn’t blame her. God, I loved her so. How can I blame her?”

She knew every inch of her cell. She knew every pitted indentation in

the hard plaster like she knew the back of her hand, and she didn’t even

know where she was. It got dark, and then light; she woke, and then she

slept. She didn’t know what day it is, or how much time had passed. She

found something inside a hole in the wall: it was a note written on

toiler paper, signed by a person named Raven Page.

“But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn’t live with

betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh, my poor Irene. And then

it was my turn. They beat me. They rape me. They waterboard me. I know

I’ll die here. The woman in the next cell, Wanda, died two days ago. I

know I’m going to follow her soon. I will die here, every inch of my

being shall perish. Every inch except for that last one inch.”

“An inch.” Evey read the note out in hushed whispers, imagining Raven

reading it with her. “It’s small and it’s fragile and it’s the only

thing in the world that’s worth having. We must never lose it, or sell

it, or give it away. We must never let them take it away from us. I

don’t know who you’re. I will never see you. But I want you to know I

love you. I hope you get out of this alive and escape into a better

world.”

She knew every inch of this cell.

“Sincerely Yours,”

This cell knew every inch of her.

“Raven Page.”

Except one.

- V -

“My name is Evey Kinney.” the man read the written confession out loud

for her. “On November 11th, 2022, I was recruited by the terrorist known

as Weapon V. I was subjected to the ungodly brainwash of his Islamic

faith, until I become a willing accomplice to his violent Communist

attacks. I can prove he has possession of a weapon of mass destruction,

and should be considered extremely dangerous.”

“Wait, what?” Evey laughed at the absurdity of it all. “First he’s a

Muslim, and then he’s a Commie? Not that the two are mutually exclusive,

but if you’re gonna make shit up, can you at least get your stories

straight first, instead of just accusing people you dislike with all the

labels you dislike? Only a coward would sign this ridiculous piece of

shit; you can all go fuck yourselves and die already!”

“You idealists, you’re all the same.” the man said coldly. “You think

you’re so pure and noble, ready to die for your stupid cause. But

sacrificing yourself is easy – are you ready to sacrifice others for

it?”

Three people appeared on the screen before her, each in a holding cell

much like the one Evey was in.

“The nigger calls himself Darwin; says he can survive anything.” the man

said. “The dyke calls herself Negasonic Teenage Warhead, if you can

believe it. And the haji is Kamala Khan of the Inhumans.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“If you don’t sign it, they’ll die.”

“What!?”

“Miss Prothero. Pastor Bishop. Dr. Surridge. For each attack you confess

to participating, one of them walks. And for each attack you refuse to

take responsibility of, one of them will be killed right now.”

“Why are you doing this!?” Evey shouted, her indignation over this

injustice driving her to the verge of tears. “Can’t you just fake my

signature or some shit!? Why threaten innocent people’s lives like

this!?”

“Clock’s ticking, Miss Kinney.” the man gave her no answer. “If you

don’t reply soon, we’ll kill them all. There’s more where they come

from, when we can arrest people because of skin colors alone.”

“Fine!” Evey finally lost her temper and slammed her fist down on the

table. “I’ll confess to anything! I’ll sign anything! Blame me for

assassinating John Fucking Kennedy if you want! Just let them go!”

“You’re willing to die for what you believe in, but you’re not willing

to kill for it?” the man asked her.

“Oh, I’ll fucking kill you if I could!” Evey growled. “But not innocent

people. Never innocent people.”

“Then there’s nothing left to threaten you with.” the man said as the

spotlight went out. “You’re free.”

“What?” Evey blinked and saw what was before her: it wasn’t a man at

all, just a cardboard cut-out.

“What the - ” she inspected the cardboard more closely and found a mini

microphone attached to it.

“What the hell!?” she began running through the corridors, but there was

no one there. The corridors became increasingly familiar until finally

she reached a familiar room with a familiar mask inside it:

“Welcome home, Evey.” Weapon V told her with open arms, and the pallid

white mask just smiled.

- V -

“You.” Evey blinked, her eyes wide. “You did this.” she slowly clenched

her fists and teeth. “To me.” she jumped at Weapon V and punched him in

the chest; he didn’t dodge or make a sound. “It was you! It was you this

whole time!” she screamed as she showered him with a flurry of blows.

“You tortured me! You fucking tortured me! What the fuck, Weapon V? Why?

Why the hell did you do it? Why!?”

“Because I love you like a little sister, Evey.” Weapon V said softly.

“Because I want to set you free.”

“Because - ” Evey growled and kicked Weapon V in the thigh. “Set me

free!? Don’t you realize what you did to me!?” she gave him a solid

shove, but his form didn’t bulge. “You almost drove me crazy!”

“If that’s what it takes, Evey.”

“I hate you!” Evey spat. “I hate you because you just talk shit and you

think you’re so fucking cool you don’t have to make any goddamn sense!

Nothing you say really means anything! You say you love me but you

tortured me for lulz, you say you want to set me free but you put me in

a fucking prison, man!”

“You were always in prison, Evey. You’ve been in prison your entire

life.” Weapon V said. “Everyone is born into a prison. We toil day and

night for the privilege to stay imprisoned, pleasing the slavers of our

own making, oblivious to the pain and suffering we inflict on our fellow

human beings. Some see it at the end of the line, how they have devoted

their good lives to a system of evil, and thus deserve no salvation from

anywhere. Now you see it too, and you’ll have to live with it, and for

that I’m sorry.“

“Then why!? Why tell me something just so it can torment me!? Why not

let me live in ignorance!?”

“Because admission of guilt is the first step to redemption.” Weapon V

stepped forward. “And taking responsibilities for oneself is the first

step to true freedom. People think they are being responsible by getting

a job, getting married, getting a child...but the truth is they have

never taken responsibilities for themselves, not even for a day in their

lives. They put their responsibilities and power in the hands of tyrants

by any other name, and in doing so became complicit in the oppression of

the less fortunate.”

“Shut up! Just...shut the fuck up!” Evey covered her ears. “I don’t

wanna hear it! Just leave me alone!”

“I know you’re scared.” Weapon V removed Evey’s hands, gently but

firmly. “That’s because you can feel real freedom dawning on you and it

scares you, just like it scares everyone else. Those who would trade

liberty for security deserve neither, for security is the most insidious

prison of all. That pounding of your heart, that sweating of your skin,

that feeling of discomfort when you don’t know what’s going to happen

and what the future will hold...that’s true freedom, Evey. Don’t fear

it; embrace it. Love it.”

“I...don’t..” Evey began to sob uncontrollably, her words came out in

unintelligible babbles. “What…”

“When you were asked to choose between your principles and your life,

you chose your principles.” he took her hand and led her toward an

elevator. “But when asked to choose between your dignity and the lives

of innocents, you chose to save their lives. That’s because you realized

that you’re responsible not to an authority like God, State, or Capital,

but to the lives and well-being of your fellow human beings. That’s

Anarchy: the freedom to be loved for who you are, and to love others for

who they are.”

“Outside?” Evey blinked when the elevator started to ascend. “I don’t

wanna be blindfolded again…”

“No more blindfolds, Evey.” Weapon V said as the door opened. “There’s

no more blindfolds for you.”

“The roof…” Evey whispered as they stepped into a freezing downpour,

into the storm. “It’s so cold...”

“Can you feel it, Evey?” Weapon V asked. “Can you feel how the cold rain

is pounding your skin?”

“Like I’ve never felt before.” Evey laughed. “And it’s wonderful. The

rain, the wind...everything.”

“Once upon a time, I had a night like this, alone under a roaring sky.”

Weapon V lifted Evey’s arms up into a “V” pose. “I was

transformed...transcendent...freed. Tonight is yours, Evey. Now you’re

free.”

Chapter IV : Violence

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me, Weapon V.” Evey said and

placed a kiss on Weapon V’s forehead. “But you made me realize that my

liberation is bounded up with yours, and that of everyone else. So thank

you, and let’s work together to free the American people, if you would

still have me.”

“I expected nothing less.” Weapon V said looking up from the piano. “And

you did it all by yourself. I merely provided the backdrop; the drama

was all your own, and what a great human drama it was!”

“It was a good backdrop.” Evey said with a laugh. “I really believed I

was in prison. It’s still hard for me to accept that it was all just you

and me; there were no guards...no interrogators...and no Raven.”

“Raven was real.” Weapon V said as he stood up and went to a door.

“Please, Evey...come with me.��

Weapon V took Evey to another room, with walls and ceiling covered by

posters and photos of many different faces, but all of them have the

same name and the same signature: Raven Page.

“Raven wrote the letter, in their own words, while they lived.” Weapon V

said. “I delivered it to you as it was delivered to me. The words you

wept over had transformed me as they have transformed you.”

“They’re beautiful.” Evey mused at the photo of a person with blue skin.

“Who were they, Weapon V?”

“They were the inmate of the prison cell next to mine.” Weapon V told

Evey. “They were Weapon W.”

- V -

“Remember what we discussed, Lex.” Alexander Stark thought back to his

meeting with the mysterious man in the pallid white mask and clutched

his briefcase. “Now go to your tower and repeat the Signal.”

“Mr. Stark?” the janitor blinked when she saw Stark go through the front

entrance. “I thought you don’t work here anymore?” nevertheless, she

made way for her former boss and even got the door for him.

“Not since that one-eyed thug Fury eminent-domained my ass, no.” Stark

laughed and showed her the briefcase. “It’s still my building though, so

they call me to play the maintenance guy when it acts up.”

“A genius like you, reduced to a working man.” the janitor sighed, not

knowing that Stark had invented nothing and merely acquired them with

his Father’s wealth. “Alas, how the mighty have fallen!”

Without another word, Stark stepped into the elevator, which took him to

the server room. The servers control the Sentinels: cat-sized,

spider-like drones connected to Cerebro, helping to detect Mutants and

spread the psychic blockade that prevents them from active use of their

powers. That’s about to change.

Stark took a USB from a hidden compartment. Engraved on its surface was

a single word: Forge. It was a testament to the utter incompetence of

Stark and the Shield agents who stole the tower from him that there were

open USB ports on the servers at all, but right now Stark was glad to

have been a fraud.

He plugged the thumb drive in, and a complex flower of mathematical

complexity blossomed inside the servers, bringing with them a short

video message recorded by the masked vigilante called Weapon V, which

appeared on every screen connected to the servers:

“Good day, America. It’s me again; I would introduce myself, but I’m

afraid I don’t have a name; you can call me Weapon V.” Weapon V’s image

said with a flourish. “For years, the Sentinels had watched your every

move in every hour of every day, rooting out un-American ideas like

equality or diversity before you can put them into action. Today, that

shackle had been lifted, and Americans are free to dream again.

“Thanks to Mr. Stark’s help, a number of the Sentinels had been infected

by a malware and are now emitting a Signal to counteract the castrating

effect of Cerebro, giving you your power and privacy back. No doubt the

authorities are even now trying to undo this damage to their tyrannical

regime, but you can find your own copy of the malware on the website

SignalForge.

“Show me your faith without deeds, if you can.” Weapon V concluded his

address by pointing a finger at the audience. “You claim you’re not

Fascists. Prove it. This Signal kills fascists. Repeat the Signal.”

- V -

“That son of a bitch Stark got away!” Frank growled into the video call.

“He had some kinda weird ass armor...then this big green guy came to

rescue him…they took out the server room...killed Fury too!”

“We’re trying to undo the signal and find the host of the SignalForge

site.” Drake said. “With Shield in disarray, it’s taking longer than

expected, and the site is being mirrored by civilians as we speak…”

“What the hell!?” Xavier, who had never raised his voice in his entire

life, finally lost his temper as he witnessed his perfect order

crumbling around him. “Where the hell is Eric!? Get him on a line now!”

“We don’t know.” Frank said with an expression of disgust. “The old man

hasn’t checked in since he’s sent on the mandatory leave. Maybe he

finally croaked during a chess game or something, heh.”

“You’ll address your superior with respect, Mr. Castle.” Xavier’s voice

turned cold, but the lingering anger was still apparent. “Do your jobs

and maybe we can still keep America great. Xavier out.”

The king of the Illuminati sat back on his throne of a wheelchair, angry

and frustrated. He had gave American people peace in security and the

light of civility; what more could they want from him?

“I built that machine for you, Xavier.” a line suddenly appeared on the

monitor before him, startling Xavier. “I gave it to you because I

thought you’d do the right thing. Now I’m going to unmake it.”

“Forge…?” the Professor blinked as he clutched at his chest. “No no no,

you’re dead! We killed you!”

“You can kill the flesh and blood,” appeared on the screen. “But ideas

are bulletproof. You will see.”

- V -

“What’s wrong, Rose?” Pamela asked her co-worker as they passed one of

those ridiculous “Peace at Any Cost, Civility Above All Else” posters,

which was vandalized with a big red “V” painted over it.

“They’re not gonna do anything for Derek.” Rose said gloomily. “The

government isn’t even gonna pay for his funeral. Says it doesn’t count

as killed in action since he didn’t die during office hours.”

“What the actual motherfuck.” Pamela bit her lips and stopped in her

trek. “He’s right, isn’t he?”

“Who’s right?” Rose blinked. “About what?”

“The man with the mask. Weapon V.” Pamela said. “We shouldn’t have to

live like this. It’s wrong.”

“Maybe so.” Rose sighed. “But what can we do?”

Rose walked on, leaving Pamela to brood on her own. Soon enough, a cop

came to harass the single woman like cops always do: it’s what happens

when you give people too much authority over others.

“Did you do this, Miss Hibbertia?” the cop turned out to be a frequent

at the diner. “I’m gonna have to pat you down. Thoroughly.” he said

leering at her. “Nothing personal, Pamela; just doing my job here.”

“So said every Nazi,” Pamela’s voice was dangerously even. “When they

operated the gas chambers.”

“What?” the cop blinked, startled by this open act of defiance. “Okay,

Miss Hibbertia, show me your -”

“It’s DOCTOR Hibbertia to you, asswipe!” the woman growled as leaves and

flowers blossomed in her brown hair, which quickly grew into tangling

vines, strangling the pig. “You know what? Never mind.”

“My name,” the Inhuman queen in hiding spat on the corpse of the dead

police man. “Is Snake Vine.”

- V -

“We have to do something!” the tiny Jewish girl beseeched the spectators

to intervene on behalf of a woman who was being beaten by the cops,

probably about to be shot. “They’re going to kill her!”

“Meh, just another white bitch.” a black man snorted. “I think a tranny

too. Think it’s fun to steal, that it’s quirky, when people like me had

to steal to survive. Now look at how fun it is to fight the system!”

“Would you feel the same if someone called you a nigger and then shot

your for shop-lifting?” the girl spat in rage, to the absolute horror

and fury of all onlookers. “I know I would be pretty fucking pissed if

someone called me a kike and tried to shoot me, but well I guess that’s

just me then, you cowards!”

The man fell silent, and so did the crowd. The girl sulked for a while

as the cops unholstered their guns.

“He’s right, Weapon V.” the girl gave the man a shove; he didn’t push

back. “You libs with your hand-wringing, you’re all the same; all you

care about is clout and power, you don’t give a shit about who suffers

and who dies! You’re all guilty. You are murderers by inaction, each and

every last one of you!”

That said, the girl ran toward the cops, with nothing but her slender

arms to defend her from the bullets.

“What the - ” the man blinked and ran after her instinctively. “Do you

have a fucking death wish!?”

He pulled her aside and the two fell to the floor, his bulk cushioning

her fall, the two of them narrowly escaping the bullets. But their

victory seemed meaningless, as the cops were converging around them,

their weapons locked and loaded and trained on an unarmed man and a

young girl, ready to murder.

“Fuck off!” the girl growled as she reached for the closest cop’s gun,

her hand phasing though it and came away with the bullets, disarming it.

“What, you can do that?” the man blinked.

“I wasn’t sure if I still could.” the girl said.

The police were all over them. They pulled the girl up by her hair while

giving the black man a beating.

“Run.” the man told the girl. “Save yourself.”

“Fuck off.” the girl said with a weak smile.

Just then, a hammer hit one of the cops on the side of his head,

splattering his brain across the concrete. The onlookers, at last

overwhelmed by the enormity of the injustice they had been aiding and

abiding for years, awakened to their moral conscience and dormant

humanity, righteous fury filling their hearts.

- V -

“Student protests continued at the Avengers Academy, protected by the

ex-Marine Captain Rogers.” the news said. “Mr. Stark threatens lawsuits

against the government if any harm were to come to them…”

“Those tree-hugging Inhumans attacked the Raft, freeing that terrorist

Kamala Khan.” the police radio said. “They are demanding 20% reduction

in carbon emission in exchange for the hostages…”

“Workers are striking all across the nation,” the news again. “Many of

them chanted the slogan of the Brotherhood, which had transformed into a

labor organization since the disappearance of Magneto…”

“They were all wearing that goddamn V mask.” police radio. “Can’t tell

Steve from Eve...we grabbed a buncha guys, turned out to be just kids

playing dress-up, the bank robbers were long gone by then…”

“All these riots and outrage...is this Anarchy in America, Weapon V?”

Evey asked between push-ups while listening to the comms and broadcasts

Weapon V had in the room, barely breaking a sweat or breathing hard. “Is

this the fabled ‘land of the free, home of the brave’?”

“No.” Weapon V shook his head. “This is only the twilight’s last

gleaming for a dying empire. Anarchy means ‘without rules’, not ‘without

order’. Rules, or involuntary order, breeds the disenfranchised, the

worshipers of St. Guillotine. Representative ‘democracy’ is like figure

skating: beautiful on the surface, with cold vortex lurking just below.

And that layer of ice they’re on is precariously thin indeed.”

“This isn’t Anarchy, Evey.” Weapon V concluded. “This is chaos.”

- V -

“I’m in charge now that the old man isn’t coming back!” Frank told his

fellow officers. “We’re gonna have a new unit – I’m calling it the

Banishers! We’re gonna banish the un-Americans from this land!”

“This is our logo:” Frank pulled a skull mask over his head. “The

message is clear: if you don’t like our America, if you have any

complaint about it whatsoever...you can go home, or go to hell and die!”

“They’ll join us or die!” Frank sprayed spittle with patriotic fervor.

“Anyone who isn’t straight, white, or Christian...all the un-Americans

will convert to our way or life, or they won’t have a life at all!”

“Fascism, when first detecting chaos at its heels, will entertain the

vilest schemes to preserve its orderly facade.” Weapon V continued. “But

it’s always order without love, justice, or liberty, which can’t stop

their little world’s inevitable descent into hell on Earth: after all,

it’s always been hell for the oppressed.

“Fascism wears two faces: the Liberal and the Conservative. The Liberal

dangles a false hope of reform before the people, if they’d only

continue to support the system that exploited them. The Conservative

attacks the Liberal mercilessly, but in truth they’re two sides of the

same coin, a coin for the slaver.

“The collapse of Fascism sends cracks through bedrooms and boardrooms,

churches and schools alike. All rules are tyranny, and all institutions

are oppression. Equality and freedom are not luxuries that can be easily

cast aside; without them, order cannot exist without becoming an

instrument of violence.”

“Are you almost finished?” Evey inquired about what he had spent the

last hour on while they talked.

“See for yourself.” Weapon V pulled his hands away from his house of

cards. “The playing cards, royal soldiers to their monarch, with numbers

on their faces, color-coded for their conveniences. Poor cards, your

pretty little empire took you so long to build, but now with a single

snap of history’s fingers…”

Weapon V snapped his fingers.

“It all goes down.”

- V -

Eric stood before the abandoned Genosha Resettlement Camp, the toilet

where all the “undesirables” of respectable American society were

flushed down into. He had the syringe he found in Dr. Surridge’s fridge

in his hand; it was labeled “Super Soldier Serum.” He didn’t know if

Surridge kept it in the fridge, or if Weapon V planted it there; he

didn’t even know if it’s actually the Serum at all, it could just as

easily be cyanide, LSD, or water. But he had to try it. He had to try

his best to understand what made Weapon V. He owed it to the world, and

he owed it to himself, to find out who he is, who Weapon V is...

...Who Magneto was, beyond just another voice stifled by Xavier, his

armor another trophy in a museum. His information was scrubbed as if he

was an X-Man; all Eric could find were hearsay about how close he and

Xavier was, that they were best friends or even lovers. Imagine a man

willing to betray his best friend, his lover even, for the sake of

power, in pursuit of his vision of a perfect world...what kind of man

love like that? What kind of monster would put systems and institutions

above human lives and suffering, and only visits what remained of their

friends and loved ones in museums and graveyards?

He injected the translucent liquid into his vein. Now he was

strapped-in, counting down from his wrist to his heart to his brain,

ready for take off. He didn’t know what to expect, so he decided to take

a look around when there was still daylight. He found an oven. This must

be the oven. The one where they cooked people in, turning them into

ashes. If he had known all of this atrocity was happening, would he

still joined the force? Why did he join the force in the first place?

What could it possibly achieve?

He saw two bodies hanging down from the barbed fence, one black and

another Native American. They were both naked, with heavy bruises and

deep cuts all over. Even though he had seen much worse in his work, Eric

knelt down and threw up. He was disgusted by the naked hatred of the

perpetrators, as well as the apathy of the “respectable” Americans to

allow this to happen under their noses. And at that point he realized

this cruelty is nothing new. It’s the American way. It always was, and

always will be.

He felt overwhelmed. He tried to go back the way he came, but suddenly

the gate was so impossibly far away. He can’t walk that far; his legs

felt like jelly and everything was thrumming. He was trapped in a job

that disgusted him, but his only “friend” is an asshole who thinks with

his guns instead of his brain or heart, just like the rest of them on

the force. He was alone, he was so horribly alone. He wished his old

friends were here...his old comrades...he used to have those, back in

the days of the Brotherhood…

Oh. Oh, look! There they were! They were all smiling; they were all

happy. God, it’s been so long…he had forgotten how rich the color of

someone’s skin could be, a million different shades instead of just a

pale and sickly white...the girls he saw kissing each other at the

demonstrations, and the men, so gentle and soft-spoken...oh Jesus, he

missed them...he missed their voices and their walk, their food and

their clothes, their art and their music. His friends...there at the

Pride parades, the Antifa rallies, the strikes…

“Beast...Toad...Pyro…” he muttered their names, almost like praying.

“Destiny...Mystique...Forge...”

He wanted them to see beyond the uniform. He wanted them to know that he

cared. But it was no use. One by one, they were taken behind the

chemical shed and shot for the crimes of their existence, their bodies

burnt to ash in the people oven. They would never know he cared, now

that they were all dead, their ashes flushed down the toilet. It was

just as well; what was his care if he didn’t act upon it? Like everyone,

he talked about liberty and justice while working for a system of

injustice and oppression.

“I love you…!” Eric broke down into tears, for the first time in...the

first time as far as he remembered.

He saw movement in the main compound. He went in and saw a pile of

documents stacked on a table.

“Animal mutation experiment, Weapon V:” Dr. Surridge declared as she

suddenly appeared right next to him. “Subject exhibits close to human

intelligence and form, as well as a potent healing factor…”

The subject, a mutated wolverine, was howling in pain and agony, its

twisted limbs vaguely resembling that of a person, with sharp mental

claws protruding from its paws, covered by black opera gloves.

“All clones so far had died from accelerated aging and cellular

degeneration.” Dr. Surridge continued, as if the Eric’s horrified face

wasn’t staring at her. “Subject 23 was the only one to have survived…”

“What the fuck are you doing, Tessa?” Eric called out and tried to reach

for the good doctor. “You’re better than this; I know you are. You have

a heart...you gave free medicine to poor children…”

“And who made them poor in the first place, hm?” Bishop appeared behind

him. “It was you! Whiteys! You took all the money and leave the rest of

us only tidbits, so we fight over scraps like fucking rats!”

“Bishop?” Eric blinked as he turned around, but Bishop was at his back

no matter how much he turned.

“Nah, Imma just a pawn!” Bishop laughed. “That’s what whiteys think, no?

You can build huts out of shit and call it architecture, but when

Egyptians or Natives built pyramids, it’s aliens or super muties!”

“Are you one of them super muties, hm?” Bishop raised a quizzical

eyebrow. “Are you Magneto?”

“I’m not - ” Eric began, and then bit his tongue because: “I don’t

know...who he is...or...who I am…”

Someone grabbed his arms. It was Emma Prothero in her warden’s uniform,

except there were three of them, two of them grabbing his arms while one

led them all toward the cells and the chemical shed.

“No, please, stop it!” Eric cried in fear and confusion. “I have served

faithfully! Is that not enough?”

The three Emmas all turned to face him, but the only word that came out

of their mouths is just this:

“Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

Goo-ku!”

“Leave me alone!” Eric swung his arms and scattered papers all over the

floor; when he came to it he was standing in front of a cell, and the

only person he could see was a blue person on the inside.

“Me and Irene’s only son.” the person told him. “Keep him safe, Magneto.

You owed us that much.”

“You and Destiny’s child, yes.” Eric nodded, reaching out his hand. “I’m

so sorry, Mystique. I wish - ”

He wanted to apologize, to beg them for forgiveness, but his plea fell

on the deaf ears of dead people.

“I’m sorry, Eric.” Xavier told him, in a memory lost in the sea of time,

a memory that’s only set loose because of Frank’s counterattack. “But

Magneto has to go. They all have to go. For the sake of peace.”

How? Eric asked himself as he climbed into the cell and curled up into a

fetal position. How did he get here? To this stinking place – his

conscience, his job, his life...his prison, his hell, his punishment.

Who imprisoned him here? Who was keeping him here? Who made him

detective Eisenhardt, a slave of the US government? Who could release

him from his torment? Who’s strangling and stifling him except -

“...Me?”

He raised his hand and pushed at the metal door to his cell through

sheer force of will, bending it out of the frame without ever laying a

finger on it. When he walked out of his inferno, he saw the letter “W”

engraved on the door, now laying upside-down on the floor, looking more

like a stylized “M” instead. M for Magneto, Master of Magnetism, moving,

mutating, mowing down the monsters that manipulated his mind, feeling

maternal, feeling magnificent, feeling this moxie, this magic, this

majesty, this…

“Marvel.” he sighed, standing alone beneath a roaring sky, freed from

his American nightmare at last.

- V -

“Things are spinning out of control.” Drake told Madrox and put a badge

into his hands. “By the power vested in me, I officially deputize you.

Welcome to the side of law and order, Mr. Madrox.”

“Long time no see, Don Essex.” Madrox went back to his old boss, hiding

his gun behind a badge like every coward. “Compliments from my new

employers.” then he shot the mob boss down like a dog.

“Sorry boss, but I moved up in the food chain.” Madrox sat down in

Essex’s chair while his duplicates cleaned up the scene. “After all,

what’s law enforcement if not the biggest, meanest mob in the nation?”

- V -

“Are you gonna do something,” Evey asked, impatient. “Or just hide down

here and sit out the chaos?”

“The chaos progresses splendidly without us, Evey.” Weapon V said. “For

my part, I rather think it’s time we put certain things in order.”

“The hell does that mean?” Evey pressed on. “Are we gonna do something

or not? What will happen?”

“Que sera, sera.” Weapon V sang. “Whatever will be, will be.”

“A song isn’t an answer.” Evey scowled. “Whatever will be? I wanna know

what you’ll do, Weapon V.”

“You want me to show you my will?” Weapon V asked. “Very well.” a nod.

“Well then…this way.”

“Not exactly what I asked, but whatevs.” Evey shrugged and followed

Weapon V through the corridors.

“Knowledge is like air:” Weapon V took Evey to the room filled with

banned books, the room she saw when she was first brought to the Danger

Room. “It’s essential to life, and no one should be denied it.”

“Oh, c’mon, Weapon V!” Evey waved her hands for emphasis. “No more

games! You’ve always been mysterious...about yourself, this place, your

plans...if knowledge is air, you’re strangling me here!”

“Quite the reverse, Evey.” Weapon V replied. “I have been teaching you

how to breath. Now, this way.”

“In the digital era, the people worship the God of Black Mirrors and

live in the United States of Social Media.” he showed her a room filled

with electronics and computers. “Pixels and bytes are their reality; by

manipulating codes and data, we can remake reality to our liking, just

as the technocrats always do.”

“Oh, these rooms are connected?” Evey asked as she began to grasp the

geometry of the Danger Room.

“Everything is connected, Evey.” Weapon V led Evey to the room with

photos and posters of every role Raven had ever played. “Everything and

everyone. You must understand that knowledge is not all your heritage;

it also includes passion and conviction like Raven’s. And romance.

Always, always romance.”

“In midst the insurrection’s clamor, it’s easy to forget what we’re

fighting for, what we’re willing to die for.” he led her to the room

with a piano and other musical instruments. “Do you hear the people

sing? Anarchy must embrace the noises of bombs and gunfire, but she

always loves sweet music more.”

“Edelweiss, edelweiss…” Evey played it on the piano. “Man, I still can’t

get it right. It’ so simple too!”

“Here you’ll find books and equipment that will help you make bombs out

of groceries or make drugs cheaper than water; use it wisely.” Weapon V

took Evey to a laboratory. “We can never have too much science; with it

ideas can germinate in a bed of theory, form, and practice, which

assists their growth.”

“But we must be a vigilant and constant gardener,” Weapon V opened a

door to his rose garden. “For some seeds are the seeds of destruction,

and the most iridescent blooms are often the most dangerous.”

“You got a rose for each of your...vendetta.” Evey said. “Is there a

rose here for Professor Xavier?”

“Oh no, not here.” Weapon V shook his head. “For him, I have cultivated

a most special Rose. Come.”

“What’s on the next floor?”

“Not so much a floor as a mezzanine.” Weapon V put a few bricks wrapped

in paper into Evey’s hands. “Just one more floor to go. If you can help

me carry these, I will be grateful. Just be careful with them.”

“Sure.” Evey nodded. “What are these?”

“C-4 explosives.”

“Explosives!?” Evey drew in a breath. “What are you gonna blow up? What

are you doing with them?”

“I’m not going to blow up anything.” Weapon V laughed. “Not anymore. So

help me dispose of them.”

“There are two wolves inside every revolution: the wolverine and the

shepherd.” Weapon V told Evey while they walked further down the spiral

staircase. “Thus the wolverine devours other predators; clear a path so

the shepherd may lead the herd to a better world. Predators, once slain,

make further murder’s means irrelevant. Away with our claws and tooth,

then! Away with our wolverines! They have no place within our better

world. But let us raise a toast to all our killers, all our monsters,

the best at what they do even if what they do isn’t very nice. Let’s

drink their health, then meet with them no more.”

“Wow, it’s so cool!” Evey cheered when she saw the plane Weapon V

stashed down there. “What is it?”

“Just a memento from another life.” Weapon V said lightly and opened the

hangar of the plane, which was filled with flowers as well. “Come, let’s

be discreet and hide all the C-4 behind the spider lilies…”

“It’s like another garden in there.” Evey giggled as she walked out of

the plane and looked it over. “It looks so old...where did you get it?

What did you use it for? Were you like a superhero or something?”

But Weapon V simply turned his head and walked away without another

word, so Evey followed him.

“What are the flowers for?” Evey asked, but the pallid white mask just

smiled. “...What are they for, Weapon V?” she asked again, but he never

said a word, as if he hadn’t heard. “I asked you a question!”

“You asked me to show you my will.” Weapon V said at last. “I have done

so. Now I have to wait.”

“Weapon V, I’m tired of your puzzles. Just tell me!” Evey said

dejectedly. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting for the end.”

“Wait, what? Is that - ” Evey blinked. “More fucking lyrics!? It is,

innit!? I remember that reference!” she sighed. “I give up, Weapon V. No

more games. What’s so bad you can’t tell it to me straight?”

“Weapon V, I’m waiting.” Evey crossed her arms below a movie poster.

“What are you trying to say?”

The poster was of a 1973 American crime thriller directed by Robert

Altman, starring Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe, an adaptation based on

a 1953 hard-boiled detective novel by Raymond Chandler:

The Long Goodbye.

- V -

Rose looked at the cardboard box on her bed as she got dressed with

somewhere to go; a big red “V” was painted on one side. She found the

box on her doorsteps; there was a Sentinel drone inside, its legs

removed, still broadcasting the Signal that kills Fascists. She put the

legless drone into her purse after she squeezed into her dress; without

legs its spherical shape was barely bigger than a can of soda.

“Dear Mrs. Summers:” the note that came with the box said, “I understand

you have suffered a great deal of humiliation following your husband’s

death, since this country is too busy using people up to take care of

them or their widows. Since I was there when your husband died, I feel

obliged to help you get whatever little justice from a fundamentally

unjust system. Sincerely Yours, Weapon V.”

Rose hesitated. What she was about to do was unthinkable for a normal

human being. Most countries go years or decades without it occurring

even once, though in the great America it’s quite common.

“What the actual motherfuck. He’s right, isn’t he?” her coworker

Pamela’s words echoed in Rose’s ears, helping her to make up her mind.

“Weapon V. We shouldn’t have to live like this. It’s wrong.”

Rose picked up a picture of herself with her husband Derek and her

sister Jean. She kissed it softly, remembering all the good times the

three of them had together, then she burned it in her bare hands.

- V -

The Holocaust Museum, Washington D. C.

They put his armor here after his “death”, as he is the son of Holocaust

survivors. They couldn’t erase him, but they could insult his memories

by scrubbing the hammer and sickle from his chest place to satisfy the

incessant demand for political correctness from the Conservatives,

pretending as if the Nazis didn’t also genocide queers and political

dissidents like himself, just like how that stupid Victims of Communism

Memorial Foundation had deemed it fit to put the death toil from the

Legacy Virus on Communism, on account of it being originated from a

“Communist” nation. How laughable.

Soon, he would claim even more lives in the name of Communism, lives of

the bourgeoisie swines.

He took the helmet into his hands, turned it around to inspect the

stylize purple “M” on the red surface, before putting it on. It was a

gift from his old flame, Xavier; it was given to him so he’d know that

his thoughts and his love were his, and not the result of coercion from

Xavier’s telepathy. But in the end, it didn’t matter; nothing ever

really mattered to Xavier – not him, not the country, not their friends.

It’s about power. It had always been about power. Power without belief,

without faith, without conviction.

He put on the armor and the cloak. Flexed his fingers. The various metal

casings rattled under his will.

There was no memorial to commemorate the victims of Capitalism. The

homeless people who starved to death because the government put bleach

into the free food offered by kind citizens. Children being worked to

death in sweat shops all over Asia and Africa, so that Westerners can

have blood chocolate or coffee on the cheap. Arabs being blown to pieces

and shot full of holes, so the Americans can steal the oil from their

ancestral lands. All of them, sacrificed on the altar of Moloch, cost of

business as usual.

No more. No more business as usual. No more quiet complicity. Today they

would make a joyful noise!

“Hello, Detective Eisenhardt.” a voice came from behind him. He turned

around. “So, we meet at last.”

It was the Anarchist, the terrorist, the revolutionary, the masked

vigilante calling himself Weapon V.

“Eric Eisenhardt is dead.” he took out his sidearm and unloaded the

bullets. Adamantium, requisitioned when Surridge found trace amount of

the metal in the wounds of his victims. “My name is Magneto.”

Then he shot the bullets into Weapon V’s body through sheer force of

will, killing the villain at last.

- V -

“Now I’d like to introduce my very good friend:” the President said.

“Give it up for Professor Xavier!”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Xavier was all smile and wave as he rolled

onto the stadium. “In the last few months, we have suffered a series of

terrorist attacks, committed by the Mutant supervillain calling himself

Weapon V. These despicable and cowardly acts could only be conceived in

the mind of a mad man who is utterly devoid of any compassion, knowing

neither the fear of God nor the love of science.”

Yes, despite her fear, for it’s insignificant, just like everything else

about her sad, miserable little life.

“I would like to remind my fellow Americans that this country is built

on a dream, the dream of liberty. That means sometimes we have to break

bread with people we disagree with, and listen to opinions we found

atrocious. We cannot simply discount someone’s opinion because we think

they’re racist, sexist, or homophobic; we mustn’t ignore entire people

simply because they produced violent radicals.”

Yes, even though she would die from it, because if she didn’t then her

life would have meant nothing.

“The only people that we must always resist are the Communists and

Muslims. Their ways of lives are fundamentally un-American. We must

never break bread with these political extremists and violent radicals;

they’ve forfeited their rights to be heard the moment they decided to

criticize the sacred laws of our nation and attack its divine

institutions. We must focus on eliminating these threats completely.”

Yes, because their lives were wasted on his vision of perfect order, the

only vision they were allowed.

“We mustn’t use violence in place of dialogues. We must always trust in

order and the system, to work with them in striving for our goals. For

we’re simply the greatest democracy in the world, perfect in its

conception and immaculate in its execution; there’s nothing in this

country that cannot be fixed if you simply call your representatives and

cast your sacred votes. The institution is simply God himself.”

Yes, because his kind lead them to hell, and then tell them the only way

out is to suffer more in hell.

“This way, miss.” Drake smiled as he cleared a path for her through the

crowd. “He will appreciate it.”

Yes, because she’s nearly there so everyone think she’s important; she’s

not, but she will be, after today.

“It seems like I have a visitor.” Xavier smiled warmly as Drake led her

onstage. “What’s your name?”

Yes, because they’ve met a dozen time and her husband and sister died

for him and you motherfucker -

“You can’t even remember my fucking face!” Rose said coldly as hot

flames engulfed her and her surroundings, shaping into a form that

roughly resembles a giant bird made of fire, a fiery phoenix that

devoured the entire stadium in its heat. Drake tried to protect Xavier

and the President with a shield of ice, but his gesture was as futile as

trying to put out the Sun with a water gun. They were all burned.

After today, Rose Summers (nee Gray) became the pride and joy of

Liberals for all eternity: the first and only woman to have successfully

assassinated a sitting President of the United States of America.

Chapter V : Vanguards

“Evey…”

“Finally, you’re back!” Evey turned around to meet Weapon V. “You just

fucking walked off after you showed me the plane thing. What the fuck

was that all about? Where have you been all this time? I - ”

Before her very eyes, the man who she believed to be indestructible

collapsed into a puddle of blood.

“Evey…” Weapon V coughed. “Listen carefully...my end is here, and I

don’t have long in this world.”

“Weapon V…!” Evey panicked. “Oh God...! Don’t talk, I’ll go get the

bandages! Just...hang in there!”

“No...” Weapon V shook his head. “I’d be dead by the time you’re back,

there are things I must say…”

“This country is not saved...far from it. But its old beliefs are in

shambles...and perhaps from their ruins we may rebuild. That is their

task...to rule themselves, their lives, loves, and lands...with this

achieved, then let them speak of salvation...for without it, they are

surely carrion, a fine feast for the crows…”

“Oh no…” Evey held Weapon V’s cold body in her arms, her clothes soaked

in blood. “Oh please…”

“By the turn of decade they shall know their fate: either a rose bud of

true freedom among the rubble blooms, or else it has bloomed too late,

and a poisonous flower of Fascism shall blossom in its place. But what

about you, little sister, now that I’m dead and gone? What does destiny

has in store for you?”

“You’re not!” Evey cried, her warm tears dripping onto the pallid white

mask. “You’re not gonna die!”

“Hush, now. You must learn whose face lies behind this mask, but you

must never see my face. Clear?”

“What?” Evey blinked. “What are you saying? No more puzzles, Weapon V!

Don’t leave me like this!”

“White House...” Weapon V’s breaths grew shallow. “Black bird...must

fly...gimme a Viking funeral…”

“Good luck, sweet Evey.” was his last words. “I love you, little

sister.”

The he stopped breathing.

“Brothers, sisters, and everyone in between and beyond, I have an

announcement:” Magneto addressed the striking workers before one of

Stark’s factories. “I have slain the villainous terrorist Weapon V.”

A commotion broke out among the crowd; both from the news of Weapon V’s

death, and the apparent resurrection of a revolutionary vanguard long

thought dead, presumably murdered by the government.

“While we condemn his chaotic methods and anti-State rhetoric, we must

also thank him for awakening the social consciousness of the American

people.” Magneto continued, “He reminded us why a country built upon the

dreams and labors of workers should not be controlled by a few elites

and robber barons; a nation of workers should be just that: a country by

the workers, for the workers, of the workers!”

“Humans, Mutants:” Magneto raised his fist high into the air. “One

struggle, one Brotherhood!”

While the people got properly riled up by his speech, a handful of black

vans arrived at the scene, and police officers with body armor and riot

shields aimed their automatic weapons at the unarmed mass.

“Old man?” one of them called out from under his skull mask; it was

Frank Castle. “Where the hell have you been? What the fuck are you

wearing? Are you a goddamn faggot or something now?”

“I’m homosexual, yes.” Magneto said calmly as he lifted the vans with

his mind. “And Frankie boy?”

“My name is Magneto.” then he made Castle and his Banishers roadkills

beneath their own vehicles.

- V -

Evey stared at the body. She didn’t know how long it had been. Seconds?

Minutes? Hours? Days?

She walked down the spiral staircase, thinking about everything Weapon V

had told her. She couldn’t believe he was dead. He wouldn’t die and

leave her in all this confusion. So he couldn’t be dead. That was all

there was to it. She would walk up those stairs and through that door

and he would be alive and it would just be another mean trick, another

part of her education. No hanging back, she went back...

No movement. Dead then. What happens next? Weapon V never said. He said

he was educating her, but he never actually said what he was educating

her for. He never told her what she was supposed to do.

She walked toward the body, very quietly, very reverently; stooped down,

her fingers struggling with elasticated straps, she took off the mask…

His name was James Howlett. He was one of the X-Men, way back when the

X-Men was just Xavier’s personal superhero team, plugging holes created

by a corrupt system without addressing the underlying rot. As time went

on, he grew increasingly disgruntled, and after one black-bag job too

many involving the death of a child, he turned on his former masters and

was sent off to Genosha for re-education…

No. That wasn’t what she did. What she did was, in tears she stumbled

over to the corpse. It was slippery with blood beneath her fingers, but

she tore the mask aside, and…

Their name was Raven Page, Weapon W. They wrote the note to Evey when

they thought they would die in genosha, but they survived while the

actual Weapon V died. With their power of shapeshifting, they assumed

the identity of Weapon V and proceeded to kill off everyone who worked

at the camp, so no one would know who they were and go after their son

while they avenged their dead girlfriend…

No. That wasn’t it, either. Because he was so larger than life, Weapon

V. And what if he was just a nobody? Even if he was somebody, he would

be smaller, because of all the people he could be but wasn’t…

She shook her head. Oh, she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she meant.

She should just do it; she should just walk across the floor and take

hold of the mask…

His name was Hank Kinney, Father of Evey Kinney. He was taken away by

the X-Men but instead of dying in the camps, he was thoroughly

radicalized by his traumatic experience there. He went from a

mild-mannered man and political moderate to a violent extremist and

political radical, once again showing people how there was no greater

recruitment tool for terrorism than government cruelty…

No, she was past that one. Weapon V wasn’t her Father; she knew that.

Even if he was, it wouldn’t be enough. If she took off that mask,

something would go away forever, be diminished because whoever he was

isn’t as big as the idea of him. But he said she had to learn whose face

lies behind that mask…

So she started walking towards the body, trying not to tread in all the

blood. It didn’t move. It didn’t look much like a person anymore;

something had gone from it. She knelt, her hands were trembling, she

could hardly find the fastenings, but finally she lifted away that

maddening smile…

Her name was Evey Kinney. The State murdered her Father, and the Capital

forced her into crime. She was nearly raped and killed by the people who

had sworn to protect and serve, until an outlaw saved her and took her

under his wing, teaching her everything the school is afraid for her to

know. Weapon V asked what her destiny was; she thought he wouldn’t

believe in destiny, but now she understood him.

Destiny, free will: the same thing.

Came here, put here: no difference.

What was done to her created her.

She didn’t start the fire.

She was simply the smoke.

And at last she knew.

She knew who Weapon V must be.

So she smiled that maddening smile...

...And put on the mask.

- V -

The prison doors rattled and then came loose from their frames under

Magneto’s command, releasing the inmates back into the civilized world

that rejected them because of their race, gender, or religion.

“What is your name, child?” he asked the closest prisoner, a teenager

with brown skin and blue hair.

“Dominic Petros.”

“Did your parents pick it for you,” Magneto asked. “Like when they

picked your clothes and school?”

“Look, I don’t like it either.” Dominic said. “But it beats being called

Snowflake just ‘cause I’m enby.”

“I don’t want to hear the name your parents or anyone else give you.”

Magneto shook his head. “I want to know the name you chose for

yourself.” he shot a quizzical gaze toward the other inmates. “Well,

perhaps your former housemates could provide some ideas…?” indicated

them with a wave of hand.

“I’m Darwin.” said the black man whose features were ever-changing,

adapting to the circumstances.

“Call me Jubilee.” said the Chinese woman who created the November 11th

fireworks for Weapon V.

“Negasonic Teenage Warhead.” all eyes gathered on the lesbian. “...What?

It’s a good name, innit?”

“Do you realize,” Darwin smirked. “That you can sing that name with the

tune of the Ninja Turtles?”

“You really can, heh.” Jubilee giggled. “Negasonic Teenage Warhead!

Teenage Mutant Negasonic!”

“Hm, how about…” Dominic put a finger to xis lips and thought about it

for a while. “...Avalanche?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Avalanche.” Magneto smiled and offered xer a

gloved hand. “I am Magneto.”

“Wait, what? You’re Magneto?” Jubilee blinked in surprise. “THE Magneto?

From the Brotherhood?”

“No way, man!” Darwin shook his head. “He’s dead! No one had seen him

since the Legacy Virus!”

“Well, I - ” Magneto was interrupted when a prison guard came running;

the name tag revealed him to be one Mr. Kibblesmith. Avalanche shot the

man a dirty glance, and then suddenly grinned widely.

“Yo, dipshit!” Avalanche laughed as a snowflake fell onto Kibblesmith’s

head. Then another. And then another. The snowflakes kept falling until

the dipshit was buried in an avalanche. “I’m Avalanche!”

- V -

“They’re still there?” asked one of the Madroxes. “All the same fucking

mask. Gives me the creeps.”

“Tell me about it.” said another of the Madroxes. “It’s like that

goddman Occupy shit all over again.”

“It’s that Weapon V clownface.” the third Madrox said. “Reminded people

about that stupid V mask.”

“At least they’re not doing anything.” observed the first Madrox. “Just

sitting there, waiting for…?”

“Magneto came back from the dead.” the second Madrox said. “They wish

Weapon V would too.”

“People don’t come back from the dead everyday.” the third said. “This

isn’t a fucking comic book.”

As if on cue, the speakers around the plaza crackled to life, and a

silhouette appeared atop a nearby building, framed by a cloak and a top

hat, arms raised to the sky in the shape of the letter “V”.

“Good evening, America.” the villain said. “I would introduce myself,

but truth be told, I don’t have a name; you can just call me Weapon V.

Don’t worry now, I’ll keep this one short and sweet as well…”

“Since the dawn of the human race, a small minority of oppressors took

up the responsibilities we each should have taken for ourselves.” Weapon

V said. “In doing so, they took our power; by doing nothing, we gave it

away. We propped up these idols in the hopes that they would protect us

from prosecution, but we also gave them the authority to oppress the

less fortunate. We have seen where their way leads, though concentration

camps and burning battlefields, straight toward the human

slaughterhouse.

“The founders of this nation put down the laws in the misguided belief

that the institution will protect us from tyranny. But all rules are

tyranny, and all institution are oppression; when people trust in the

institutions of the State and the system of Capitalism as surely as they

believed in a heavenly God, they created a worse kind of tyranny: a

tyrannical system with no face, no soul, and no mind, it knows only to

consume everything in its path in service of the institutions, a tyranny

cheered on by the majority.

“In Anarchy, there is another way. With the myth of State and Capital

out of the way, the real bond that binds us together as human beings

becomes apparent. Our only responsibility is to ourselves and each

other; we are to accept no rules, no systems, and no institutions, but

to give our fellow human beings a helping hand when one is required of

us. With that achieved, from ruins shall come new lives, hope

reinstated. Everybody says that Anarchy is dead, but you see, reports of

my death were...exaggerated.

“Tomorrow, the White House will be destroyed, its walls reduced to

rubble, an end to what had came before.” Weapon V concluded. “Tonight,

all of you musk ask yourself a question: are you ready to do more than

just wearing the mask? Are you ready to embody the mask and its message?

Are you ready to become a weapon: a weapon against injustice, a weapon

against tyranny...a weapon for Anarchy?”

“And so, adios.” Weapon V tipped her top hat at the crowd before she

vanished behind the building.

A moment of quiet contemplation preceded the uproar; the more absolute

the hush, the more shocking the thunderclap. At last the people realized

their suffering was caused not by the cruelty of fate, but by the

injustice of their fellow human beings, and a great tide of righteous

fury swept over the nation, and there weren’t enough Madroxes in the

whole world to stop a people who had awakened to the truth.

- V -

“All species on Mother Earth needs her to survive.” Snake Vine told the

handful of Inhumans on the roof with her. “But Mother Earth doesn’t need

any of us. Everyone looks to an environment killer like Stark or his

accomplices in the government when they said ‘looking out for number

one’; well, it’s time someone starts looking out for the real number

one! The Inhumans will succeed where humans fail!”

A dark shape leapt out of a bat-shaped helicopter and landed on the roof

near the Inhumans. Everyone could readily tell who the newcomer was;

Bruce Bolt, a good-for-nothing playboy with the power to create

shockwaves when he shouts. He became a trillionaire by the virtue of

marrying the princess of Wakanda, but all he did with that fortune was

making a bat fursuit he could beat poor criminals in.

“Your villainy ends here, Poison Ivy!” he said slicing at the hair-vines

covering the building with a bat-shaped knife. “Release the good,

hard-working bankers inside this building from your vines at once!”

“My name is Snake Vine, bat-brain!” she said with a sigh and her hands

on her hips. “And why should I? The Earth and the people don’t need

bankers to survive, but they sure as hell need more plants!”

“Because you don’t own this building!” Bruce growled. “The survival and

well-being of the planet and the human species are secondary to a piece

of paper that says who owns this plot of God-made land!”

“Well, when you put it that way - ” Snake Vine wanted to snark him more

because he was so close to having a breakthrough, but it was interrupted

when a pair of giant palms crushed him like a cockroach.

“Kamala!?” Snake Vine blinked. “Did you just fucking murder him? Good

job, I’m so proud of you!”

“Did not.” Kamala examined the broken Bat as she peeled him from her

shrinking palms. “A shame.”

“Well, take him with us then.” Snake Vine said as she turned to leave.

“He might just get it right yet.”

- V -

“Give me a Viking funeral.” he told her. That wasn’t much. That wasn’t

much to ask. Not after what he did. He came out of an abattoir unharmed,

but no unchanged. He realized the necessity of freedom and equality, not

just for himself or the selected few, but for all human beings. He

realized it, and instead of just talking about it, he dared to put it

into action. She didn’t agree with everything he said and did, but at

the end of the day, she would rather have him by her side than anyone

who has nothing but words.

His foes thought he sought vengeance upon their flesh alone, but he

gorged their ideology as well, what little there was to it; he revealed

Liberalism and its mockery of democracy for the shams that they are, a

mere hotbed for extremism to fester and grow among the victims of its

apathetic institutions. Desperate people act, desperately. Either they’d

put the blame on the marginalized people they’ve oppressed and march

toward an early grave with Fascism, or they’d have to embrace the true

liberty of Anarchism.

Now the people stood within the ruins of their civilized society, a

prison meant to feast upon their lives and outlive them all. The prison

gate was open; they could leave together, or fell instead to squabbling

and new chains. The choice was theirs, and no one else’s, as ever it

must be. She would not lead them, but she would help them build, and she

would kill when they were threatened by predators that wish to harm and

exploit them. The age of wolverines was no more; they had no place in

this better world.

“Give me a Viking funeral.” he told her.

“It’s yours, brother.” Evey whispered and put Weapon Vy into a casket

full of spider lilies. “It’s yours.”

Away. Away he went, with all his spider lilies and C-4, soaring high in

the sky within the embrace of a metal Valkyrie. How much explosives were

on that plane? She never bothered to count the packages. More than

enough, she’d bet; it’s always double or nothing with him. “The

Blackbird must fly”, he told her. Lockheed SR-71 "Blackbird": the plane

used by X-Men back when they were Xavier’s superhero team, with stealth

technology from the genius called Forge. “Give me a Viking funeral.” he

told her.

She had 5 minutes to take the elevator to the roof. It was so easy for

her to find her way around now. Upon her guided tour, Weapon V showed

this place to her and told her it was his will; she didn’t get it back

then, but of course he was right about this place – it was his will, and

she was the sole beneficiary. It’s 6:16; he was almost there now,

speeding on his winged funeral barge across the endless expanse of the

sky, slicing through the breaking dawn toward his destination, the final

resting place for this hero:

The White House.

The explosion itself was a surprisingly uneventful affair, nothing she

hadn’t seen before. Presidential staffs die like any other mortal, and

the White House fell like any other building. Descending now to claim

her heritage, she thought about the tasks ahead: so vast, so vital, and

so vexing. She felt wired, elated, enthusiastic, and maybe just a little

bit scared. But that was what liberty means: being free to face your

fears and overcome them, instead of being imprisoned by the fears of

oneself and others.

She had things to do. People to see. Evey found the girl when “Weapon V”

was heading back from the plaza; her comrades called her Kitty. Kitty

could phase though solid objects, but was caught off guard when the

police jammed the Signal and ambushed her from behind. Evey had rescued

her among the chaos and took her to the safety of the Danger Room; now

she’s just waiting for the Kitty to wake up.

“Nyaaaa…” the girl finally came to it. “Where…?”

“Welcome to the Danger Room, Kitty.” Evey said. “You can call me Weapon

V. This is my home.”

- V -

“It may be too late to save the future.” Lex Stark said mournfully, his

body covered by an experimental exo-skeleton. “Just as the Fascists and

assorted other bigots had taken over Wikipedia and other online services

and websites, turning what were supposed to be shinning examples of

intellectual freedom and human collaboration into exercises in

gatekeeping and authoritarianism, they may have already won the battle

between authority and freedom, between State control and the free

market. But you know what?”

“Even if we can’t save the future,” Stark put on the helmet attached to

the exo-skeleton, and then lifted a heavy machine gun like it’s nothing

and fired it at the police. “We can still sure as hell avenge her!”

“Avengers Assemble!” Captain Rogers shouted and threw himself between

the police and Lex Stark, protecting the mad man with his riot armor and

shield, both painted with the colors of the US flag. A cop tried to

sneak up on him and shoot him in the back, but was stunned at last

minute by a redhead woman in a black cat suit. She peeled her hand away

to reveal a miniature stun gun mounted on a ring.

“So nice of you to join us at the rally,” Stark said with a slight smirk

under his helmet. “Miss Tree.”

“Oh, come on!” Miss Tree spread her hands in defeat. “I said I can

pretend to be a tree once. Let it go!”

“Not when it’s such a good bit, no.” Rogers laughed, then noticed a

vagabond on the sidewalks and called out to him. “Friend! Would you like

to join the fight for truth, justice, and the American way?”

“Nah, bub.” the vagabond smiled thinly and shook his head. “I’m good.”

Then the vagabond named Logan went quietly into the good night.

Epilogue: Valhalla

“The author would like to thank their best friend Haddie, whom

volunteered to be their editor for free, and gave them invaluable ideas

for interesting plot twists and obscure references to spice up the

story.”

“The writer would also like to thank Chad Walker for his amazing work on

SIGMATA: This Signal Kills Fascists and his willingness to help them

understand the clusterfuck America is becoming.”

“It would of course be amiss if they didn’t thank their datemates:

Colin, Corvids, and Kathryn, for giving them moral support and for being

patient with them when they’re at their lowest moments.”

“Obviously this story wouldn’t have existed if not for Alan Moore’s V

For Vendetta, which is indeed better than the movie and definitely his

best work ever. You do you, cool Anarcho-Wizard grandpa!”

“I know what you’re thinking: Wolverine is the hero? AGAIN!? To be fair,

the writer was inspired by the cover art created by artist Marco

D’Alfonso, so if you need to blame someone for it, blame him!”

“The author is in fact not a fan of X-Men, and wished that all the

discarded concpets referenced in this story – such as Nightcrawler being

the son of Mystique and Destiny – could be canon instead.”

“But we all know that Marvel is ran by Liberal chickenshits, which is

why so many MCU movies are really just reskinned Iron Man (2008). Oh,

that last bit wasn’t from the writer; it’s from me.”

Deathpool crumpled up the note from the author and tossed it away before

she turned to you, yes, you, the reader. Look, she’s an amalgam of Death

from Sandman and Deadpool; what else do you expect?

“Hi there! It’s me, the Endless With a Mouth, Deathpool! The writer

planned an epilogue delivered by yours truly, but they ran out of

material so they made me deliver their acknowledgments instead!”

“Well, don’t let me keep you! You only get what everyone else get: a

lifetime! The question is, whacha gonna do with it? PROTIP: you don’t

earn your way to Valhalla by burying your head in the sand!”

“Of course Valhalla is real; look, that’s Tessa Thompson taking Weapon V

to Valhalla right there! No, Fascists don’t go to Valhalla, in fact

those cowards don’t go anywhere! Even Satan hates them!”

“So are you gonna join the fight against Fascism and get your date with

my lovely sister Destiny, or are you gonna keep standing her up and

force me to come and get you early? Tick-tock, time’s a-wasting!”

The Battle For Liberty Never Ends.