Pure Harmony
Title: Pure Harmony
Category: Fan Fiction
Series: X-Men
Chapters: 1
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13, just in case bad guys make people squeamish
Disclaimer: Not mine, not by a lot, sorry!
Summary: No characters from the actual X-Men series. Set in a universe full of mutants, scientists look into the genetic benefits of the mutation.
A/N: I actually created this character for an X-Men RPG ages and ages ago, and his sole inspiration was the fact that none of my friends believed that I could make a bad guy. While in the RPG, he did much more heinous crimes, this story, the only record I have of him, makes him look pretty tame, I think
Professor Kevin Hunt sat at his desk, in the most comfortable manner that was least likely to wrinkle the Armani, contemplating the picture resting on it. He hummed a tune to himself. He had a very low tolerance for silence, especially when it could be filled with something as beautiful and as elegant as music. He had only recently gotten this new office, due to the change in headquarters, and tomorrow the surround-sound speaker system was coming in from Paris. It had been a long time since Kevin had come back to the country of the ignoramus world power that thrived on grease. In fact, the last time he was here was when the picture had been taken.
It was an old picture, and Kevin would have forgotten its very existence if Angie hadn’t have dug it up from old files the other day. Six professors, all in labcoats and goggles, with the pasty skin of the sun-deprived, clapping each other on the back and grinning at the camera. Standing off to side, a solemn young man, who looked like he should have still been in high school, looked on. His looks were painfully average: brown hair, brown eyes, medium build not worth the breath it took to comment on. There was torn look on his face, as he debated whether to make sure he seem present at one of the most famous scientific breakthroughs in history or make it clear he had nothing to do with the unprofessional oafs he worked with.
They wouldn’t admit the asset I was, they said I was too young, Kevin thought with a frustrated quirk of his lips as he studied his younger face in the picture. He hated pictures. They always showed what he really looked like, and never what he convinced others he looked like. He carelessly tossed it into the bottom drawer of his desk and kicked it closed as his he heard a knock on his door.
“Come in.”
A young journalist, blond hair slicked back with the noxious amount of gel Americans seemed to be currently fond of, opened the door and peeked in.
“Professor Hunt? Micheal Hawthorne from the Global Weekly. You said I could come in for an interview? Are you busy right now?”
“No, no, now would be a perfect time, I just finished getting settled in,” Kevin waved a welcoming hand, smiling his most charming smile, and humming the entire while.
He watched as the journalist nervously smiled in return as he entered, sitting down across from Kevin at the desk and uncertainly riffling through papers.
New. First main assignment. Second at most. I give it a month before the stress of the job eats him alive. Ah, well, he should have known he wasn’t cut out for this.
“So, ah, Professor? Mind if I call you Kevin?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Ah, well, then, Professor it is.” The boy smiled tremulously and Kevin watched in near fascination as his defenses neatly crumbled. He was tempted to hum a subtle song of discord, just to shake him further, but the idiot probably wouldn’t even appreciate what he was doing. “So, ah, I guess I’d like to welcome you back to America. I know you returned to your hometown of Paris, and came back to continue the studies that you and the great scientists you worked with became famous for. Mind explaining in your own words exactly what that research discovered?”
Kevin waved a dismissive hand. “It was simply inspired by the sudden baby boom of mutants. There were a few before, but suddenly in the span of five years, the discovered cases nearly quadrupled. We wanted to find out exactly what was the dividing line that resulted in some with disgusting genetic disfigurements, and something as powerful as telekinetics or healing in others.” He shrugged. “It was a simple as the placement of the mutated codons. If the main strand was in the brain stem, then it resulted in disfigurements; if it was in the spinal cord, then it generally resulted in super-human abilities.”
Micheal nodded and scribbled furiously. He looked ready to say more, but the phone rang. Kevin quickly checked the caller I.D. and gave a quick, contemplating glance at the reporter. Then, sharply, Kevin hummed a song of distraction, at a pitch that’d ensure he’d be hearing nothing but white noise for at least five minutes and would have no memory of the loss once he got his hearing back.
Nodding in satisfaction, he picked up the phone. “Hunt here.”
“Professor? The girl is ready for surgery,” came the thickly accented voice of Dr. Larousse.
Kevin nodded. “ Oui, it took you long enough. I delivered her to you over two hours ago.” He remembered the trouble he had to go through in order to get her. It had been a long time since he had had to make music so powerful and compelling simply to get her to consider the notion of coming with him. “I regret not being able to be there for the extraction, but I want you to start the surgery right away.”
There was a pause. “You know, professor, taking out her spinal cord will be more painful for her, since she is so young.”
Kevin snorted. “I don’t care. She has the most powerful healing ability I’ve ever seen. I’m not going to wait to take advantage of it simply because she’s six. Start the surgery.”
“And anesthesia?”
“No. It would hamper the results. I want nothing tainting this. This could be a powerful breakthrough. If she survives, drop her off in the nearest hospital with a story about a car accident or some other thing that would explain the paralysis. Whatever story you’ve used before.”
“There’s been no previous survivors.”
“Ah. Well, their contributions to science had been appreciated. Start the surgery now.”
“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
Kevin hung up and cancelled out the white noise effect on Micheal with a sharp whistle. He was in a much better mood now that he knew he was going to get his hands on such prime genetic material. He felt like composing a symphony. He’d done it before, with melodies powerful enough to change people’s entire perceptions within the first few notes. But then, that’s exactly what his songs were supposed to do.
“I’m sorry for the interruption. Please continue with any questions you have.”
“Hmm? Oh, ah, yes. Your research. Exactly what are you looking into now, and why has it brought you to the States?”
“Ah. I came to America simply because there’s so many more mutants here than there are in Paris. So much of a variety to study. I’ve come to discover a method of extracting a person’s mutation and making it available to those less fortunate. Soon, workers won’t need to worry about crippling accidents, they simply use their injected telekinetic power to move heavy objects. Or people dying from cancer or AIDS simple need a shot of someone’s healing power before they’re up and enjoying life again.”
Micheal whistled. “Big dreams, there. But how do you get the material to study? I thought spinal DNA becomes inactive and useless twenty minutes after the body dies.”
Kevin shrugged and hummed a mild damper on the man’s inquisitiveness. “I’ve convinced some volunteers to make generous contributions to the cause.”
“Doesn’t that hurt, though?”
Kevin smiled, but in the light it was almost as if the cold glimmer never left his eyes. “Well, by the time the surgery actually happens, they don’t feel a thing.” He steepled his fingers. “Tell me, are you a mutant?”
“Ah, well, actually, it’s not something we’re supposed to talk about with the people we interview -“
“Please? To inform an inquisitive mind? Colleague to colleague?” Kevin hummed a compulsive, compelling song.
“Well, actually, I’m an elemental. I can do some fairly interesting things with fire and a bit of water and wind. I guess you can say I’m fairly powerful at it. How about you?”
Kevin arched an eyebrow. “Me? No. I don’t have any powers, I just study it. “ He hummed a sharp note, that embedded itself deep in Micheal’s psyche, making sure a question like that never surfaced again. “But I’m sorry, that’s all the time I have today. But why don’t you call me back sometime, and we’ll meet up. Perhaps we can discuss more about your power.”
Micheal nodded. “Sure. I mean, that’s great, I guess. I’ll be sure to do that.” He stood up to leave and paused right before the door. “Oh, one more question. Since you study so many powers, are there any you know for sure can never exist?”
Kevin looked up. “Like the ability to… say… control and influence others through music? That power does not exist, and do not let anyone who tries to tell you otherwise convince you.”
Micheal left, humming a tune that was stuck in his head.
Category: Fan Fiction
Series: X-Men
Chapters: 1
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13, just in case bad guys make people squeamish
Disclaimer: Not mine, not by a lot, sorry!
Summary: No characters from the actual X-Men series. Set in a universe full of mutants, scientists look into the genetic benefits of the mutation.
A/N: I actually created this character for an X-Men RPG ages and ages ago, and his sole inspiration was the fact that none of my friends believed that I could make a bad guy. While in the RPG, he did much more heinous crimes, this story, the only record I have of him, makes him look pretty tame, I think
Professor Kevin Hunt sat at his desk, in the most comfortable manner that was least likely to wrinkle the Armani, contemplating the picture resting on it. He hummed a tune to himself. He had a very low tolerance for silence, especially when it could be filled with something as beautiful and as elegant as music. He had only recently gotten this new office, due to the change in headquarters, and tomorrow the surround-sound speaker system was coming in from Paris. It had been a long time since Kevin had come back to the country of the ignoramus world power that thrived on grease. In fact, the last time he was here was when the picture had been taken.
It was an old picture, and Kevin would have forgotten its very existence if Angie hadn’t have dug it up from old files the other day. Six professors, all in labcoats and goggles, with the pasty skin of the sun-deprived, clapping each other on the back and grinning at the camera. Standing off to side, a solemn young man, who looked like he should have still been in high school, looked on. His looks were painfully average: brown hair, brown eyes, medium build not worth the breath it took to comment on. There was torn look on his face, as he debated whether to make sure he seem present at one of the most famous scientific breakthroughs in history or make it clear he had nothing to do with the unprofessional oafs he worked with.
They wouldn’t admit the asset I was, they said I was too young, Kevin thought with a frustrated quirk of his lips as he studied his younger face in the picture. He hated pictures. They always showed what he really looked like, and never what he convinced others he looked like. He carelessly tossed it into the bottom drawer of his desk and kicked it closed as his he heard a knock on his door.
“Come in.”
A young journalist, blond hair slicked back with the noxious amount of gel Americans seemed to be currently fond of, opened the door and peeked in.
“Professor Hunt? Micheal Hawthorne from the Global Weekly. You said I could come in for an interview? Are you busy right now?”
“No, no, now would be a perfect time, I just finished getting settled in,” Kevin waved a welcoming hand, smiling his most charming smile, and humming the entire while.
He watched as the journalist nervously smiled in return as he entered, sitting down across from Kevin at the desk and uncertainly riffling through papers.
New. First main assignment. Second at most. I give it a month before the stress of the job eats him alive. Ah, well, he should have known he wasn’t cut out for this.
“So, ah, Professor? Mind if I call you Kevin?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Ah, well, then, Professor it is.” The boy smiled tremulously and Kevin watched in near fascination as his defenses neatly crumbled. He was tempted to hum a subtle song of discord, just to shake him further, but the idiot probably wouldn’t even appreciate what he was doing. “So, ah, I guess I’d like to welcome you back to America. I know you returned to your hometown of Paris, and came back to continue the studies that you and the great scientists you worked with became famous for. Mind explaining in your own words exactly what that research discovered?”
Kevin waved a dismissive hand. “It was simply inspired by the sudden baby boom of mutants. There were a few before, but suddenly in the span of five years, the discovered cases nearly quadrupled. We wanted to find out exactly what was the dividing line that resulted in some with disgusting genetic disfigurements, and something as powerful as telekinetics or healing in others.” He shrugged. “It was a simple as the placement of the mutated codons. If the main strand was in the brain stem, then it resulted in disfigurements; if it was in the spinal cord, then it generally resulted in super-human abilities.”
Micheal nodded and scribbled furiously. He looked ready to say more, but the phone rang. Kevin quickly checked the caller I.D. and gave a quick, contemplating glance at the reporter. Then, sharply, Kevin hummed a song of distraction, at a pitch that’d ensure he’d be hearing nothing but white noise for at least five minutes and would have no memory of the loss once he got his hearing back.
Nodding in satisfaction, he picked up the phone. “Hunt here.”
“Professor? The girl is ready for surgery,” came the thickly accented voice of Dr. Larousse.
Kevin nodded. “ Oui, it took you long enough. I delivered her to you over two hours ago.” He remembered the trouble he had to go through in order to get her. It had been a long time since he had had to make music so powerful and compelling simply to get her to consider the notion of coming with him. “I regret not being able to be there for the extraction, but I want you to start the surgery right away.”
There was a pause. “You know, professor, taking out her spinal cord will be more painful for her, since she is so young.”
Kevin snorted. “I don’t care. She has the most powerful healing ability I’ve ever seen. I’m not going to wait to take advantage of it simply because she’s six. Start the surgery.”
“And anesthesia?”
“No. It would hamper the results. I want nothing tainting this. This could be a powerful breakthrough. If she survives, drop her off in the nearest hospital with a story about a car accident or some other thing that would explain the paralysis. Whatever story you’ve used before.”
“There’s been no previous survivors.”
“Ah. Well, their contributions to science had been appreciated. Start the surgery now.”
“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
Kevin hung up and cancelled out the white noise effect on Micheal with a sharp whistle. He was in a much better mood now that he knew he was going to get his hands on such prime genetic material. He felt like composing a symphony. He’d done it before, with melodies powerful enough to change people’s entire perceptions within the first few notes. But then, that’s exactly what his songs were supposed to do.
“I’m sorry for the interruption. Please continue with any questions you have.”
“Hmm? Oh, ah, yes. Your research. Exactly what are you looking into now, and why has it brought you to the States?”
“Ah. I came to America simply because there’s so many more mutants here than there are in Paris. So much of a variety to study. I’ve come to discover a method of extracting a person’s mutation and making it available to those less fortunate. Soon, workers won’t need to worry about crippling accidents, they simply use their injected telekinetic power to move heavy objects. Or people dying from cancer or AIDS simple need a shot of someone’s healing power before they’re up and enjoying life again.”
Micheal whistled. “Big dreams, there. But how do you get the material to study? I thought spinal DNA becomes inactive and useless twenty minutes after the body dies.”
Kevin shrugged and hummed a mild damper on the man’s inquisitiveness. “I’ve convinced some volunteers to make generous contributions to the cause.”
“Doesn’t that hurt, though?”
Kevin smiled, but in the light it was almost as if the cold glimmer never left his eyes. “Well, by the time the surgery actually happens, they don’t feel a thing.” He steepled his fingers. “Tell me, are you a mutant?”
“Ah, well, actually, it’s not something we’re supposed to talk about with the people we interview -“
“Please? To inform an inquisitive mind? Colleague to colleague?” Kevin hummed a compulsive, compelling song.
“Well, actually, I’m an elemental. I can do some fairly interesting things with fire and a bit of water and wind. I guess you can say I’m fairly powerful at it. How about you?”
Kevin arched an eyebrow. “Me? No. I don’t have any powers, I just study it. “ He hummed a sharp note, that embedded itself deep in Micheal’s psyche, making sure a question like that never surfaced again. “But I’m sorry, that’s all the time I have today. But why don’t you call me back sometime, and we’ll meet up. Perhaps we can discuss more about your power.”
Micheal nodded. “Sure. I mean, that’s great, I guess. I’ll be sure to do that.” He stood up to leave and paused right before the door. “Oh, one more question. Since you study so many powers, are there any you know for sure can never exist?”
Kevin looked up. “Like the ability to… say… control and influence others through music? That power does not exist, and do not let anyone who tries to tell you otherwise convince you.”
Micheal left, humming a tune that was stuck in his head.