Rogue and the Fearless Jameson

"Are you here to tell me not to kill anyone again?" Russell asked tentatively.

"No."

Professor X shook his head. The corpse's neck gave a crack.

"But if I did, would you listen?"

"No."

"Then I won't."

Russell looked at him, a little surprised.

The old man's attitude was different today. There seemed to be less lecturing and more... pragmatism.

Russell paced as he studied the possessed corpse.

"You haven't already looked inside my head, have you? You knew I wouldn't agree, so you gave me a straight answer."

"Of course not." Professor X gently shook the borrowed head, moving slowly, as if afraid it might fall off.

"Please believe me. I don't look through other people's memories without permission. That's how I show respect to everyone, friend or foe."

Russell scoffed inwardly.

I don't look through them without permission. That sounded nice. He almost believed it.

But he kept that to himself.

Still, Russell believed Professor X hadn't truly examined his thoughts.

Because if Charles had seen what was in his head—the memories of comics, movies, parallel universes, and the true nature of this Marvel Universe—

He wouldn't be this calm. Professor X might realize he was just a comic-book character, like in that Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe storyline, and lose his mind on the spot.

Besides, if Professor X really liked poking through people's heads, the Hydra moles inside S.H.I.E.L.D. would have fought him to the death long ago, unless he could do it without leaving a trace.

Surprise crossed Professor X's face. The corpse's eyebrows rose.

"Your mental will is over a thousand times stronger than an ordinary person's. With my psychic power, forcing my way into your consciousness would be as difficult as invading a thousand minds at once. And you would certainly notice."

He paused, then offered an analogy with a touch of humor.

"Your mind is like a fortress. Not one built high on shaky foundations, but one with every brick fitted perfectly into place."

Russell wasn't particularly surprised.

His Mental Defense had reached level three, and his Psychic Telekinesis was at level four. It made sense that his mind was strong.

Otherwise, using his abilities at all would make him pass out.

He sat on a nearby step and patted the space beside him, inviting Professor X to sit.

The corpse hesitated, perhaps while Professor X worked out whether its bones could still support a seated position. Then it slowly sat down, stiff as a puppet with rusted joints.

"So," Russell asked, "what brings the famous Professor X to me this time? Have several X-Men agreed to help train me?"

"I'd like you to bring someone to my school," Charles said. "She's a child who has just awakened her mutant ability. She ran away from home because she was frightened, and now people who want her power are hunting her."

"Bring a child?" Russell thought it over. A Mutant whose power had just awakened, being hunted.

A name flashed through his mind.

Rogue. The girl who fled her hometown at the beginning of the first X-Men movie.

"What does that have to do with me? Can't your X-Men handle it?"

"It's too late to send the X-Men." An odd smile appeared on Professor X's face, pulling the corpse's mouth into an unnatural curve.

"And as it happens, this does concern you."

"It concerns me?"

"Because the child wants to find you. She's already on her way, and she'll soon reach your hotel."

Russell paused. "My hotel? Why would she come looking for me?"

Professor X's smile deepened. "I suspect she saw your videos online. That, and you have a slight advantage in the looks department."

He paused. "Young people are easily drawn to powerful, good-looking people their own age. She watched all those videos of you online—the one outside the hotel, the one on the street, the one in the slums. Now she's using what she found online to track you down."

Russell fell silent as he took that in. A Mutant girl whose power had just awakened was being hunted, and she had decided to seek him out.

Not the X-Men. Not the Avengers. Him. It made little sense. He wasn't some kind of succubus.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll have to reconsider your request. But first, I need to know who she is and why Mutants are after her."

"Of course." Professor X nodded, and the corpse's neck cracked again.

"Her name is Anna Marie. Sabretooth, one of Magneto's Mutants, is pursuing her. As for why, I believe he wants her to join the Brotherhood of Mutants."

He paused, as if recalling something.

"At first, I thought Sabretooth was after Wolverine. There's a long history of bad blood between them. But after Rogue and Wolverine parted ways, Sabretooth changed course and kept following the girl.

"That was when I realized something was wrong."

"Sabretooth," Russell repeated.

Magneto's enforcer. Wolverine's old enemy. A beast who took pleasure in killing.

Hunting down a little girl whose power had only just awakened sounded exactly like something he would do.

Russell stood and brushed the dust from his pants. "Where is she now?"

"About six blocks from your hotel," Professor X answered.

"She's heading this way, and Sabretooth is following her. At her current pace, she'll reach your hotel in roughly twenty minutes.

"Sabretooth will catch her in about fifteen."

"So you didn't come to lecture me or tell me the X-Men were coming. You came to ask for my help."

"Yes." There was a note of earnestness in Professor X's voice. "I can protect her mentally, but I need someone who can stop Sabretooth physically.

"And right now, you're the only person in all of New York who can."

Russell stared at him for a long moment, unconvinced.

You can control a corpse, Professor X. Wouldn't controlling Sabretooth be easy?

"I'll think about it."

Whatever Professor X was planning, Russell was interested in Rogue's mutant ability.

If he remembered right, her ability was called Deadly Touch. Skin contact let her absorb not only life force, but superpowers she could use herself.

He turned toward the stairs. After a few steps, he stopped without looking back.

"Professor X."

"Yes?"

"Next time, don't come to see me in a dead body. It's creepy."

A soft chuckle came from behind him.

The corpse slowly toppled over like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Once more, it was nothing but a cold, lifeless body.

A cold wind struck Russell as he left the building. He looked up. Several helicopters circled overhead, probably news crews broadcasting the "gang shootout" in Hell's Kitchen live.

It looked like he was about to get famous again. Russell glanced toward the hotel and set off at an easy pace.

He didn't particularly care. He walked along the empty street while a news helicopter's rotors thundered above, following him from a distance.

It wasn't a military gunship. It belonged to Daily Bugle Media.

And there were two people aboard whom he knew.

Russell glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. That mustached old man really did value a story more than his life.

Inside the cabin, J. Jonah Jameson leaned out of the door with high-powered binoculars in one hand and the other gripping a handhold.

The wind had blown his hair into a patch of trampled weeds, and his tie whipped wildly against his neck. He didn't care. His eyes were fixed on one thing—the young Mutant below who had everyone talking.

"So the truth behind that gang shootout is a Mutant named Russell! Parker, are you getting a clear shot?!"

He shouted at the young man beside him who was holding a camera. His voice nearly drowned out the roar of the rotors.

Peter Parker—part-time freelance photographer for Daily Bugle Media, full-time Spider-Man—crouched on the cabin floor with a heavy professional camera on his shoulder, its lens aimed at the street below.

His Spider-Sense had been buzzing nonstop. It told him the young man below was far more dangerous than any supervillain he had ever faced.

If his boss, Mr. Jameson, hadn't been right beside him, he would have changed into Spider-Man immediately, just to feel a little safer.

Peter glanced through the viewfinder. Russell looked up at that very moment and smiled toward the lens.

The buzz of his Spider-Sense jumped several pitches.

"Got him, got him." Peter fought the urge to run away carrying the helicopter and struggled to keep the camera steady.

"I've got a great shot, Mr. Jameson. I promise you'll have the headline you want, but I think we should climb a little higher—"

"Higher?!" Jameson whipped around, his mustache practically bristling, and roared:

"Why the hell would we go higher?! This is an exclusive, understand? An exclusive! Those wimps at the other stations only dare film him from the ground. I'm the only one with the guts to fly right over his head and broadcast the whole thing live.

"That's why Daily Bugle Media is number one in New York!"

"Number one in danger..." Peter muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said, boss, are you sure this is safe? The man down there is supposed to be an extremely dangerous Mutant. If he decides we're invading his privacy—"

"Privacy?!" Jameson's voice rose another octave.

"He's walking down a public street fully dressed, and you're talking to me about privacy?! This Mutant kills without blinking, and you're talking about privacy? He nearly tore down a building, and you're talking about privacy!"

Peter ducked his head and said no more.

He aimed the camera down again. In the viewfinder, Russell crossed the street at a leisurely pace, as if he were strolling through a park.

"Hey, who are you saying tore down a building? Watch it, or I'll sue you for slander."

The voice came out of nowhere, right beside Peter and Jameson's ears. Jonah Jameson instinctively looked left and right and shouted:

"Who was that? Who's talking?"

"Mr. Jameson, you're looking the wrong way. He's down there." Peter pointed below.

"He..." Jameson met Russell's gaze, and his mouth suddenly went dry.

"Take... take the helicopter higher! I don't want a million dollars going straight down the drain."

Peter shook his head. His Spider-Sense was still buzzing like an irritating fly.

He had a feeling something was about to happen.

"Boss, I mean it. We should climb higher. This helicopter isn't a military model. It has no armor—"

"Peter!" Jameson turned and pointed the binoculars at his nose.

"Do you want to keep this job or not? I pay you by the hour, not to tell me how to fly a helicopter. Keep filming. I want every frame sharp. This is going on tomorrow's front page."

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.

He looked down through the viewfinder. Russell had reached the corner and stopped.

He looked up at the helicopter and smiled again. This time it wasn't a faint smile. He showed his teeth, as though greeting an old friend.

Were they old friends?

The next instant, Peter's Spider-Sense exploded.

Buzz!

"This is bad."

Peter jerked back so sharply he nearly dropped the camera. "Boss, he's about to do something. I can feel—"

"You can feel what? Are you a Mutant?"

"No, but I have a hunch."

"Then shut up and film."

Peter gritted his teeth and lifted the camera again. Russell was gone from the viewfinder.

He hadn't stepped into the shadows or behind a building. He had vanished into thin air. The street was empty, save for a few streetlights swaying in the wind.

"Where is he?" Jameson had noticed too. He pressed the binoculars to his face and frantically swept his gaze across the street below.

"Where did he go? Did you lose him? Do you have any idea what that shot is worth?!"

"He didn't leave." Peter wore an expression caught between laughter and despair as he pointed overhead.

"He's up there."

Jameson froze, then looked up.

Russell hung upside down like Spider-Man, giving Jameson such a fright that he blurted out:

"Are you... Spider-Man?!"

Peter rolled his eyes. He could already picture tomorrow's Daily Bugle headline calling Spider-Man a Mutant again.

If he'd known this live broadcast would smear Spider-Man too, he should have listened to Mr. Stark and gone with him to Avengers Headquarters instead of coming back.

Russell looked at the two men in the doorway: an old man with his mouth open, eyes wide, and mustache trembling in the wind, and a young man in a baseball cap with a camera on his shoulder, its viewfinder hiding most of his face.

"Hello." He didn't speak loudly, but his voice cut clearly through the roar of the rotors and reached both men.

Jameson let go of his binoculars. They dropped against his chest and hung from his neck like a bird shot out of the sky.

His mouth stayed open. He wanted to say something, but his throat had seized up.

His mind raced. Was this Mutant really Spider-Man? How had he gotten up there? How had Jameson heard nothing? None of the possible answers was reassuring.

At this distance, Peter's Spider-Sense was no longer "buzzing." It was screaming. The shrill warning burst through his mind, and every cell in his body cried out the same word—run.

Even Peter's powerful heart hammered with nerves. He wanted to crack a joke to ease the tension, but he couldn't get the words out.

"Relax." Russell looked at Peter, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I'm not here for you."