Metamorphs 3, page 15
“Then it’s a very good thing that none of this is up to you, isn’t it?” Principal Winter muttered.
The General shot the headmaster a smirk before he stood up. Quickly exiting the room, General Stone stormed down the hallway deep in thought. The interrogation of Morgan Winter had gone as expected, and he had been growing tired of the waves of nausea the metamorph was sending his way.
General Stone was well aware that the principal had little knowledge of what was going on. After all, it was the general who had been setting up the situation behind the scenes. What the general had not anticipated, however, was the intervention of the Legion.
How the hell had those freaks come so quickly?
The three students were supposed to have been captured, allowing his plan to continue without a hitch. Now, there were loose ends. If they could somehow tie the soldier’s death back to him, everything would fall apart. Thankfully, he was overseeing the investigation and had taken measures to ensure that no one could trace the explosive surge back to the manual override. The general stopped in the middle of a hallway and contemplated his next plan of attack.
Somehow, he needed to grab their attention. He needed to make sure that they reacted the way he wanted to. Despite this setback, the gears were in motion, the general having already convinced the President to begin the roundups. Perhaps he could get the order initiated faster, especially given the amount of chaos that their little skirmish had created.
The only way the freaks could get a jump on them would be if they destroyed the database.
The moment that thought popped into his head, the general’s idea sprung forth, solidifying in a moment of genius. Smiling to himself, General Stone continued to stride down the hall. Rounding the corner, he typed furiously on his phone and prepared to send out an email that he was sure would get their attention. If they did manage to crack open the database and find out what he had in store, there was no doubt that they would play right into his hands. All he needed to do was place the cheese where he wanted. The trap would set on its own.
IT HADN’T TAKEN LONG for Tristan and his friends to be dragged from the car and carried through the portal opening. After they had passed through the rift, the remainder of the Legion’s crew joined them as well, Port eventually closing the wormhole behind them. Once Tristan and his friends crossed through the dimensional passage, they found themselves withing a vast safehouse teeming with people.
The massive warehouse consisted of several rooms, the largest of which they had just walked into, and despite the boarded-up windows and simple decor, it seemed to be in excellent condition. For a makeshift hideout, the Legion had done their best to furnish the building with high-quality furniture and equipment. The room that they stood in was some kind of conference/planning room, several laptops and desktop monitors littered the area, and there was a large gathering table where several metamorphs were currently huddled around staring at a map. A side room contained several beds and sleeping bags for the residents, while another opened into a dining hall, complete with collapsible tables, fridges, and cooking appliances. The room behind them was lined with stacks of inventory supplies, and there was a sparring mat toward the back wall for training.
When Tristan and his friends teleported through, they were greeted by watchful eyes as the residents stopped what they were doing. A tense moment stretched along while the rest of the Legion safely made their way back. Upon walking through the portal himself, Christian looked around at the wide-eyed glares of his teammates before snapping his fingers.
“As much as I appreciate an audience, it would be nice if we could get some medics in this place. Anybody want to try to be somewhat useful and tend to the wounded?” Christian complained, a note of impatience in his voice. At his command, two metamorphs shot forward and attended to the three injured classmates. Tristan, Gabriel, and Juan were brought to the central table where they were given a seat as the two healers did their work. Tristan could feel the gashes along his arms and legs knitting themselves together, his blood eventually stopping its flow upon the floor. Though still woozy from the blood loss, Tristan did his best to observe his surroundings, taking note of the number and features of metamorphs around him. While he was aware that the Legion had several factions under their belt, he had never seen so many under one roof. There had to be at least sixty metamorphs within this warehouse, and they all seemed to be assigned to various tasks.
Canvassing their enemies, Tristan was taken aback by what he found. While the five members he had faced two summers ago had seemed terrifying, to say the least, these people looked like your average metamorphs. There appeared to be no distinguishing factor compared to those he had known at the Academy. In fact, some of them were former students from the Academy, graduates who had gone on to leave the school within the last two years.
Frostbite? Marionette? Port? What the heck is going on?
“I’m sure you guys are a little disoriented right now and confused,” Christian spoke, his back facing away from them as he marked a few things upon the map and gestured to those around it. Turning toward Tristan and his friends, Christian gave them one of his customary smiles, the ones which never seemed to quite fit, an unintelligible mixture of emptiness and pleasure. “You’re currently in a safe house that we own, one of the few that we use within the United States, up in the mountains of Colorado. I don’t think there’s any need to give you guys the exact details, but know that you’re safe. I’ll make sure that you’re well taken care—”
Before Christian could finish his statement, Gabriel jumped up and lunged forward, his body swiftly enclosing within a suit of sand. Gabriel delivered two blows to Christian’s face before he was pulled back by the surrounding members of the Legion.
“I’m gonna kill you, you stupid domkop!” Gabriel cried out, his face turning a darkened shade of red. “You think you can come into our lives and pretend everything’s all right? You think we’re friends or something? After everything you’ve done, all the lives that you’ve taken, you’re seriously about to come and tell us that we’re safe with you? Get your goons off of me, and we’re going to finish this once and for all!”
Christian held out his hands to his crew, many of whom were starting to power up their abilities in the expectation of suppressing Gabriel.
“Easy, everyone. No need for the animosity. You can let him go. That’s just how Agayu greets old friends. He may not understand what’s going on, but that doesn’t mean we stoop down to his level and act like animals. We’re more civilized than that now,” Christian quipped, wiping the blood off of his lips.
Tristan was thrown off by the comment. The old Christian would have given in to his emotions, exchanging blows with Gabriel just to prove a point. But now, Christian seemed completely unfazed by Gabriel’s assault, remaining not only calm but understanding of his rival’s reaction.
Facing Gabriel, Christian gave a slight nod to his teammates, and they immediately released him. “I’m not here to fight you, Gabe. Clearly, it’s not my intention for you guys to be harmed. Otherwise, I would’ve gladly let the S.W.A.R.M. finish their work. The reason I saved you is simple: you guys are metamorphs. And despite everything that we’ve been through, I still consider you my friends. We are in a war, and this time, the opponents have changed. It’s not me against you, the Legion against the Academy, anymore. We already won that battle. We’ve already set in motion what we needed to, and before long, the metamorph community will thank us. But for now, we all need to stick together as a species. We are being hunted in the streets like dogs, and it’s only a matter of time before General Stone and his goons start picking us off one by one.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Christian?” Tristan questioned. “Do you know something we don’t about what happened in D.C.?”
Christian shrugged and shook his head. “Not much, except for what we saw on the news. I had suspected that at some point one of our people would finally clash with the general and his mechs, but I never thought that it would wind up being you guys on the doorsteps of the nation’s courthouse. And here I thought I was about the theatrics,” Christian scoffed.
“Over the past few months, ever since the Registration Act was passed, we’ve been doing our best to keep order out there in the world. Metamorphs are being hunted down and oppressed, not only by the humans around them but by law enforcement as well. We’re being detained against our will for doing nothing more than being born special. Meanwhile, the Council is willing to sit back and do nothing about it, but the Legion has stepped forth and made sure that our people have a chance to fight back. We’re freedom fighters now, Tristan. We’re the liberators of our people, and right now—”
“Oh, fokkoff, Chris,” Gabriel shot out. “Don’t try and act like you guys are some kind of holier-than-thou organization here to save the world! You guys are a bunch of murderers and nothing more. You’ll stop at nothing to achieve your own selfish goals, metamorph supremacy, and you don’t give a damn about the lives you have to take, metamorphs or humans. You forget, we’ve seen you. The real you. You’re no savior. Your hands are just as bloody as Shadow’s.”
The last line stung Christian, and Tristan could see the whites of his eyes filling in with inky darkness. Taking in a deep breath, Cristian maintained control, and soon, their normal, brown hue returned. Christian shook his head at Gabriel, an expression of disappointment upon his face.
“I can see your temper hasn’t changed, Gabe. That’s a shame. You’re still the same ignorant, impulsive boy I first met at the Academy. I’m not here to convince you of anything. The facts are the facts. If you have an issue with what I’ve been doing since I’ve taken over as leader, feel free to ask around and raise your complaints to the people within this room. The people who were rescued from near-death experiences at the hands of their human neighbors. The people who have been freed by my own hands from the cramped, dirty prison cells that they were unfairly thrown in. The people who have been reunited with their families because of the selfless sacrifices of my men and women. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
Gabriel glared at the comment but remained silent. As Tristan scanned the room, he found everyone to be staring at them, their faces resolute and bodies practically shaking from passion. It was at this moment that Tristan came to a realization. While the students saw Christian as nothing more than a psychopath, a monster who had betrayed them, to the people in this room, hell, perhaps to the Metamorph community itself, he had become a folk hero. He was their defender.
Christian turned to Juan and said, “Go ahead, Psyborg. Read my mind. See if I’m making all of this up. See if I truly am the monster you guys claim me to be.”
For a moment, Juan’s eyes narrowed, and Tristan could see that his friend was probing Christan’s mind. Eventually, he looked at Tristan and Gabriel before shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. “His mind is pretty well protected, and there’s not much for me to glean from what he’s giving me. However…it seems like everything he’s told us so far has been the truth. A lot of these people are refugees and those who’ve been imprisoned by the humans. He truly does believe that he’s trying to make a difference for our people.”
“You still took a hell of a risk in rescuing us. Why take the risk? Wouldn’t it have been better to let us get caught? One less obstacle in your way,” Tristan questioned, standing up from his seat. While his wounds were all closed at this point, his body still felt weak, and it took everything he had to hold himself up.
“I told you, Tristan. You’re the key to all of this. The time was coming when we needed to meet face-to-face. No more emails, just you and me. The truth needs to be told, and you need to understand what we’re facing. The war is coming, whether we want it or not, and soon you guys are going to have to figure out which side you stand on,” Christian replied.
“Wait, what? What are you guys talking about? What emails?”
Tristan turned to face Gabriel, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. He said nothing as he hung his head, the red, hot heat of guilt flushing against his face.
“Tristan,” Gabriel began, his face dropping at the look on Tristan’s face, “Tell me you haven’t been talking to this douchebag behind our backs? Tell me you two haven’t been working together this whole time?”
Tristan shook his head. “No, Gabe. It’s not like that. Remember when I was contacted last year by the Guardian of the Truth? The one who had given us the information on Doomsayer and M7?” Tristan sighed and gestured toward Christian.
Tristan could see the pieces finally click as Gabriel shook with rage. “So it was him the whole time? How the hell did he get access to the school servers?”
“They are not as secure as you all think. It also helps that I found a back way in during my time at the Academy,” Christian admitted with a shrug. “I’m not here to try and break up your little band, but I’m tired of lying to you guys. I’m here to keep you guys safe, even if you don’t believe me, Gabe. It wasn’t my first choice, but if I had come forth as myself from the beginning, there was no way you guys would have believed me. I had to take on the alias if I wanted to help you,” Christian stated.
Taking a deep breath, Tristan looked at Christian before stating, “We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go?”
From his tone, it was apparent that Tristan was looking to be alone for this conversation. He ignored the faces of his friends as they dropped, and Christian gave him a subtle nod. Tristan faced Gabriel and Juan before continuing. “You two should get patched up. Get some rest, and I’ll be with you guys in a few minutes. I’ve got a bone to pick with Christian, and before we figure out what to do next, I need to make sure that I can trust what’s going on in this safehouse. I’m sorry to do it this way, but I need you guys to trust me.”
Gabriel’s eyes wavered, however, the two metamorphs nodded in agreement.
“Don’t make me regret this, Trist,” Gabriel muttered. “And don’t think we’re done with this conversation. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Tristan nodded toward his friend and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before spinning around to follow Christian into the adjacent room. The two former teammates walked past the inventory shelves, Tristan quickly scanning the weapons and ammunition stash laid out along the racks. There was enough to fuel a small army, something which Christian now had at his disposal. The two young men walked over to the padded area and faced off against one another. For a moment, neither spoke, Tristan folding his arms across his chest and staring down the face of Christian. Finally, he drew back his arm and delivered a resounding punch right into the jaw of his old classmate. He didn’t hold back.
“All right, I think I said my part. Feel free to provide a response,” Tristan snarled.
Christian got up from his knees, rubbing the side of his face as he wiped more blood off of his chin. Cracking his neck, he met Tristan’s eyes and nodded. “All right, I probably deserve that.”
“No, Christian. You deserve a hell of a lot more. You left us for dead. You left me for dead. You betrayed the only family that you knew to help the Legion destroy the Academy. As much as you want things to go back to the way they were, nothing will ever change that. We’re not friends, Chris. It took me over a year to get past what you did and to be honest with you, it still hurts. As far as I’m concerned, you died back at the beach along with the rest of your so-called teammates.”
“Whoever this is,” Tristan gestured at Chris’s body, “is somebody I’m entirely unfamiliar with. I don’t know you anymore, and I doubt I ever did. So state your case, so that I can get the hell out of here and back to the people I actually care about,” Tristan finished.
Christian nodded his head in acknowledgment, although Tristan could see that his words had cut him deeply. “That’s fair. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’m not asking for it. The things that I did, the people that I hurt… I’m sorry it had to happen that way. If there was any other way for us to have accomplished our goal, believe me, Tristan, I would have fought for it. But it was the only way, and I have no regrets with the outcome. I just want you to know that this isn’t the same Legion you fought two years ago. We’re different now. I’m different now. Even though the things that we did were for the greater good, we did them all wrong. I’m still fighting for the same goals, but I’m making sure we’re doing it the right way this time. No more metamorph blood needs to be spilled to secure a better future. It’s already coming.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Chris? What is this all about?”
Christian gestured to the floor, motioning for Tristan to sit. “I think you’re going to want to sit down for this,” Christian replied before continuing.
“Everything that we’ve done, everything that we’re currently doing, is a result of the Magnificent Seven and what happened all those years ago. When the M7 was created, they were supposed to be a super-team, a group of friends who had dedicated their lives for the preservation of the metamorph community. Their original focus was on making sure that their people were taught how to properly use their powers and to ensure order within their community. They wanted to protect the world from those who were abusing their powers for their selfish ambitions. Thus, they became not only academics but a policing force as well.
“When the U.S. government discovered the super-group, they proposed a partnership, offering the M7 resources that they couldn’t obtain themselves. While your grandparents were originally opposed to making such a deal, the others convinced them to take it, reasoning that the funding would allow them to have a greater impact upon the metamorph community and help forge a powerful alliance with the most formidable nation on earth. Eventually, they all agreed that while the U.S. government was funding the Academy, the M7 would be employed by the nation to help combat and capture rogue metamorphs who the government couldn’t handle.
