[Sama in the MU] Part 2

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                “Wait, you’re the one neutralizing mutants here?” Warren blurted out. They all stared at me in somewhere between alarm and horror.

                “Well, sure. I can decode how your powers work for myself. If need be, I can block them from happening. It’s not something that’s hard to undo, if that is what you are worried about.” I tapped my hair. “I told you the Weaver is the head of the mutant community here, right? They are civilians, and a lot of them have mutations which are irrelevant, and can be quite harmful, especially on a social level. The Weaver contacts me, letting me know that there’s people who want to get rid of their mutation, and I go and treat them. It’s always voluntary, and it’s easily reversible by half a dozen methods. Dr. McCoy probably knows most of them.” I had let them know I knew Hank McCoy by his scientific work, not personally.

                They breathed sighs of relief at that. “What kinds of mutants?” Warren pressed for details.

                “Oh, there are dozens by now.” I looked up. “Let’s see. There was the little girl who had triple sets of teeth.” My jaw shifted a bit, bulging out, and I opened it for them to look at. “Thee thoud’n thawk ath thaw, an kouwd’n een theww, eethuh.” I closed my jaw, worked my cheeks as their faces fell. “So, getting rid of her dental problems basically let her live a normal life. Passive mutation, but there were no benefits to it. She didn’t even get the ability to eat or chew things normal people couldn’t.

                “Then there was the girl who had transparent skin, which made her a walking horror show.” I shifted my face, and they all flinched when they could see my muscles, bones, and organs. “Furthermore, she was horrifically vulnerable to sunburn. There was the guy whose spit was acidic, which meant he couldn’t kiss a girl, and another one whose sweat was almost frictionless. He couldn’t hold onto anything, couldn’t stand on his bare feet, and so couldn’t take off his boots, or he’d just fall down. Then the girl whose skin color reflected her moodswings, another one who grew flowers for hair, and the guy who looked like a nasty rat.

                “I returned them all to human form, taught them to channel their power so it wouldn’t revert, and sent them back to their friends and families.”

                “Channel their power?” Ororo repeated in surprise. “What does that mean?”

                “One of the ways to revert back to your inborn powers is simply to channel your internal energy so hard it rams through the blocks on your cell structure. In other words, in a desperate situation, you call for your power with everything, and your body reverts to its natural genetic disposition, with all attendant affects.

                “To stop that, it’s necessary to have a different avenue to vent that power through. The nominal way is a mindclaw or mindshield.”

                There was a snap and hum as I flicked up mine. They all stared at the golden claw overlaying my hand.

                “This is a transpsionic force structure. Any being with psionic potential active, which includes any and all mutants, can form one. Because I’m a Null, mine is limited to manifesting four inches from my skin, hence its size.” I extended a forefinger, the sharp gleam of it arcing from my nail. “So, instead of all their power unconsciously trying to restore their genetic structure to something they don’t want it to be, they can pour it all into their mindblade, mindclaw, mindstaff, mindshield, or whatever.

                “Most are very happy to have their mutation’s side effects gone, and be able to use the energy for something productive or discrete as they get back to their normal lives.”

                “Any mutant can do this?” Warren asked skeptically.

                “And any human whose psionic potential has been tapped.” I threw a thumb at myself.

                “And you... just showed them how to do this?” he asked, rather amazed.

                “Takes about ten seconds to learn,” I nodded at him, and he just looked at me, and the translucent golden claw on my hand. “What, this? It looks impressive, but a beginner’s manifestation is no different than using a plain wooden stick or a gauntlet, or a dagger. You have to invest into it to make it something respectable.”

                “How do you teach them so quickly?” Ororo asked, impressed.

                “I have telepathy to a range of four inches. I take their left hand.”

                They all looked at one another. Ororo was the first to extend her hand towards me.

                “Fine, fine.” I waved at them. “Stack your hands.” They all reached over to do so, and I put mine on top of theirs. -By the way,- I said in their heads, but they weren’t all that surprised, obviously having experience with broadcast thoughts, -this ability comes from a guy whose skull inflated to half again normal size, his body was a stick, and he uncontrollably broadcast all his thoughts, all the time. He had to go around wearing an aluminum foil hat all the time, in addition to looking like a freak.- They got a very clear mental picture of Harry Bradford, as well as all the other mutants I’d mentioned, before and after.

                I saw the sympathy and understanding on their faces. They’d won the genetic lotto, after all. -Now, focus on my thoughts, and your right arm. Just follow what I do.- They were familiar with the process, and unhesitatingly mimicked what I was doing as I slowly raised my right hand up, stretched it out... and twisted, as a spike of energy was drawn from their gut down their arm in a flare of motion.

                They all cried out and jerked away instinctively, blinking and almost falling back... and then staring at the humming weapons in their hands.

                Ororo’s was a delicate golden short spear, maybe two feet long. Piotr’s was a silvery enlarged hand with traces of blue and gold, wrapping around his own. Warren’s was manifesting as a silvery-gold raptor’s claw, three talons opposed by his thumb.

                “Mmm,” I said casually, glancing at the three of them. “They are affected by your subconscious, of course. The spear is a traditional weapon of African tribes... you must be someone who works with his hands... and you naturally empathize with raptors.” I shrugged slightly. “You can change the form of it with practice and visualization. Angels are usually pictured with swords, after all. Note yours are all much larger than mine, but they are much softer and clearer.” They looked at theirs and mine, comparing... especially the lights winding about mine. “It’s a matter of investment.” I waved at Ororo’s. “You see how yours is the only one with carvings?” Again, the comparing looks. “It means you have magical talent. You aren’t just a mutant; you were born to be a sorceress, too, although your mutation is not connected to it.”

                Her surprise was evident on her face. “You... are certain of this?”

                “Yes. By the patterns, it’s a Bloodline trace, quite hereditary. Mutation is about something new, so they aren’t related. If you have time, you should be taking lessons in magic. The discipline of mastering a mutation as strong as yours should make using magic relatively easy, and with a mindspear, you’ve effectively got an auto-made Wand there, ready for use.” I cleared my throat. “Keep in mind that having your mindblade manifest means your mutant powers are weakened. You can grow it, just like your mutant power, and if your power is relatively static, like I believe Piotr’s is, this is an excellent avenue to further release your potential.”

                “Do you... teach magic?” Ororo found herself asking, almost in disbelief.

                “I can teach magical theory, but I can’t give concrete displays. I’m a Null, pretty much the opposite of a sorceress. What magic I have sits inside me, smoking a pipe, waving at me occasionally, and doing basically nothing unless I use some Nog disciplines to assign it there, the same way my psionic and spiritual power has to be allocated among the things I can do.”

                “Oh, so you do not have all these powers you’ve imitated concurrently?” Warren asked, and I shook my head.

                “Nope. That is way, way, WAY too much energy involved. Just think of all the power Ororo here has, and on top of that, Colossus’, and then yours. Unless you’ve a mutation that basically gives you an unlimited power cap, trying to get all that going at once means you’ve got, ugh, damn, the math is pretty bad on that...

                “I can switch between various powers that I’ve sampled, and some of them cost almost nothing at all, like changing skin colors with emotions, but trying too many things at once is just not possible. I only have so much energy.”

                “That is a lot of limitations on your power,” Warren observed, as he relaxed his hand, and the raptor claw faded. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall precisely how he brought it up before, and after a couple tries, it snapped back into existence. “We know a person, the Mimic, who can imitate multiple powers simultaneously... but they are not as powerful as those of the original.”

                “You will find it difficult to fly right now while you have that up,” I warned him, nodding at his words. “You can grow your mind and power enough that it is not affected, of course. The mutants who have their powers removed choose to have all their power go to their mind blade, effectively locking themselves into the state they desire.

                “You are all mutants, you are all psionic. You do not HAVE to use your innate powers with the energies you possess... it is simply natural and easy for you to do so. All that power can be channeled into other directions if you so desire, and know what to do.”

                “This is extraordinary,” Piotr rumbled, staring at the force-hand. “And you say even normal humans can learn this?”

                “Normal humans will largely be like me, Nulls, with limitations on how they can manifest things... but yes. Those humans who can do more are probably natural mages or psions or something, whose mental or physical attributes are simply too low for them to wield them.”

                “Please clarify?” Ororo asked.

                “Mmm. Let us say ‘average’ is 100, yes? To manifest very minor magic, you need to be 110. This could be Intellect, like IQ; it could be wisdom and insight; it could be charisma and force of personality. Different magical talents map to different aspects. If you have natural magic that maps to charisma, and you have the personality of a follower and uncaring toad at 60, potentially being the greatest sorcerer ever simply isn’t going to happen because magic will not acknowledge you.

                “Sixty-some percent of the people who have magical potential simply can’t even touch it, and ninety-some percent will never get above a Three. Those who have a chance of growing and improving have to have a rating of at least 140, and geniuses and the gifted will start all the way up to 200, and more if they have a bloodline, or possibly even a mutation.”

                “How would such a mutation work?” Warren wondered aloud.

                “Generally, it raises your effective Stat for magic. So, let’s say, the Scarlet Witch, who works for the Avengers. I believe she is a mutant?” They all nodded together. “However, I’ve seen nothing about her being impressive in any mental capacity, except perhaps having a strong personality... yet her hex magic might well be the strongest of its type in the world. So, perhaps she has a 140 rating, and her mutation raises it all the way to 180. If she has an inherited bloodline, it could spike to 200, making her the most talented hexcrafter normally humanly possible, the equivalent of a world-class genius. Or, making a high school athlete the equal of an Olympic champion, by means of comparison.”

                “You are very well-informed about this,” Ororo complimented me.

                “I look at genetics. It’s is as natural to me as you understanding the weather.” She was enlightened. “Ah, so that’s what is happening...” I muttered aloud.

                Piotr stirred. “You know how my power works?” he inquired, obviously looking for me to display something.

                “Yes, but I can’t manifest it directly. You’ve got multiple things going on, and transmutation isn’t one of them.” I sounded relieved as I looked away. “You’re swapping intrinsic molecules with an extradimensional mass of osmium you are attuned to. Furthermore, you’re using a massive amount of psionic energy to give that mass flexibility, while extending its nature and structure to the rest of your body. It’s really not that much, less than a quarter of your body volume in area, but its effects resonate to your entire body, so even the liquid portions of your body take on metallic characteristics.

                “Still, it’s nothing like the cost of a true transmutation. I think you grow in size some, but it’s nothing like what you’d weigh if you were really made of osmium. A big fellow like you would be at least 3,000 lbs, I’d say, if you were actually a golem made of osmium.”

                He looked thoughtful. “I am around five hundred pounds when I armor up.”

                I nodded. “The major portion of your intrinsic power is used keeping the metallic elements fluid and mobile. The swap itself is relatively minor in cost, although if you did it dozens of times you’d probably be exhausted. Likewise, you can’t maintain the state indefinitely. I don’t know if you could transform with a mindfist up, but you’d definitely find yourself moving stiffly if you did. You’ll have to grow your internal power to compensate... but given that your strength is probably remaining fairly static, that is an excellent avenue of growth for you.”

                He seemed eager to get started on such, and looked around once before there was a subtle flash of light, matter transferred, and big osmium molecules replaced small carbon molecules. He swelled in mass, his clothes having obviously been designed to accommodate the change, and he looked chrome and shiny. He shifted his arms slowly and carefully, the golden hand still about his own, and nodded. “You are correct, I do feel stiff, almost mechanical. My arms do not want to stretch.”

                “Take the fist down,” I advised him. He snapped it off, and visibly starting moving more comfortably and freely.

                “Very good!” he confirmed. The light flashed, and he was back in human form. “Can you not transform?” he asked, looking at me.

                “One, I’m not attuned to an appropriate mass of metal. Two, four inches doesn’t mean I can reach interdimensionally, so I’d have to carry the metal around. So, I could do it, but I have to find an appropriate mass of metal, and then I’d have to carry it around after attuning to it.” I shrugged. “Needless to say, a partial transformation would not be ideal. I imagine you can’t do a partial, either?”

                He shook his head. “No. I have tried, but it is always everything, or nothing.”

                “Yeah, having a body part metal and part flesh is probably a good way to lose part of your body.” I glanced at his compatriots, and two more syringes came out of my Masspack. “I’m greedy. May I?”

                They looked at one another, the mindweapons in and on their hands, and nodded. They rolled up their sleeves, and waited patiently as I drew blood almost painlessly, and couldn’t even find a dot of blood thereafter.

                I squirted them both in calmly, cocked my head as I looked at nothing. “Okay, Ororo, yours is definitely in the telekinetic tree, but it’s reverberating with natural energy waves. I’m not feeling any ability to interact with solids; the more ephemeral it is, the more power you have. You have fine control problems, right?”

                “That is correct...” She seemed surprised.

                “Your power is like a lens, or a lever. You take a natural standard TK ability and magnify it twice, once by attuning it to vaporous elements, aerokinesis, and once again to natural energies of the world. So, you’re wearing two pairs of gloves, and it is difficult to do subtle control because of it. I imagine you can even control lightning in outer space, as vacuum is full of dispersed gas, and of course the sun is the root of all energy.”

                “That is also true.” She was impressed.

                “You’re not a true aerokinetic, because you can’t solidify air. But you can raise and lower the temperature, and naturally draw in or eliminate humidity, and you can alter the electrical charges, thus opening pathways for lightning to come through... and of course the amounts you can move are vast, potentially hundreds of thousands of tons, or more.”

                I held up my hands, eight inches apart, and something began to spin between them. Motes of ice gathered, making the spinning circle obvious, and how fast it was going. Mild breezes ruffled out from the motion of the air.

                “That is very good. It took me many months to do something similar,” she complimented me.

                “Mental discipline is what got me where I am. This isn’t much different from Weaver’s fine-teke, just in another direction.” I shifted the spiral into a vortex, drawing in air and sending it out, and creating something reminiscent of a leaf blower, playing it over them and ruffling their clothes. “Mmm, I can sweep the lawn now.” I let it fade as they laughed. “Without the range, this is very limited for me. While I have potentially all your power, I have none of the range required to make it actually effective. I suppose I am limited to just blowing things around, although if I was near a water source, I could probably spray precipitation of various sorts very quickly. The possibilities are interesting... but harnessing the air’s static electrical charge in a four-inch area around my body is little more than a distraction.”

                “I look forward to seeing how you develop them!” Ororo told me gratefully.

                “I will let you know anything I work out,” I promised her. Anything I’d be able to do, she potentially could, too...

                “And mine?” Warren asked, keenly interested.

                I glanced at him, then away. “It’s trying to make me grow wings, but there’s none of the pseudo-avian musculature to support them. They’re basically moved with internal TK... there’s some optical refinements, you have good eyes... I’m not taking the hollow bones... some breathing refinements, balance and aerospatial awareness, you’re probably sensitive to directions and magnetic north... and yeah, there’s the graviteke effect.”

                I pushed off the ground, and hovered six inches in the air. He gawked at me as I looked nowhere.

                “Ah, there’s a psychic lattice in the wings. So, when you have them out, the effect is magnified, especially since they expand your surface area without much additional weight.” I glanced around. “Not the place to test this, of course... Hmmm.” I looked at him again. “You know you’ve got a latent fast healing factor?”

                He blinked at me. “What?”

                “It requires psionic investment, but it’s definitely there, impossible to not see it... wait, are you Warren Worthington the Third, the billionaire?”

                He started to smile, but my look didn’t encourage it. “I am...”

                “Do you have someone named Cameron Hodge you employ?”

                The grimness of my voice startled him. “He was my old college roommate. He works in my marketing department. Why?”

                I floated there in midair, drumming my fingers on my knee. “He funds an anti-mutant hate group called The Right here in San Francisco. They get some nice checks from the Worthington Foundation, and that money is paying for all their recruiting and coordination with other hate groups.” My eyes narrowed. “Roommate, huh? To the billionaire mutant playboy supermodel? No, no, I can’t see him being jealous at all...”

                Angel looked like he’d been stabbed in the gut. “Cameron has been building an anti-mutant hate group?”

                “I raided the files of their donors. His signature is on all the checks. Their manifesto is right on their site. He is by far and away their biggest donor... and he’s been using your money to do it.” I took a deep breath as his face went cold. “I don’t know how many of your employees know you are a mutant, but if they do, and his division didn’t alert you... ah, I think you’ve some very bad apples in your company, Master Worthington.”

                “I will investigate this matter personally,” he ground out, and I nodded.

                “Would you mind if I broke into their accounts and donated all their money to various charities via rather illegal channels?”

                His smile was icy cold. “Since they stole the money, they can get it stolen. Go right ahead!”

                “Excellent. Some of the Weaver’s kids and those I’ve healed are pretty good hackers. Their accounts will be emptied by tomorrow morning.” I was already sending off the instructions to my Marked, who were pouncing on it with zeal.

                Cameron Hodge, and all the X-Factor shit he perpetuated, was going to crash and burn before he could get off the ground. He’d probably return in some form, but that crap would have to find a different way. By ‘their accounts’, I meant pretty much anyone who’d donated to The Right, which meant Cameron Hodge was soon going to find out all his personal investments were gone, and his mortgage was going to abruptly come due when his lack of income reached his lender. Too bad, so sad.

                “If you want to stick around the city a while, I can show you around, and I can do some prep work for working with your mindblades and stuff. But... I believe you had another few people you wanted to check on. Would you like me to go with you?”

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