X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

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X-Men: The (fan fic) Series
Episode #: 1X09
Title: King of Hearts

Summary: Magneto requires the services of a certain thief, one who has a tendency to get more than he bargains for, especially when a damsel in distress is involved.

Previously… on X-Men: The (fan fic) Series

—“No such thing as a sure thing.” – Jubilee

—“Looks like they have been experimenting on mutant DNA by harvesting it direct from the source.” – Pietro

—“Never go all in against the house.” – Jubilee

—““I’m just thinking we started this game five rounds behind, no, I know we did, but for the life of me I don’t know how to catch up.” – Scott

—“Always have an escape route.” – Jubilee

—““I think it’s more that he gave us the menial task of procuring the files, than there actually being anything of importance in them.” – Magneto

—“And don’t try to out-bluff the Cajun.” – Jubilee

1X09 – King of Hearts – Teaser

Early morning in a small cemetery in a forgotten German town, a man stood in front of a grave. He didn’t speak, he didn’t smile, he didn’t cry, he barely even breathed.

Turning away, he walked the line of headstones which showed their age, a century or so of rain washing away the names of those who had come before.

Over the hill and beyond the brick half-wall, a black car waited, a man standing outside of it in a dark blue suit and sunglasses. He straightened up when the saw the man approach.

“You have something to say, Leeds,” Magneto asked of the man, a telekinetic who had no stomach for battle, but was quite capable of doing some of the everyday paper pushing that often cropped up in their line of work.

Yes, the mutant revolution created paperwork… everything creates paperwork. Magneto was German, he understood this.

“About the incident too days ago at Bella-Agra and the captive mutants,” Leeds held up his tablet pc and started to fiddle with the screen, “using information pieced together from what the guards knew and what was in his computer database,” he then turned the table screen towards Magento, “we think we know who Doctor Rowland was working for.”

Magneto examined the information, a sour look spreading across his face, “Were you careful?”

“I believe so sir,” Leeds wasn’t entirely confident, “he should have no reason to believe we know he’s connected. The Acolytes were going off Homeland intel and the rest of our information is literal patchwork from many of our operatives across the world. Rowland died before he could told, that’s expected of those who work for him, it’s like a cult.”

“Still,” the door to the town car opened on its own and Magneto went to enter the vehicle, “this could be very unfortunate,” then he smirked, “so let us take advantage of it.”

“Sir?” Leeds raised a brow.

“The Castor file,” Magneto told him, “I want it, now.”

“If he finds out you stole it, or even just copied it…” Leeds trailed off, again, not the stomach for such things.

“If he thinks for a moment that the Bella-Agra incident was anything more than what it was,” Magneto told him plainly, “then the Castor file will be gone and we’ll never find it again. It sits where it does at his leisure, taunting us.”

“True, but if he doesn’t suspect us and finds out we stole the Castor file…” there was a hint of nervousness in the man’s voice.

“Then we make sure he doesn’t find out,” honestly, did he have to think of everything?

“How do we do that?” finally, a reasonable question.

Magneto thought it over, has he had many times before, and came to the same conclusion each time, “Call the thief.”

…

In an upscale apartment, the bedroom was dark except for light shining through the blinds from the neon signs beyond. A blond woman lay on her bed, hair splayed in a sweaty mess, a slight upturn to her lips.

A dark figure moved across the room, the sleeping woman oblivious as she turned and cuddled against the pillow. A King of Hearts appears beside her and the figure moves out the door, shutting it without so much as a squeak or click.

Booted feet move down the stairwell, but again, not a sound was to be heard until a light buzzing echoed off of the beige walls. From somewhere in the maze of pockets specially sewn into the brown trench coat, the man pulled out a cell phone.

The caller ID read Helmet Hair.

Clicking accept, he brought the phone to his ear, “Bonjour.”

“We have a job for you,” he recognized the voice of Leeds’, Magneto’s little gopher, “Smithsonian. Expedited.”

“That’ll cost,” the voice of the figure came across deep, southern fried with a European garnish of smooth velvety chocolate.

“Noted,” the man’s voice said that he expected as much, “you’ll meet Sabretooth at a specified location, I’ll text you once I have it.”

“The Kitty, huh,” he exited out of the building, walking towards the street, “cost you extra.”

“Yes,” Leeds sighed, “standard rates, I presume.”

“I’ll be there ‘fore sun up,” he told the man before clicking the phone off and tucking it into his pocket, keys appeared in his other hand.

With practiced ease, the figure straddled the classic Harley then turned over the engine which purred loudly in the moonlight. It caught the attention of a man walking his dog, but all he saw was the tail light as the bike drove off, and the distinctive white Louisiana license plate which read: THECAJUN.

Based off Marvel Comics’ X-Men© created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby,
with Chris Claremont.

Adapted for Television by JayCee

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