「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(308) Cure

Charles' POV

Unmistakably alarmed, Lynn widened her eyes swelled with dismay as we stared agog at each other. The apprehension was raw, and undoubtedly overwhelming, spreading rapidly throughout the room. As the tension wildly intensified, all had seemingly wilted to the harrowing revelation, remaining terribly silent.

Only Lynn was capable of further reaction—and quickly in fact—as she expeditiously sailed the remote control across the atmosphere. The flying object swiftly landed into her palm and she immediately aimed it to the television installed at the corner of my study, simply clicking on the bright red button to activate the liquid crystal monitor.

The inanimate screen spontaneously flashed up to the news channel I tuned into just this morning when I received Hank's phone call. Instead of its usual anchor hosting the scene in their customary office setting, however, the background was a low building shaded in beige erected on perhaps the country's most infamous islands.

Under the elaborate United States crest resided another plaque meticulously carved with 'WORTHINGTON LABS' in bold and capitalised alphabets. Although the typeface was not exactly pretentious, there was just something about the signage that cried with authority and supremacy that resonated impeccably with its covert handler.

Further embellishing the metallic nameplate were indistinct but presumably intricately engraved patterns stretching across either of its long edges and the corresponding company's logo resembling the simplified structure of mesitylene was stamped on both short ends.

Partially lurking in the soft shadows were silvery characters mounted to the muted wall, spelling 'ALCATRAZ FACILITY'. The couple of sealed doors, centralised under the shiny wordings, might have been fitted with large windows extending to almost half its length but, as with the rest of the transparent panels affixed around the entire centre, the accompanying blinds were fully shut, completely obscuring the interior.

Conversely, the spectacle on the outer arena was one blatantly exposed. A moderately elevated platform dressed in grand burgundy velvet faced an audience comprising numerous members of the press and several of their own distinguished scientists decked in unblemished white coats, all properly seated in neat rows.

Security guards littered the area in pairs, vigilantly surveying the region, as the chairperson and six honorary delegates graced the raised semi-circular scaffold. Three sat on each side of the upright CEO with most of them veering towards the traditional black in terms of attire but one stuck out prominently in her chic ash ensemble.

Clearly a learned woman, the notable lady adorned with thin glasses, striking lipstick, elegant earrings and a tidy bun, carried a refined, yet somewhat mysterious, air as she gazed up at her associate with utmost respect.

"These so-called mutants are people just like us. Their affliction is nothing more than a disease; a corruption of healthy cellular activity. But I stand here today to tell you that there's hope. This site, once the world's most famous prison, will now be the source of freedom for all mutants who choose it," advertised the suited man staged behind a sleek podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen... I proudly present the answer to mutation," he announced confidently, flaunting a slim tube in his hand as the camera progressively dollied into his profile.

"Finally, we have a cure," he proclaimed in a climatic tone when the transmission abruptly ceased and the display was reverted to but a dormant state as Storm slammed the wireless device to my desk.

"Who would want this cure? I mean, what kind of coward would take it just to fit in?" Storm contended indignantly.

"Is it cowardice; to save oneself from persecution?" Hank challenged in a composed tone.