#theaftermathstarter

She made her way through the people, a smile on her face as she walked towards them. “In my experience, someone looking like that only means one of two things,” Jess said, in place of greeting. “Either you’re here for a good time, or you’re here to make trouble. I’m not a glorified babysitter, but if it’s the second option…”

It wouldn’t matter, this time.  Evolution was not on their side, and there was nothing in the world that was going to stop nature from taking its course--from mutants winning.  Charles could stick his head in the sand all he wanted, but the influx of mutants to the Brotherhood showed all too clearly that the rest of homo superior was every bit as aware that this was exactly what Erik had always claimed it to be: a war.

His attempt to take a break from the mission, after the all-too-public death of the man he’d only just found to be his son, had only ceded ground to the humans, and now he intended to make up for the lost time.  

If he just so happened to start doing so in the same city his informants told him that the daughter he had yet to meet had returned to, well.  Two birds with one stone.  New York would serve other purposes.   

If there was one thing his time away had done beneficially, his face was apparently much less recognizable with a couple year’s distance between now and the whole volcano incident.  Then again, the chaos that had erupted in the city with the rupture between worlds probably meant that most people had something much more important on their minds than paying attention to a man who was very clearly trying to avoid notice. 

Most people.  But clearly not everyone.  He’d noticed the tail on him three blocks back.  A thought unlocked the door to a little convenience shop that was ‘Closed for Another Fucking Crisis,’ according to the sign on the door, and he slipped inside and waited.  

Getting out of Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly what anyone could call rare, if you wanted the truth.  They might as well pitch it as a hotel for all the good it really did holding in criminals, these days.  ‘Treatment’ was a joke, ‘containment’ an even bigger one--all it’d done for him was let him meet some of Gotham’s less accessible crazies for a chat.  

And get him on the registration list, for all the good that’d done the feds.  All he had to do was get a new prosthetic to fit over the mask once he got out, and they were back to square one trying to figure out who he was unless he left his fingerprints anywhere.  

And he was a goddamned professional.

Which was why he’d decided it was better to skip town for a few months, run Gotham from a distance and give himself a bit of breathing room from the Commissioner who would no doubt be breathing down every alleyway looking for the man who pulled every string of Gotham’s organized crime.  

Besides, he’d heard one of the Bat’s little birdies was in New York amongst all the other heroes.  Gotham had gotten almost boring, once he’d actually succeeded in taking control.  Doing the same in New York under the noses of all the heroes there would be a refreshing challenge.  

Until now.

He was sitting in Central Park. It was nicer than it was in his day, and now he’d had the privilege of watching it grow and change. He understood time a little better now. For eighty years, he had been having lunch in this park, with his wife or by himself, so he knew instantly that he was not in the same place. Despite appearances, something had happened.

Something always happened. 

Her gaze didn’t linger on the VIP section long, it couldn’t if she was going to maintain her cover. She loaded up a tray of drinks and waved for the waitress to take it before turning to someone who had just come up at the bar. Sharon flashed a smile as she put an elbow on the bar and leaned in. “So, what’s your poison tonight?”