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Months Ago

"So...they finally did it."

General Wade Hiller drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk as he looked out at the view of Parliament Hill in Ottawa. The political seat of power in Canada, Ottawa was where things were decided that affected the entire nation. Hiller was one of the few that knew just how far reaching the work done here truly was. Canada was not considered a powerful nation when compared the United States or Britain, but it had been ahead of its time when it came to passing laws to govern superhumans.

"That they did, sir," said Colonel Jack Walker. "Took a while, but then, they couldn't just sit around after the Stamford incident, could they?"

"No," said Hiller, "They couldn't. At least we didn't need any significant loss of life to get our act passed. Hell, we've had the Superpowers Registration Act in place for years."

"Didn't have the issues they have with it, either," said Walker. "Captain America and Iron Man seem to be the lightning rods in all this."

"My father met Captain America back in WW II," said Hiller. "I have a hard time believing that man would rebel against something designed to save lives."

"Be that as it may, sir, we can expect some superhumans from the US to try and flee to Canada to avoid their own Registration Act." Walker leafed through a manila folder. "A few have already popped up on some intelligence reports."

"I say, let them come," said Hiller. "Our Act has managed quite well over the past years. Let's see who comes across the border...maybe we can make some use of them."

"How so, sir?"

"If our superhuman population is about to get a bump in numbers," said Hiller, "Then perhaps the Flight program will be reinstated."

"How would that be any different for them than what they left America for, sir?" asked Walker.

"That's the beauty of it," said Hiller. "It won't be...but they won't know it until it's too late."

 

THE INITIATIVE PRESENTS

#1

"Intelligent Design - Part One"

By Les Sauser

 

Northern British Columbia, Present Day

He could smell the perspiration coming from his prey. It sensed something was amiss, but not specifically what. By the time it did...it would be too late.

He crept slowly through the brush, his immense size belying the soundlessness of his passing. He could hear the blood racing through the veins of his quarry, blood that he craved to feel rushing between his teeth and down his throat. He paused...paused...

...then sprung, leaping through the air, claws extended, and fangs bared. He landed atop the deer before it had a chance to move, the adrenaline rushing through its blood making it taste sweeter as his teeth ripped its throat out. The body continued to convulse, but he dared not stop until his hunger was sated. He bit huge chunks out of the animal, tasting the sweetness of life that came from the hunt. Within minutes, it was over. Barely anything remained of the deer, a carcass that would attract scavengers before long. Nothing ever went to waste in the wild. The important thing was that he was sated, the hunger, the need to hunt, was abated.

He walked back to the cabin, his immense form slowly changing. He became smaller the more he walked, until, in front of the cabin, he was no longer the beast...and merely a man.

Walter Langkowski stepped onto the porch and donned the robe he had left for his return. Despite the cold, he was sweating. He opened the door to the cabin and went inside. The cabin was a fair size, all one room with a wood burning stove in the center. A cot lay several feet from the stove, with a basic kitchen and old pitted sink opposite the bed. The cabin might convince one that it was actually a century earlier, except for the laptop computer on a small wooden table. The laptop was wired to an antenna that led to the roof and from there to a satellite link. It was Walter's only connection to the civilized world.

He dunked his head into a tub of water made freezing with snow from outside. The jarring feeling invigorated him, helping him shake off the funk he always felt these days after a transformation from his beast-form of Sasquatch. He gave himself a cold sponge bath, then dried off and got dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked in the mirror as he went to brush his teeth, and saw a small piece of deer-flesh stuck in between two molars. He pried it out, disgusted, and then cleaned his teeth.

He made a pot of coffee from the stove, drinking it black. As he walked around the cabin, he saw several things on his wall that always gave him pride no matter what life threw at him. Several diplomas were framed and hanging, showing his accreditation towards his life's work as a physicist. The last thing, however, was perhaps the most important: a framed glass display with his Super Bowl ring from the 1997 NFL Championship. Walter had played with the Green Bay Packers then, while educating himself for his scientific future. He knew those days were long behind him, but he longed for the days when he was able to compete physically without the burden of a superhuman transformation into a mythical beast.

Langkowski had led a charmed life, especially after meeting and befriending Bruce Banner, who had been conducting research into the effects of gamma radiation. Banner ended up creating the Gamma Bomb, a device that ended up transforming him into the rampaging monster called the Hulk. Intrigued, Langkowski delved into his own gamma-based research, which led to experimentation at the Arctic Circle that resulted in his transformation into Sasquatch. This was later revealed to be mystical in nature, as Walter had actually merged himself with an extra-dimensional beast called Tanaraq. Walter ended up gaining control of his Sasquatch form and was recruited to join Canada's premier superhuman team, Alpha Flight. He served with them for several years, but Walter died after expunging Tanaraq from his being in order to prevent the powerful Great Beast from wreaking havoc on Earth. Walter was subsequently reborn within the deceased body of his Alpha Flight teammate Snowbird, who herself was actually a goddess. Her form was able to shapeshift into a Sasquatch form of its own, although Walter was now female. Eventually, he was able to cause Snowbird's form to take on his own previous appearance as Walter Langkowski. It was in this form that he had enjoyed complete control of his Sasquatch form for a number of years, and even served with Alpha Flight once again...until recently.

A superhuman named Michael Pointer found himself the receptacle of hundreds of mutant energy signatures after the events of M-Day, when the mutant population was inexplicably reduced from millions to merely a few hundred. The mutant energies that had been removed were brought together in orbit, and cascaded to the Earth's surface, bombarding Pointer at his home in Alaska. Driven insane, Pointer began a swath of destruction across Alaska and into Canada. It was in the Yukon that Alpha Flight had confronted Pointer, calling itself The Collective.

Alpha Flight was killed within seconds, save for Sasquatch. The Collective effectively tore the team apart. Walter's friends and allies, Guardian, Vindicator, Puck, Major Mapleleaf and Shaman were dead. The Collective continued to New York and on to Genosha, where it faced the Avengers. It was finally defeated, but Michael Pointer was forever changed. Walter Langkowski was not a violent man, but he hated Michael Pointer. He knew the man was not responsible for his actions, but that did nothing to diminish the rage in his heart.

It was since the loss of his friends that he began feeling uncontrollable rage and hunger, the need to hunt, to kill. Not wanting to be like his friend Banner, Walter fled to northern British Columbia where he could live in solitude while he investigated this sudden blood lust. So far, after several months of seclusion, he had not found an answer. What worried him more was that he wasn't sure he wanted to find it.

He sat at the small table and turned the laptop out of hibernation mode. He logged in and accessed a secure communication link. There was an encrypted message waiting for him. He took a deep breath and opened it.

 

TO: LANGKOWSKI@ DEPT.H.GC.CA
FROM: HILLER@FORCES.GC.CA

RE: REINSTATEMENT OF FLIGHT SCHOOL

WALTER,

THE TIME HAS COME, MY FRIEND. EVENTS IN THE UNITED STATES HAVE MADE IT SO THE REACTIVATION OF THE FLIGHT INITIATIVE IS A POLITICALLY PALATABLE CONCEPT WITH PARLIAMENT. THE PRIME MINISTER HAS ADVISED THAT WE ARE TO BEGIN THE TASK OF REFORMING THE FLIGHT TEAMS, PRIMARILY ALPHA.

I REALIZE THAT YOU MUST FEEL THIS IS TOO SOON AFTER YOUR FRIENDS DIED, BUT HAVING YOU ONBOARD WOULD GO A LONG WAY TO SMOOTHING THINGS WITH THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. CAN I COUNT ON YOUR SUPPORT ON THIS?

REGARDS,
WADE

P.S. I THINK I HAVE A SOLUTION FOR YOUR RECENT PROBLEMS. IF YOU'RE TIRED OF BUSH COUNTRY, CALL ME AND WE'LL TALK. 604-555-4455.

 

Walter was dumbfounded. He shouldn't have been surprised that General Wade Hiller knew where he was, though. Department H kept a close eye on its former recruits, even if they were no longer considered active government employees.

Walter sat back in his chair. He clicked 'REPLY' and typed.

 

TO: HILLER@FORCES.GC.CA
FROM: LANGKOWSKI@DEPT.H.GC.CA

RE: RE: REINSTATEMENT OF FLIGHT SCHOOL

WADE,

I'M WILLING TO TALK. SINCE YOU KNOW WHERE I AM, SEND A CHOPPER.

WALTER

REGINA, SASKATCHEWAN, CANADA

Jeff Rush was late. Again. Which, considering what he was, was ironic indeed.

He weaved in and out of traffic as he made his way down Albert Street. His second job interview in as many days, he was one minute away from being late. His account was getting a bit too low...he needed this job. If he was late, Amber was going to kill him. He barely missed hitting a minivan as he ran a red light. Normally, running a light would be illegal. Technically in his case, it still was...only Jeff wasn't driving a car.

He was running at nearly sixty miles an hour.

He screeched to a halt, his special shoes heating with the friction. He had just made it. He took a moment to change from his 'running' shoes to a nicer pair of dress shoes. He looked down at his clothes. A couple of spots of dirt, but nothing too bad. He checked his hair in the reflection of a window and then walked into the offices of Landau, Luckman & Lake. They were a firm he had never heard of, but they needed a runner to go between courthouses with important documents, subpoenas, etc. He hoped they would be happy when they found out just how much of a runner he was.

He stepped up to the receptionist. "Hi. Jeff Rush, here to see Ms. Ivory?"

The receptionist motioned to a small couch. "Certainly, Mr. Rush. Ms. Ivory will be right out in a moment."

He nodded, and then sat down. He looked around the spacious waiting room. It looked bigger from inside than from outside. Whoever interior designed this place did a heck of a job. He reached down for a magazine, when a voice came from beside him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rush," said an exceptionally beautiful woman. Her hair was so blonde it almost seemed white. Her eyes were a piercing blue. Her business suit was professional, yet left the viewer with absolutely no doubts about her figure. "I'm Constance Ivory."

Jeff stood up. "Hello, Ms. Ivory. Pleased to meet you."

"You as well," said Ivory. "If you will follow me?"

Jeff walked behind her, careful not to stare too long. There were many offices in the main area they entered, much more than Jeff would have guessed. This building must go back a heck of a lot more than I thought , he mused. Finally, Ivory motioned for Rush to enter a spacious and finely decorated office. He entered and sat down in front of her large desk.

"Mr. Rush," said Ivory after offering Jeff a drink, which he politely refused, "What have you heard of our firm?"

"Not much," said Jeff. "I actually had never heard of it at all until I got a call from the job placement agency. You guys aren't even on the internet, or even Wikipedia."

"We are a large firm," said Ivory, "But we are a private firm. We cater to especially rich and powerful clientele. LL&L has many arms, of which this law firm is but one of them."

"Wow," said Jeff. "Interesting."

"It definitely can be," said Ivory. "But I think you'll find our offer to you to be even more interesting."

"Court Runner, I'm assuming?" asked Jeff. "The job posting info was kind of vague."

"Purposely, Jeff," said Ivory. "We would like to offer you a position to act as a...liaison...between LL&L and a government agency."

"Does this have something to do with Beta Flight?" asked Jeff. "'Cause I haven't had anything to do with the government since they shut down the Flight programs."

"Actually, it does," said Ivory. "We know you are a registered super-human with the Canadian government and that you received basic training on managing your powers from the training 'Beta' Flight program. We also know you are struggling for money since your Government stipend was cut off as a Beta Trainee. In particular, your mother is quite ill and has medical expenses Provincial Health won't cover."

"You know a whole lot more about me than what's on my resume," said Jeff. "Not that my powers are a secret...but how do you know about Mom?"

"Please, relax," said Ivory. "We want to offer to cover your mother's medical bills and give yourself a generous allowance. All we ask is for you to act as our representative when dealing with the Canadian Government."

"How can I do that?" asked Jeff. "There are no more government jobs for super-schmoes like me. They canned the whole program."

"They're starting it up again," said Ivory. "We want you to join the new Alpha Flight Initiative."

Windsor, Ontario, Canada

He should never have returned from Europe, but he had wanted to see them one last time. He had barely escaped, but finally he had made it. He almost couldn't believe it. Canada. He was free. No longer being hunted by the Capekillers and SHIELD troops just for being a superhuman that refused to register. Now, he was free of Tony Stark and his high tech Gestapo. Free of being hunted by Osborn and his cronies. Free to start a new life, to forget about Peter Parker...to forget about everything.

He was going to head to Northern Canada, maybe Quebec, and live out his life alone. A fresh start.

His body convulsed as the tasers struck. He had no warning, and that was as much a shock as the weapon used on him. Everything was bright, lancing pain. He thought he had felt pain in his life...but this was too much.

He collapsed and everything faded to black.

"Target acquired," came a voice from the dim blackness. "Returning package to base."

Then everything faded to nothingness.

Hay River, North West Territories, Canada

He pulled his jacket closer to his body. The cold was bothering even him this far north. He had tried to use his abilities on himself once before and nearly ended up dying from shock. He just wished he had the ability to fly. If he could fly, he would be in warmer climes...but he was here for a reason.

He had been following trail after trail regarding a mysterious man named Milbury for several years now. Each time he found something, a sign, anything, he ended up finding another dead end.then another clue. He had hit seventeen orphanages from Alaska to Nebraska, to Nevada and even into Mexico. Now, he was researching what had become of a school closed in Hay River more than forty years ago.

The receptionist at the town hall gave him a wary eye as he asked to see the town records. He had learned that most Canadian and American towns allowed public access to their historical records, and that smaller communities didn't even charge a fee. His own meagre finances were nearly gone. If he hadn't been such an adept hunter, and the game in northern Canada not as plentiful as it was, he might have starved long ago. Of course, he could have looked up the Summers family...but he didn't want to bring further hardship to the people who had shown him kindness.

He sat at the small computer terminal. He had to concentrate on damping his own electromagnetic field so as to not damage the computer. It had vital information, or at least that was his hope. He logged in and began reading about the Hay River Indian Residential School.

Like others around the country, Hay River Residential School was founded by the Catholic Church and funded by the Canadian Government in the early 1900's. It purpose was to 're-educate' the children of the Native Indian population and assimilate them into the 'mainstream' Canadian culture. The school, like its many counterparts, was rife with abuse and poor living conditions, with a mortality rate in the early 20th century of 69%. This school was officially closed in the 1980's and the Canadian government had, in recent years, issued a formal apology and financial settlement to those who suffered.

He looked over the staffing records, many but not all transferred to computer record. Finally, he saw what he was looking for. Dr. Nathan Milbury had been the government appointed Headmaster of this school from 1960 to 1981. He reviews the record search, focusing it on media coverage...and finally found what he had sought for so long. A picture of Milbury himself.

Now, he had a face to the name. Records showed Milbury retired in 1981 and went on to a government post with the Canadian Department of Defence in Ottawa. It was a slim lead, but it was a new direction...one he was eager to take.

He walked up to the receptionist. "Where is the bus stop?"

She eyed him warily still. "Two blocks east and one block south."

"Thank you," he said. He left the building and headed the way she had said. He checked his store of cash. Just under $500 left. It would get him to Ottawa...but then, he would need to find more terran currency if his search did not bear fruit. He decided he would worry about it then.

Adam-X turned south and headed to the bus station, eager to make the next leg of his long journey.

His mind was clouded, he was shifting in and out of nightmares of his past. He remembered being tortured for thousands of years, remembered the pain of dissection and experimentation. Even after all this time, after all his victories and power that were his to wield, he still dreamed of the helplessness of his alien captors.

He slowly opened his eyes, the retinas lancing with pain as they captured light for the first time. His muscles flexed for the first time. His mouth and throat worked for the first time. The fluids around him were golden and translucent, the light reflecting prismatically around him. His memory was returning...he had died, hadn't he? Then how was it he was living again? Was this Hell? The afterlife?

"Hello," said an electronic voice. He felt a breathing tube in his mouth and earpieces on the sides of his head. The voice was coming from there...so he wasn't dead. He was very much living again. "It's nice to see you finally awaken."

His vision was still blurred, but he saw a humanoid shape standing in front of him. The man wore a dark brown suit, with medals adorning his chest. He was military. He was being held by the military.

"Don't try to speak," said the voice. "There will be plenty of time for that. Suffice it to say, it's nice to see you finally open those eyes." The man stepped closer to the fluid filled tube, his face resolving more. "We have big plans for you."

His mind raced. For the first time in thousands of years, he was not in control. For the first time in recorded history, the Master of the World was not truly a master.

He was a prisoner...and the purpose of this imprisonment, the unknown nature of it, scared him for the first time since his creation.

If he could have screamed, he would have.

Next Issue: More mystery abounds as 'Intelligent Design' continues... Adam-X arrives in Ottawa...and faces the might of Sasquatch!

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