Country: United States
November 01, 2018
02/24/2019 10:18 PM
It had been too long.
It was a realization that hit him like a gut punch.
When was the last time? He could barely remember.
The last time he moved without hindrance, without criticism, without expectations hoisted onto his shoulders by his lessers.
His lessers they were. There was no ego in that, just bald faced facts. Omega wasn’t just some codename. It was a power level, a way of life. A sign that his level of thinking was just something beyond anything that they could completely wrap their minds around.
10 billion thoughts a second, without effort, without strain, without applying himself at all.
Evolution at its garish peak display.
Peac*ck deluxe with a side of Einstein.
Why had he bothered to saddle himself with the walking apes that surrounded him on a daily basis? When he looked inside, the feeling gripped his heart like Jack Frost was giving it a handy.
Loneliness. Weak emotion that. It was only a logical thing that he’d be seperate from the herd of the rank and file. That was his tie to them, emotional baggage of societal desires. There was no one like him. Where some of his fellow mutants might be outcast for the way they appeared on the inside, Quentin Quire cast himself out for how he functioned on the inside. He knew what they were going to say before they were going to say it. Predictably calculated and assumed. Rarely wrong, often disappointed by his own correct assessments.
Thoughts zipping across his mind in blurs of light, he knelt on the floor of his penthouse. Legs tucked under him, eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling as his mind met the only thing that could challenge it, itself.
He dove deep into the darkness of his own consciousness. The cool black waters of mental membranes outer layers kissing his psionic self’s flesh. The rush of the current of consciousness slipping over perception and into his soul of being, cool waters of the superfluous mind. Short term memories, random facts, day to day information regularly accessed, it was all the external garbage. The candy coating every brain had. But he was seeking something more substantial. A little mental spring cleaning.
Finally he broke through the outer layers, feet finding their way beneath him again as they touched ground on a marble floor. He found himself in the giant library that was his mindscape.
He smirked to himself as he walked through it, nonexistant fingers gliding over dusty copies of books that represented the knowledge he had of, well everything. Anything from what his favorite gum was, to equations on the physics of anti-gravity pumps lay here. All neatly organized and arranged. He couldn’t help but casually muse to himself about what most would think if they saw it. People loved to make assumptions about Quentin, most that he readily farmed, but his mind was far more organized than most would believe. But it wasn’t the library that interested him today. It was something more profound, deeper. Hollow echoes filling the room as boots clattered on stone on their way further.
He followed it. That icy cold dreading feeling in his heart, the fear of finding something forgotten. Something lost in the shuffle of everything else. Something that he was missing. A piece of himself that his heart ached towards. Ached to reclaim, ached to forget? He couldn’t tell, and that was the thing that intrigued him. Ten billion thoughts a second, and yet part of his mind had drained away from itself. He’d lost something in his time at the Jean Grey Institute. Some part of himself that was a feeling like a ball bearing loose in his heart. And he needed to remember what that was.
It was in this search that he found it. A door that wasn’t a door. A pathway that wasn’t meant to be a pathway. An area of his mind, small and seemingly shrinking, that he felt drawn towards. It was a path barely big enough for him to squeeze into. More like a ventilation shaft inside his mind, reaching downwards. With no small amount of reservation he clambered inside and began to crawl. Dust and cobwebs of long dead memories clinging to his shoulders, tangling in his hair as he went. Ever downward, deeper, the darker corners of his mind.
He then tumbled.
Fell without falling past stone, and metal and chain. Past dead lovers, living deaths, and obscurum giving form.
Down into the deep depths of the inner workings of chaos and subconscious
It was there he found it.
The siren that had been calling to him.
The deep chained thing.
The mind within his mind.
It sat locked inside a symbol he hadn’t seen for ages.
The half creature, half symbol opened its one eye and spoke to him in a voice he thought he’d long left behind.
“And here I was beginning to think that you’d forgotten all about me”
02/21/2019 12:32 PM
It was early evening. The sun, whilst not quite set, had dipped behind the trees just as the storm clouds began to roll in and darken. Rain was not so much a looming threat, as a certainty of the journey. Thick bottomed boots crunched on the loose pebbles on the sidewalk as Quentin made his way through the city. Overhead the halo of the streetlights began to glow as the mist of failing moisture began to fall. He paid no mind to it, however. A small blue glow appearing over his head, raindrops collecting on it, before cascading down to the ground.
It was the little details that most people missed. The small things that showed what kind of mutant Quentin really was. It could be seen in the collection of the rain drops. They didn’t merely fall at his feet. Instead they traveled down in organized rivulets rolling off the sidewalk and into the storm drains that lined the streets. Quietly doing his part to keep the sidewalk dry for whatever little time he could by them.
His goal loomed in the distance, the glowing light of a Subway restaurant of all things. Not normally taken with fast food, but he found himself in the mood to avoid people as much as possible this night. Though as he went, he saw something shimmering in the distance. He quirked an eyebrow at the mysterious object on the sidewalk and held his hand up to it. Blue waves of telekinetic energy lifting and moving the object towards him. He had assumed it was a quarter, and was mildly disappointed to find that it was merely a nickel. Shrugging he put the object in his pocket and headed towards the fast food establishment. It was there that he saw him. A man, clearly homeless, hunched on the sidewalk beneath the overhang to the Subway. He was shivering in the fresh rain and looked up to Quentin as he approached. In his hand he gripped some tattered friendship bracelets in a variety of rainbow colors.
“Hey Mr, buy one for a dollar?” the man said holding the bracelets out to him.
Quentin offered the man a smile and rummaged through his pockets. He found the nickel and offered it to the man “Sorry, this is all the cash I have on me, but you can have it. Tell you what, how about I bring you something from inside?”
The man’s eyes lighted at the offer of food, though it didn’t stop him from taking the nickel as well and adding it to a small cup of change and crumpled notes. “Gee thanks, Mr that be great!” he said smelling of all manner of liquor. Quentin was about to walk past the man when greasy fingers gripped his wrist. “Here” the man said tying one of the bracelets to Quentin “You earned it, bless you!”
Quentin couldn’t help but have a slight smile on his face as he entered the fast food joint. He’d be sure to pick the man up a nice sandwich for his kindness. It was these little moments that renewed his faith in humanity a bit. He was waiting in line when he heard the sound of peeling tires. A man yelling from a truck, something about ‘Mutie Scum’. He thought nothing much of it until the explosion., He had no way of knowing what it was, or even exactly where it came from. His powers instinctively tossing a telekinetic shield around himself as the world around him turned to fire and tinder for a moment. Glass and shrapnel cascading into the streets around him. And then? It was all cinders and ash. He wished that this sort of thing could be a surprise. That it made him feel more than he did. But he’d seen the worst of humanity too many times to really be struck by it.
Boots crunched over broken glass, and chipped tilework as he walked through what was once the wall of the Subway. He looked down with a pang of sadness and anger at the remnants of the homeless man. He was looked down on by so many, but in his way he had shown Quentin some of the simple best that humanity could offer in day to day moments. And now he was flayed on the ground, a bloody pin cushion of glass and brick. On the ground, coated in flecks of blood and ash, shimmered a nickel. Quentin picked it up, put it in his pocket, and moved on to do what had to be done.
02/19/2019 12:47 PM
Visions of the Future
It was all too crazy to even begin to consider really. Him? Nah, no way not his deal. But it was something that had kept being brought to his attention recently. Something mentioned in casual conversations that he wasn’t sure were meant to, but definitely did spark something in him. No one has been able to do it in so long. The schisms, the Phoenix issues, the separation by an entire country. The lost of the Haven’s and Genoshias and countless other dividing factors. No one could do it. They had said, no one had the capability or the drive to get it done. Well hell he didn’t have the drive for it either, not really. And if he did, would he really want to?
He had been brought there against his will in the beginning. The choice of being put into a coma in a prison, or attend the institute no real choice at all. A political prisoner. Something to parade around and show off to the normies with a good boy sticker on his chest. “Oh that Quentin Quire, he was such a bad boy, but we went and reformed him, yes indeed we did. He’s a good boy now. Going to save the world in fact.”
F*** that and the basic model brainpan that thought it was a good idea. He wasn’t some trained monkey to dance around for normies that rather see him dead in the streets then alive saving their asses. He’d known this since the beginning, always known it. Normal people had no secrets from Quentin Quire. He dipped his mental toe into their brains and found the waters there covered with pond scum. Dirty heathen apes that thought they deserved to run the Earth just because they were here first. No vision for the future.
Then again that was what Quentin had been actively trying to avoid for some time now. The future. He’d met future him once, douchebag. Leader of the X-Men? Bullsh*t. Phoenix? Ok well yeah, that part had happened. No denying that. But he wasn’t about to pick up the dreams of Xavier and play good boy. Magneto either, obviously a minority group going to war with 7 billion meat puppets wasn’t exactly the best course of action either. Especially when some of them had powers of their own.
Wait, f***, was he really thinking about this? Was he giving honest creedence to the idea that he could lead a group of mutants into anything more complicated than a drink order? F*** no, that was not something that was ok. That was following the fates of the future and leading him to be that douchebag future Quentin, and seriously, f*** that guy. But there were some important differences.
Idie, Broo, Evan, Kid Gladiator, hell not even the Bamfs were anywhere to be found these days. All were part of future his X-Men team. Also that name? F*** that name, Xavier had nothing to do with Quentin’s vision of a future for mutant kind… sh*t he had a vision for the future of mutant kind. Growing up sucked.
It was always in moments of near rest that it hit him the strongest. The thoughts that usually sulked on the edges of his mind. Not thoughts so much, no, it was more blunt than that, more mathematical.
That was the sh*t that could keep him up at night. The different cold numbers that told him the possibilities.
You see, Quentin Quire was in something of a unique, well not unique as most of the X-Men had seen future selves at some point or another but you get the picture, position of knowing the threads of his future. Not all of them, but a small tangle of the possible timelines on which he could find himself in the future.
Leader of the X-Men? Yeah in two timelines at least
Mutant Overmind of Apocalypse?Yeah check, that was one too
Most were more mundane than that, to be honest/thankful. Where he was some lame standard X-Men hero, or dead, or more or less the same but banging Rogue for some reason. That was an odd one…
But it wasn’t just these threads that plagued him. It was the others, the unforeseen ones, the versions of him that he could theoretically become that he loathed the most, and his mind twisted over. Because, in the end, when he looked at the statistical data, he HAD to get involved in one way or another.
Involved in the fighting, the killing, the protecting business. In a more serious way than the West Coast Avengers. Quentin had power, real power, scary power. And at the end of the day, if he wasn’t going to be the one to do something about the problems then no one was.
Not the super villain problems. There were gobs of people lined up to deal with the glamourous sh*t. The stuff that involved newspaper headlines and action figures, and cinematic releases. F*** that sh*t. Quentin didn’t need nor want any of that noise. He was talking about the real problems, the bedrock problems, the problems that people like the Avengers and the Fantastic Four could have rightfully solved decades ago, but they were too blind or stupid to do anything about them.
Poverty, war, famine, all of it was caused by some illogical fear of casualties. Of getting your hands dirty, something ironic for a telekinetic he admitted, and taking the losses that the world would need to take in order to get sh*t done. To get the problems solved with any semblance of finality.
You see Quentin couldn’t see the future, not in reality, but he could see the statistical probabilities. He could see who the players in the world's destruction might one day be. He could see the future monsters of the world, and by Quire he could do something about it. The moral ambiguity of it was just the kind of place for a mutant like him to live. In the deep dark grey areas of it. He knew how to fix the world’s problems. He knew how to stem the tide of super threats to the Earth itself. If the others were too weak or squeamish to do something about it, Quentin Quire would be more than happy to handle things up properly.
01/11/2019 12:33 PM
Re-Evaluation Part 2
The Omega Plan
Mind Manipulation and You
It was an idea. That was all. The tiniest little firing of a neuron. A miniscule spark on the vast sea of folded brain matter. Lighting the dark insides of the limited, and yet infinite, space within his mind. The world was run on such things and they often, like tonight, would wake young Quentin Quire from even the deepest of sleeps. He was a slave to it. When his mind got on a singular track. There was nothing to do but work it out until the thought ran out, or more likely, reached its conclusion.
His eyes snapped open. He had no idea what actual time it was. He had long given up the normal concept of ‘time’ in lieu of his own perception of it. But it was definitely dark out. Dawn approaching judging by the position of the stars he could see outside his bedroom, and their illumination level. Stars: 73% Hydrogen, 25% helium, .8% oxygen, .36% Carbon, .16% Iron, .12% neon, .09% Nitrogen, .07% silicon, .05% magnesium, .04% sulphur, .04% other materials. He reached for the night stand, his fingers finding and then curling around the plastic rim of his glasses. As he picked them up gently and placed them on his face as he sat up. Glasses were most likely the invention, or at least first wrote about by Alhezen of Cairo around the year 1000. Though many Americans incorrectly attribute it to Benjamin Franklin, who did however pioneer the idea of bifocal lenses. The calculations and ideas ran through his head like lightning, and there was no time to be wasted in the capturing of them.
Telekinetically, that would be the way. Often when he had ideas flowing in this fast, his clumsy fingers couldn’t keep up with the process. This just led to more frustration and having to retread old thoughts to make sure he got them right. Wasting time in situations like this was tantamount to the greatest of sins. So a pen ran across paper as a pencil simultaneously drew schematics on a nearby paper hooked into a drafting bench. The notebook was a tattered, dog eared moleskin with bite marks on the corner that would need to be explained some other time. The Moleskin company, while one of the most popular notebook brands in the world was actually only founded in 1997. The drew their inspiration from the kinds of books Van Gogh was known to sketch in.
Quentin Quire robotically slipped on black shorts and worn down Adidas as the work continued. Adidas was formed in the early 1900’s by Adolf ‘Adi’ Dassler. His shoes became world famous when he gifted a pair to Jesse Owen’s to use in the 1936 Olympics when he won gold medals in the Nazi held Berlin. He paced the floor in a fervor. His shoes softly thumping with the weight and pace of each set as he went. His hands held behind his back, left wrist in right hand, as he went. He muttered to himself. Mostly calculations as well as the occasional real word.
“No no, have to compensate for the speed. Current Shi’ar embryonic fluids in the mix isn’t conductive enough, perhaps, yes mixing with unstable molecules to help maintain structure and compensate for the cross dimensional flux rate of 3.48207”
As he said this he idly pulled a granola bar from his pants pocket. Unaware, and unconcerned with how long it had been there, he bit off the top of the wrapper as he set himself in a chair near the drafting table, eyes focused on the schematics on it. The pencil working to sketch, erase, redraw, and mold the image as the variety of pieces came together on the page. As they did this, they also appeared in a more digital form. The drawings being copied in real time to the computer via touch screen. A green outline of what, to the laymen, would appear to be a series of syringes all pointing towards a central point. He idly pressed a few keys on the keyboard, granola bar protruding from his mouth, and a basic schematic of a brain appeared at this central point.
It would have to be lined up correctly of course. To the micromillimeter, but that would not be so big a feat. Brain scanners would need to be built for the device anyway, they could be modified, then re-modified, easily enough to accomplish the tasks necessary. And the calculations, by god there would be a lot of them even for him. Enough to compensate for the mental telemitry of all of them. Every mutant, human, gamma irradiated weirdo, mystic sentience, and science accident out there. They would all need to be brought inline, and online. To be pulled in and processed. Every eventuality would need to be planned for. Ever personality placated, or muted. But he could do it, by god he could get it done. His eyes widened as the realization hit him. He was going to do what Xavier could never even dream of doing. He would be realizing the dream of Xavier and Magneto all in one fell swoop. A peaceful victory, through sheer force of mind.
He sat back in his chair and looked over the schematic one last time. A smile crawling onto the corner of his lips as he reached out for the pencil. He reached up and scrawled in the corner margin a simple title that would signify a whole new world for everyone. “The Quireverse”
The room was bright. Shades pulled back, the natural light of the mid day shone its god rays through strong, filling the room. The floors grey and white speckled marble reflecting the light while absorbing a small amount of its heat. Helping the bare feet that crossed it warm as they paced the floor. The walls, simple modern white walls, were marred by various scratches of desks carelessly moved. In most available space hung various pro and anti-mutant propaganda, as well as graffiti spray painted directly on it by its owner. All ignored as he paced the floor in thought. Mind moving through endless calculation after another in a seemingly endless string of numbers, each representing a thought pattern. A mind.
The mutant pacing the floor was the greatest of these. Quentin Quire, Omega level mutant, his mind dwarfed even Xavier’s by comparison. In fact it was a disappointment for young Quentin when he had first met the professor. He had thought that he may have found an equal, or even superior mind to help him train his own. But his mental blocks may as well have been constructed by playskool for all the trouble that Quentin had in tearing them apart. Another in a long string of let down’s for the young mutant, but that's neither here nor there. Now was about the task at hand.
Stumbling in on the scene, one would have been forgiven to think that Quentin was as much machine as he were flesh and blood. Straps around his shirtless midsection housed various wires and sensors of his own design. Similar straps lined each of his arms and legs. But the most bizarre looking part to the uninitiated would be the helmet that sat perched on top of his skull, tufts of pink hair poking out of the spaces at odd angles.
It was a rough thing, cobbled together by what spare parts he had laying around the penthouse. The casing was of a toaster, sacrificed to the whimsical gods of a creative mind, bent to make a skull cap of sorts for the thing. Inside, unseen, it housed thousands upon thousands of contact points made from all manner of metals and household objects. Pen points, sewing needles, scissor blades, knives, and torn apart whisks had all been used to make the kaleidoscope of contacts that he needed to properly map and absorb his mental energies. These contacts sat atop his head, barely making contact with the flesh of his skull, separated by half of a throw pillow underneath, lest he pierce his head with the various parts within. The motherboard of three separate video game consoles were hastily duct taped to the outside of the contraption. Wires of yellow, red, and blue spiraling out from each to join in the center. All taped together to one long tentacle that joined with the other wires at the base of his spine and tethered the whole thing to his computer. The screen of which was flashing swiftly between greens and blacks.
If one was fast enough to perceive what was happening in the intermittency of these flashes, they would be witness to the miracle of the helmet and wires. The process by which Quentin was slowly, painstakingly, yet in mere seconds accomplishing his herculean task. Minds given digital form. They would see as ones and zeroes formed shapelessly on the screen at first. Then slowly molding themselves. Bending and folding with each perceived crease of the mind. Then stretching out from this central point. The green would shape each fiber, muscle, tendon, and sinew. Each organ put in its properly place before the skin coated the whole of the creation and then was filed away. Both in the memory of the computer, and that of its creator, then the whole would begin again with a fresh creation.
The work was as painstakingly difficult as it was dull. The average human mind contained so little it astounded Quentin that they were able to sort out walking and eating at all. It was a miracle that their brains did not simply do him the favor of throttling themselves with their own spinal chords and simply be done with the whole thing. But it was a necessary sacrifice. The greater brains would not know what to do with themselves in a world with no lessers to save or torment. He’d seen it all in the projections. You put a so called ‘hero’ or ‘villain’ in a scenario with no one to save or torment, and the mind became restless. Their base cravings unfulfilled, their egos no longer properly stroked, and the whole system eventually melted down, full of rebellious bored brains. No it would have to be perfect. It would have to be all of them.
He was halfway through the eastern seaboard when he decided it was time to take a break from it all. He carefully removed his helmet and set it on the computer desk. As he took a moment to run his fingers through his pink locks, he idly calculated redesigns for the helmet. It would, of course, need to be improved upon. He’d have to find a source of vibranium for the cap, something to speed the frequencies that he needed to hit to increase his production rate. And of course it be nice if he didn’t have to worry about getting stabbed in the head if he bounced around too much. Beyond that it also be nice if he could set up wireless receivers. The freedom he would gain from that in movement would more than outway any latency issues he may have in actual production time. But for now he needed sustenance.
He took a step and was almost immediately hit by a wave of weakness. The whole of his body felt light, weak, as though he was made of feathers that risked scattering to the breeze at the slightest gust of wind. He placed his right palm to his head and rubbed it as he staggered back, and sat down on one of the cardboard boxes scattered across his floor. How long had it been since he had last eaten? He remembered eating a granola bar this morning, or was that yesterday morning? Thursday morning? What day was it when he had began? His mind ached at the simple thoughts of the thing when he heard something wet drip to the floor.
Looking down he saw the oddest red splotch on the floor, was that… blood? Where the devil had blood come from? His first instinct was to check his head for some unnoticed sore spot. Obviously one of the prongs had caught… no nothing there.. It was then that he noticed the iron taste on his lips. His fingers lightly found the fluid there and followed it back to its source. His nose. Both nostrils, upon base examination were slowly leaking the bodily fluid. Palms flattened on the box, and with moderate effort he was able to push himself up onto his feet. His left hand pressed against the wall, he hobbled his way to the hallway.
Every step of it burned, the lactic acid clearly building up in his muscles as his body burned through its reserves. It was like wading through a sea of jelly with each step forward. Left, then right, shuffle, shuffle, then finally finding the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the site at first. Here he was, brain more powerful than any on the planet, and yet he was leaning on the sink with blood on his nose like the simp from Stranger Things. It was then that he blacked out.
Dreams, at least the sleeping kind, were not a thing that Quentin Quire tended to have. He wasn’t sure if it was just his ill sleeping pattern, or some by product of his minds capabilities, but he just never did seem to dream when he slept. It was simply a charging process. But this time was different. Or maybe it wasn’t? Regardless as his body slumbered, he found his mind in a familiar location. The walls white, the floors white, the ceiling, white, giant flaming bird god to one side. You know that kind of dream where you’re most likely just in the white hot room once more.
“You push yourself too hard, little mutant”
Came the familiar voice of the Phoenix force. A voice that he’d heard whisper in his heart more times than he cared to recount. It was always prattling on about killing this, or resurrecting that. Quentin honestly ignored it for the most part. It was kind of like having an obnoxious roommate that just didn’t know how to stop talking about their day no matter how many visual cues you gave them that you just weren’t interested. They just kept talking. And so did the Phoenix. Unfortunately she/he/it was a smidge louder in its own little realm of the psychic plain, so he guessed he’d have to at least listen.
“Yeah well, the only people who know where the edge are, are the ones that go over it so, ya know, testing the fences and all..”
“Luckily for you, I will have need of you in the future. And I approve of what you are attempting to accomplish. Else I might let you die on your bathroom floor”
Quentin shrugged noncommittally to this “Worked for Presley” he said hoping the Phoenix wouldn’t bring up the fact that Elvis actually died on the toilet. He wasn’t in the mood to cross pop culture swords with a cosmic entity, but he would if he had to.
It was then that the Phoenix took a less ‘murder the galaxy’ form and a more ‘seduce the teenage mutant’ form. Becoming a woman, shapely and beautiful, yet still on fire. Bold choice, he had to admit, not what he would have gone for, but still it left it open for all sorts of ‘she’s so hot’ puns that he would have to bookmark for later. Her hovering footsteps made no sound as she approached him. A warm, but thankfully not burning hand touched his cheek. The warming sensation moving through his whole body, or astral projection, psychic stuff was odd like that. But he felt a warm relaxing feeling through his body as she spoke again, softly this time.
“Poor little mutant. So alone, so lost. You gather to control those who would reject you, but I accept you. My darling,” She uttered in a caringly seductive tone before pressing a kiss to Quentin’s lips. He knew what it was about of course. This whole ‘seduction of the innocents’ business, but in that moment he couldn’t make himself care. In the moment her lips touched his own, he felt it all fade away for a moment. His parents, Idie, and all the rest that had cast him aside as if he were merely a joke, or some unimportant nothing. They all just faded away. For a moment there was naught but him and her in the world. They shared an embrace as Quentin’s eyes lidded themselves and the world grew dark.
He awoke sometime later. The world outside dark, near midnight, his arms wrapped around his pillow. Had it been a dream? Was Quentin’s first dream some kind of kinky sex dream? It seemed appropriate. Then he noticed that he was somehow, fully clothed again. He sat up with a yawn, and as he stretched his arms over his head, his jacket fell open to reveal the phoenix symbol adorning his shirt.
“Oh well f*** me!” he said a loud. This really was turning into a sh*t show. He looked down at his pants, and quickly covered himself with a pillow “Huh, so that’s what she means when she says ‘Rise’”
He panted slightly sitting on the edge of his bed. The dream that was clearly not a dream echoing in his mind. The white hot room, the conversations held there, the flame haired lady. It was that last thought that triggered it. Some unknowable something in the depths of his being. Like something hot and burning had pierced into his psionic self.
It was always a little difficult to describe, the feeling of existing like Quentin Quire did. He was not, well not like other people. Beyond his power set, beyond being born a mutant, beyond humanity, Quentin Quire was, at the heart of his being, a creature of psionic energies. What happened when an Omega level mutant had a secondary mutation trigger? Well for a telepath it turned out you got a first class ticket to the psychic plain. A place of pure thought energies, boring as all hell. So Quentin had gotten out. He built himself a new body and here he was, but now? Now it was different. The energy within him felt different.
Normally he could see his energies in a way he couldn’t properly give words to. He was just aware of the energy inside of him. His true self beating beneath the flesh husk he’d created for it. Sometimes it was blue, sometimes it was pink, he had frightening little idea what made it one or the other, but now? Now it was different. It felt different. It appeared different. Now it felt… orange? Whatever it was it also tingled like a bitch. Every limb, every extremity, fad a tingling sensation about it. Almost like when your leg fell asleep, but somehow, pleasant? Familiar? Comfortating?
No no no. He knew what this meant. He wasn’t like that simpering idiot Jean Grey or any of the other feebs that just fell victim to it. He wasn’t going to just roll with the good vibes and let her take over. He was his own person. He is Quentin Quire, this kind of thing wasn’t going to knock him down. He wasn’t going to go all ‘Phoenix’ on anything without his written consent damn it. No matter how much seduction she tossed his way. Damned libido, it was always the kind of thing that got in his way. Some base physical instinct that made him do the dumb thing instead of thinking. He had to get that sh*t under hand. But how? Not really a guidebook out there for how to purge a cosmic entity from your psionic energy system. Definitely wouldn’t be finding a wikipedia page on that one.
‘Ok Quentin, you got this, just push it down, contain it, hold it in. Just like a fart in an elevator. Only ya know this one is a planet evaporating entity that’s somehow bonded itself to your energies through your wang dang. It’ll be fine.’
So he sat on the edge of his blanket tossed bed. His fingertips on his temples. Legs spread shoulder width apart, his elbows resting on his knees as he concentrated, or at least tried to. It was hard. Like trying to move a mountain with his mind with every thought he tried to process. It was like fire each time a synapse would even think about twitching. He could feel the hot flames crawling into the corners of his skull, feel it pushing at the back of his eyes. Crawling, creeping into the front of his skull with each second no matter how he fought it, and then blackness.
There was a peace in this dark that he didn’t want to admit. A calming, quiet, comforting sensation as if all the care in the world had been burned away. He felt warm, comforted, like he was back in the womb of creation itself. It was nice. For a few brief moments it was all gone. His doubt of his place in the universe. The loneliness that he rarely allowed himself to feel, the pain of the friends that had left him, or that he had pushed away. He simply existed. Nothing more, nothing less. But that was it. That was the trigger that made him realize the difference. That wasn’t the path he had chosen. That wasn’t the road that Quentin Quire walked. No indeed not. He was his own person through and through and through. He would fight till his dying breath to just be who he wanted to be each and every f***ing day of life. F*** the pain. F*** the suffering, but he needed that. He needed those stings to his heart to remind him of who he was. To remind him that he was alive. And that thought was what he needed to remind him of who he was and force his eyes back open.
He felt, odd. Weightless. Drifty. He looked to his left and saw a bunch of men and women in weird jumpsuits looking at him from out of a weird window surrounded in metal. He looked around and realized. Space. He was in space. And also kind of on fire. Yeah that probably should be more of a concern than it was, but at this point he’d been on fire so many times it really wasn’t that big of an issue. He knew what this was. Phoenix flames. It had, for the first time, gotten to him. It had brought him to space. Why? Was he about to eat the planet? If so how close had he gotten? He may joke about it from time to time but he really wasn’t eager to become Quentin Quire Destroyer of Worlds. He may not love the place, but Earth was where all his stuff was. Where all his history was. Where the few people he actually did care about lived. Be pretty sh*tty to be the one to destroy the whole damned thing as he was so close to being able to save it from itself.
But that was it. He could save it from itself. He could fix it all. And the Phoenix force possessing him? Well she’d have to take a back seat and just play along to his tune. He was Kid Omega damn it. No one, no person, no monarch, no fascist d*ckhead, no God, or cosmic entity was going to tell him what to do. Who to be, or how to act. That was the beauty of it all. Quireverse. His world. The perfect world. He could and would make it happen. Cosmos be damned.
11/13/2018 08:28 PM
He awoke again as he usually did. In a bed covered in mangled tangled covers from a restless nights sleep. He took in a slow restful breath, observing all in entailed. The slow rise and fall of his chest, his lungs expanding beneath them. The feel of the cool airs contrast in the warmth of his body. The slight musky smell of the clothes he’d warn all the day before and fell in bed with. Then the out breath, the escaping heat of his body, the smell of his own morning breath, the stale taste of old coffee and liquor at the back of his throat.
Quentin Quire cherished these moments. The moments when his body was so overly tired, when he’d run his physical form down to the point of exhaustion so much, that thought itself escaped him. That he could, for a least a few brief seconds, remember what life was like when he was simply human. They never lasted long however.
By the second breath his mind would start idly chattering away at facts, figures equations. Bringing in random facts about the quantity of air to carbon mixed with other innoculous gasses in each breath that he took. The statistics on how many breaths he would be taking that day if he kept his respiration at its current weight. The note that, by the feel of it, his egyptian cotton bed sheets were actually just synthetic and no where near 200 thread counts. But it wasn’t this that was the worst for him. The worst was when he finally moved. For once his body began locomotion, the bodies autonomy kicked in. Basic functions like breathing, and walking, just faded into the background like elevator music of the mind. It was when this happened that he remembered.
It was inevitable of course. Sooner or later some lesser function like the need for food, or the need to relieve himself would hit and there would be no escaping it. He’d have to get up, have to move, have to deal with another day that he was sure would have little to hold his attention. So he sighed and resigned himself to take a shower. Palms pressing into the soft fabric of the matress to raise him to a seated position. His hand moved to his forehead, palm flat, fingers running through his lose pink locks in a vein effort to run them back into place. And then it began.
See for most people, and most mutants, time moved linearly. It was a slow moving construct inextricably pushing them towards the future. But that wasn’t how time actually was. It only seemed that way to them because they thought too slowly. Their minds were simply not capable of comprehending the fact that they existed in all times in their lives simultaneously. Not in a Dr. Manhattan kind of way, the future was still a thing to be built, but once a moment had passed, it was there as a shadow following them the rest of the way. But for Quentin? He existed in every moment in which he had taken part since his powers first manifested as a fourteen year old boy. And it was in these moments, these inextricably slow plodding moments that seemed to hound the majority of life, that he relived them.
It was while he was gathering what passed for clean clothes in his estimation, that he remembered the feeling of the first time he took Kick. That rush of adrenaline, the surge of power the drug provided. The hot burning fury of energy and exhiliration that moved through his veins. The feeling, no, the knowledge that he could do anything in those moments. Both exciting and horrifying.
It was when he had gathered his clothes and was striding towards the bathroom that he remembered when he first came to the Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The excitement of new found power, the joy he felt at getting the chance to learn more of what he could do. And ultimately the disappointment when he had realized that, even the mind of Xavier was frighteningly dull and slow. That, in reality, he was alone in his gift.
He turned on the tap in the shower with a soft squeak of the piping. His fingers curled into the bottom of his shirt and pulled upwards, the soft cloth sliding from his fingers and onto the cold tile of the floor. Quentin closed his eyes. Because it was in this moment that he remembered Sophie. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, and his breathing increased to match that of his heart rate. His earlier calculation as to the number of breaths he would take slightly up ticked silently in the back of his mind as he remembered her. His first. The one person in the school full of mutants that seemed truly special. People had laughed it off of course. Quentin claiming to have feelings for one of what were several twins. How could he pick out the one specifically? Surely it was a joke that he was playing. Another one of his weird attempts at humor that students were eager to laugh along with, and to be fair Quentin would have a hard time describing it himself.
It was something in her. Something indefinably unique that was difficult to wrap your mind around, and perhaps that was the trick of it. In the hive mind that was the Cuckoos, unbeknownst even to them, Sophie was the nexus. He doubted they realized that still, even though the fact that the group had been steadily decaying since her death should make that obvious. She had been the center around which their powers had collected and combined. In her mind, the combination of several, Quentin had seen the potential for an equal. For something that he now had come to merely accept as something that could not exist. A mind that he could not simply ‘know’ whenever he wished to. A mystery in thought.
Fingers curled into a tight fist that then swiftly struck the bathroom counter. The impact and slight pain of the act enough to send the thoughts scattering like marbles to the corners of his mind. Physical exerction of any kind, though he loathed it, did help in easing the distress brought on by these memories. At least for a time. Thumbs hooked into the waistline of his pants and undies as he pushed them down from his body and looked over himself in the mirror. It was in this moment He remembered another.
Idie, his dissociated little darling. There’s had been a brief but passionate history. She had been the first to gift Q with something that he hadn’t had before. Nothing so crass as a sexual experience, physical interactions were mere bridges in the concious mind to get to other, more intense mental ones as far as Q was conscerned. No Idie had been the first to make him feel like he could do good. Not good on the terms like the X-Men wanted it, but good on his own terms. She was the first to make him feel like he could be more. But then? It turned out she was wrong. When the time came and he was offered to be an X-Man, he’d refused as he’d always intended, but Idie? Idie accepted, something Quentin had not anticipated. And in that small betrayal, along with the busy life an X-Person leads, he lost her as well.
It was in these two experiences that the mannerisms of Quentin had been solidified. With the loss of love, and hope and trust acting as the kiln in which his emotions were fired. People could not be trusted, mutants could not be trusted, not with that which was dearest to him. It was in these moments that he realized that desire, that want to be with someone, to connect with people, that was his only weakness. And it was one that he was more than happy to burn away with Phoenix fire. To bury deep inside his own white hot room. To mentally box up everything that was truly dear to Quentin Quire and pack it away deep within his own psyche for safe keeping.
It wasn’t easy. For a telepath to cage his own mind. It was a ritual that he took part in every morning to ensure his own safety and stability. To ensure that he would always be in control. To ensure that he never found himself again with a weakness. He pressed it down, down deep and looked upon laughing hollow eyes in the mirror. His glasses left on the counter steamed as he stepped into the shower to get ready for another long god damned day.
11/08/2018 12:28 PM
Quentin has been described as an Omega Level Mutant and Omega Level Telepath/Telekinetic as well as a Psionic of Highest Order. Quentin has been described one of the most powerful telepaths, telekinetics and psions, vastly surpassing the abilities of all known telepaths, with the exception of Jean Grey. Therefore his abilities are almost unmatched. He also was also an avatar of the Phoenix Force, and his future self was shown to be the eventual host of the Phoenix Force.
For a time, due to his Secondary Mutation, Quentin had evolved into a non-corporeal life-form existing as a disembodied consciousness as his brain cells turned into faster than light energy that was in connection with every sentient being on the planet.Since he was freed from his container by Kade Kilgore, he stood in his physical form, finding his non-corporal one boring, and doesn't seem able to use the full-range of his abilities. He hasn't manifested these specific qualities since.
Telepathy: Quentin is an Omega-Level telepath capable of using deep and subtle influence. Also capable of displaying various psionic feats with the minds of others including reading and communicating with thoughts over vast distances.
Mental Manipulation: He has the ability to subtly use deep influence upon multiple people, allowing him to manipulate their perceptions, better judgement, wills and common sense.
Telepathic Tracking: He has enhanced psionic senses enable him to detect and track other sentient beings by their unique psionic emanations (thought patterns contained in the psionic portion of the spectrum) especially if they pose a threat to his well-being in his immediate vicinity.
Telepathic Cloak: Can mask his presence from being detected by others. His abilities can at times go undetected or be counteracted by other more powerful telepaths depending on their level of skill in using their own psi abilities. He can extend these defenses to others around him as well.
Mind Control: Quentin is capable of controlling the minds of others assuming they are within his physical presence.
Telepathic Illusions: He has the ability to create illusions to make himself seem to be invisible, look like someone else, or make others experience events that are not truly happening.
Mental Paralysis: Quentin has the ability to induce temporary mental or physical paralysis
Mental Amnesia: He can erase any awareness of particular memories or cause total amnesia.
Psionic Blasts: Quentin can project psionic force bolts which have no physical effects but which can affect a victim's mind so as to cause the victim pain or unconsciousness.
Absorb Information: He has the ability to quickly process, learn and store information via mental transference.
Psychic "Construct": Through sheer effort and concentration, Quentin may create a large "world" within his mind, complete with AI Driven scenarios and thousands of NPCs(non-playing characters; people controlled by AI), each with their own back story being ran simultaneously. By pulling people into the world, they'll enter a comatose-like state and should they posses one, will be taken over by a secondary personality, as was the case for Wolverine. The AI will feed off of the memories of anyone in the video-game-like world, making some things even unfamiliar to Quentin himself. After keeping the world formed for several days, he lost control due to his already disturbed psyche and no longer retained complete control over the world.
Astral Projection: He can project his astral form from his body onto astral planes or the physical planes. In the physical plane he can only travel in astral form over short distances. In the astral plane, he can mentally create psionic objects and manipulate the aspects of his environment.
Psionic Shotgun: Quentin recently learned to channel his mental energy as an astral energy shotgun construct which manifests the focused totality of his telepathic powers. A power he seemed to effortlessly manifest once he heard Elizabeth Braddock did the same with her psi-blade. Much as Psylocke's psi-blade it doesn't cause any external affects but deals direct mental damage leading to intense pain, unconsciousness or possibly death.
Psionic Rocket Launcher: Quentin displayed a brief demonstration of his using his psionic powers to construct a rocket launcher.
Telekinesis: Quentin is an Omega Level Telekinetic, and can manipulate objects and others at will, and project psychokinetic bolts. Quentin's telekinetic abilities are extremely powerful however, the uppermost limit of his telekinetic strength has yet to be seen. Quentin is also capable of ultra-fine tuned usage of it, being able to sense and manipulate matter and energy, even on a sub-atomic level, as he was able to re-integrate his own body and most of that of a decaying Sophie. However, his telekinetic abilities rival those of the most powerful villains and heroes such as Psylocke, Vulcan, Apocalypse etc.
Flight: Quentin is able to levitate himself to fly at supersonic speeds.
Force Field: Quentin is able generate impenetrable potent force fields around himself and others.
Tactile Telekinesis: Quentin is able to completely surround himself in a compact personal force field of telekinetic energy, protecting him from harm and physical damage such as bullets, energy blasts, etc.
Psychic Intelligence: He possesses advanced cognitive and mental abilities allowing him to organize and construct his thoughts at accelerated rates, process data at high speeds, construct and formulate his thoughts with vast quantity and quality, project ideas and impressions into the minds of others, intuitively disable existing psychic phenomena and barriers that even other Omega level types such as Rachel Summers could not, and naturally shield him from psychic assaults. He thinks ten million brilliant thoughts per second.
Psionic-Energy Mimicry (possibly): When Quentin was in the process of dying due to a combination of using the mutant enhancing drug kick, and a powerful psychic blast from the Stepford Cuckoos caused his mutation to evolve rapidly and saved his life, transforming into a non-corporeal life-form existing as a disembodied consciousness, made out of a form of psionic energy. He had some trouble at first holding this form when got to tired or worn out, but so far he is able to hold this form without trouble.
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