Disclaimer: The X-men and their world belong to Mavel/Fox. No profit or copyright infringement is intended. This is an X-men Shared Universe, orignally imagined by Tarchannon, Dark Legends is a dark future where the next generation of the Legacy virus has triggered disturbing changes in the X-men. For further stories by a variety of authors and poets, go here.


Gathering Shadows - Remy

Note: ' means radio or television voices.

' - entire town in Canada stricken by E. coli outbreak. The tiny town of Bearpaw, best known as the birthplace of the Canadian mutant 'Puck', has been placed under national quarantine while officials scramble to trace the illness that has affected over half the population. More news after - '


' - Frankly, my dear - '


' - the Lord says - I'm telling you, brothers and sisters - the *Lord* says -'


Remy threw the remote at the TV with a curse, then glanced at the clock. Two days, 14 hours. The thief grabbed the digital thermometer from the scratched bedside table and stuck it in his ear. It beeped and he looked at the readout. Normal. Still normal. He lay listlessly back down and stared at the waterstained ceiling.

The hotel was filthy and decrepit and, as far as he could tell, he'd been the only one to stay here since the highway had been laid down sixty years ago. The septuagenarian desk clerk hadn't even had a card reader, which was fine, the Cajun always paid cash. It was just what he'd been looking for. Some place deserted and quiet, where he could wait and see if he was going to live or die. If he died, Remy hoped his body would be good and rotten - and non-contagious - when he was finally found.

He only had 10 hours left. Make it 12, just in case. Then he'd know. And if he didn't die -

Remy unfolded the very wrinkled piece of expensive stationary he'd stuck in a pocket two days ago. Well educated handwriting. Remy rubbed his fingers on the cotton rag paperstock. Heavy weight and expensive paper.


Mr. LeBeau:

I'm sorry to inform you of my treachery so abruptly but if you are reading this letter you have been exposed to a new and more virulent strain of the Legacy Virus.

You may not be aware of recent history so please indulge me. The Legacy Virus was an artificial creation, designed by cut rate Friends of Humanity gene splitters, and meant to kill mutants like yourself. Through the efforts of a very remarkable team of mutant researchers and courageous volunteers, a vaccine was developed and dispersed into the mutant community. Unfortunately, bigotry never dies and the same human incompetents who created the original virus have cut and pasted a new 'Final Solution'.

The virus is already loose in the general population, how vulnerable non-mutants will be is still unknown. My researches indicate that the virus has an approximately 75% casualty rate among mutants. A cure must be found. Quickly - before the mutant community is decimated and precious lives lost.

The first victims of this insidious attack were the very doctors and scientists who created the vaccine for the original Legacy virus. I have made attempts to contact their head researcher, Dr. Hank McCoy, and have not met with success. I cannot approach their home in person, unfortunate prior encounters prevent it. I fear for their health and safety, their prior researches into the Legacy virus may be critical to successfully developing a treatment for this new attack on mutantkind.

I need someone like you, skilled in surveillance and information gathering, to reach this doctor, determine if he is still alive and open a line of communication for me. You would be of no use in this scenario if you fall ill so I have taken the liberty of exposing you to a concentrated dose of the new virus. There is a nearly 10% chance you are immune.

Symptoms start within three days and begin with a low grade fever. Flu like symptoms follow, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and fever. Ebola like hemorrhaging is common.

Please contact me at the indicted address on July 7th 2015 if you remain symptom free and I will provide you with further information.

Most Sincerely,

Dr. Nathaniel Essex, Ph.D.

"Crazy sona bitch." Remy crumpled the paper up, then smoothed it out and put it carefully away. He didn't want to leave it around for some unfortunate stranger to pick up and possibly get sick. He wasn't sure how to dispose of the letter, except to shove it down this Dr. Sinister's psychopathic throat.

Twelve hours.