Punch Up: “To Me My ❌-Men”

Chapter Fifty-One

1972 & 1987

January, 1972, The Incredible Hulk Vol. 1 No. 150 by Trimpe, J. Severin, (M. Severin?), Rosen, Archie + Stan The Man Lee

February-April, 1987, Uncanny X-Men Vol. 1 No. 217-219 by Guice (217), Sylvestri (218), Blevins (219 + 219 cover), Simonson (217, cover), A. Adams (218, cover), Leialoha (217), Green (218, 219), Wiacek (217, 218, cover), Parker (219, cover), Glynis, P. Scotese (217 & 219, assist), Orzechowski, Claremont + Nocenti

Chapter 51 of "to me my ❌-Men," where if oversharing is your kink, you will find some fools idea of Marvel's best single issue, amongst a four issue yo-yo journey from the '72 to '87, bringing encounters with two rampaging sympathetic characters, a reluctant Summers brother, a problematic telling somehow center ❌-Men women, as a Sinister arch works the narrative, and a Longshot becomes the ❌-factor this book actually needs.

Previously on “to me my ❌-Men,” while yo-yoing around the Marvel Universe we had encountered a Kirby comic, where we distilled his work down to a presentation of power as a sort of Teddy Rosevelt approach to honor and kindness. Kirby’s art is a spin on walk softly, cary a big stick. We left things on a bit of a cliffhanger for the Mutants, as we are in recovery from the Mutant Massacre. Psychological trauma has been a theme, that we have been having a devil of a time with. We take a leap of faith once again, as the yo-yo takes us back to perhaps of Kirby’s two avatars in Marvel comics.

When Kirby, the warrior artist, was in a good headspace, I imagine him being the ever loving blue eyed Thing. When he struggled, I tend to think he was more like the Hulk. Seeking isolation.

Bill Bixby’s Bruce Banner

from The Incredible Hulk

A Hulk comic or tv episode is a simple and familiar rhythm. Man drifts into town, looses ones self, is accused of something, commits a heroic act, that may or may not absolve them, and leaves, to calm and find himself. When it becomes more complex than this, I tend to think it is wondering from the point and utility of his story.

The Hulk is no original. He is a distillation over millennia, refined principle by Jack Kirby, with assistance from not only Stan Lee, but most of the Marvel Bullpen. In watching the latest episode of Ted Lasso (watch…and if you watch nothing else, but Ted Lasso…you have no reason to forgive yourself…it is understood), there is a scene that centers the NGL, which naturally brings up for me:

James Sturm’s The Golem’s Mighty Swing c. 2000

A comic I witnessed Time Magazines comic of the year c. 2000, being created, as a student of Sturm’s at the turn of the Century. It centers a Jewish Baseball Team in 1920’s America. Where it crosses paths with NGL players and teams. On this team is a player who poses as traditional Jewish folklore; a Golem. Golem’s date back to early Talmudic readings over two millennia ago, and became even more integral through Middle Ages Yiddish Ashkenazi storytelling.

Kirby, Sturm, and myself are all Ashkenazi. A migration of a story of clay come to life from the Middle East, this story intersects in Europe with Greek’s Prometheus a Hesiod story, that they may have adapted from Mesopotamian Sumerians in the Middle East, a piece coming into play from Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre-Dame to form Mary Shelley Frankenstein in the 17th century. Who seems to be an inspiration in terms of context of origin to Chris Claremont’s ❌-Men Nightcrawler. Soon after Robert Louis Stevenson writes Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The two 17th Century stories are often connected with Hulk. However, I have to believe Kirby and Lee were aware of the Golem. Then there is the part we know thanks again to Sturm (Unstable Molecules), of the real life inspiration for the Fantastic Four, which makes it possible a fellow New Yorker, a boxer, was inspiration for the Thing. And the Thing worked at a high enough level, to have Kirby refine all of this into the Hulk. Only they had all created a Hulk already, two years prior.

Jack Kirby, Dick Ayers, Steve Ditko, Stan Goldberg, Artie Simek, Ray Holloway, Stan Lee & Larry Lieber’s Xemnu the Living Hulk from their Journey Into Mystery Vol. 1 No. 62, July, 1960

…there is this sense that the Hulk and the Thing are also so personal to Kirby. They do seem to represent the King.

The Hulk, The Thing, and Nightcrawler, represent the Other. In fact, ALL mutants, represent the Other, as do some…not all…superheroes. Superman, being a Kryptonian is specifically and intentionally is Jewish immigration representation into American society. This is why Kal-El (קל-אל) is his name. It translates in Hebrew to mean “voice of god.” His creators, Siegel and Shuster are also Ashkenazi. As is Claremont. Who took what Lee and Kirby were working with in awkwardly representing Black cultural experiences in America in 1963, appropriating and intersecting them with Jewish context post the Shoah in Nazi occupied Europe.

We Ashkenazi’s have an awkward existence as a diaspora. It is not as sympathetic as our Black brothers and sisters. Be they Jewish or Gentile. Because our complexion has less melanin than our cousins Beta, Mizrahi, Yemenite, Karaite, Bukharan, Nagercoil, Bene, Bnei, etc…we have at times leaned into our ease in assimilated into European and American communities. One could take the now, and jump to this conclusion. I saw it coming and see it now. We learned all the lessons of our oppressors. This has cultivated a narrative around trust and loyalty that feeds a narrative of secretive control. Absolute nonsense, we seem to keep helping to keep alive. In addition, like most Jews, secular or religious, we have this cultural tradition over millenia to be open to and embracing of debate and evolution of storytelling. The debate is at a fever pitch now, as it was in the 20th Century. These realities feed our role in the story of comics and the invention of the superhero genre, and frankly created the context that is problematic when it comes to the utility and origin of the ❌-Men. Especially, since it seems to be inspired by our fellow diasporas story in America. The Black experience is not ours (Jews). We were were not stollen. We volunteered. We were on the run, survival was our motivation, but we were not taken from home. We left as it burned or they tried to murder us. We could and can isolate the distinction. We recognize and live through struggle, but not all struggle is the same. In fact individually is how it exists in reality. Lumping groups is not the way. The intentions of the ❌-Men were no doubt allyship. The results, have been inevitably problematic over time. A direct correlation between Malcolm X and MLK with Magneto and Professor X, is whitewashing in a society that taught us, whitewashing. A society that regularly pins us against each other. As this is their way. Their culture we are navigating. We being, the Other.

A society built on colonizing in aggregate, through individual narratives centering each of us as the hero in our own stories. As we cowboy our way through lives on land that is not ours. Claiming it. Building community together on it. Each of us, the Other. The drifter into town. We carry with us our history. We are held responsible for others pasts. Our inheritance. And conflict brews from this. Our code is tested. And we may be pressed to leave, should we not be able to assimilate into an ever changing context. I am constantly opening a door, entering, hearing, listening, then inevitably, oversharing, my back against the wall, I look for the exit (thanks to place on the spectrum). I struggle to stay. Responsibility, my code, requires I be there for Others. We each participate in building this context. As our stories intersect in aggregate into forming our realities.

The Hulk a distillation of the complexity. One we can see. The ❌-Men are in aggregate what happens when the Other attempts to intersect and integrate, because they find Others who experience struggle of not belonging. However, these are not a group of followers. They hold their individuality closely, because at a critical time, it was all they had to hold onto. The Hulk is that individual. The ❌-Men are a spectrum of those individuals. It has taken generations of a full spectrum of individuals to to approach the intention of a few individual Ashkenazi Americans to offer a hand to an African American community that is built by a full spectrum of individuals in shared struggle, put on them by the same oppressors, but different contexts, in a land that seemed to promise each the path to be the hero of their story. We are not there yet. Not sure if any of us individually will find us arrived there. As we all have the same conclusion.

We seek respect in life.

As one who is a product of both those who made up the rules, and those who struggle to live within them. My individual story is complex like the rest. I understand privilege and struggle. I am afforded through Jewishness, the gentile continual heritage, the Dyslexic and Asperger mind, the punker metal life, the multi-industry day job of service always artistic educator comics historian cartoonist occupation, the fringe non-binary sense, the tumbleweed impulse, and the grounded roots, this cowboy culture in a world without boarders, parent and partner embracing a label: American.

I see in myself and in others, the Hulk. As we try to keep our gang connected through struggle, like ❌-Men.

My comics have more times than not begun with a step into a scene and a step exiting a scene. I am now matured to enter in, exit and then circle back as a fence sitter. That’s my level of commitment to community. An individual settled on paradox. This is the best I can wish for y’all.

The Hulk walks through.

Not quite as swell as, Trimpe, J. Severin, (M. Severin?), Rosen, and Roy Thomas cartooned No. 147’s back up story:

Where “the” Hulk panel comes from:

But we turn to one a few issues later all the same; No. 150. Much like our Thor comic from 1972, MARVEL COMICS GROUP branding logo appears across the top in red with white lettering. THE

INCREDIBLE

HULK

sits above a blue background, with a Hulk stepping out of a circle to the left. Above the number, the month, and we cost; 20¢. A chaotic scene and amateur looking drawing creates a raw and dynamic sales pitch. Bikers, holds a green haired women by the hair, and the Hulk approaches, tossing bikers into the logo as he does. the women looks to be crying out, and the title along the bottom complies:

“CRY HULK! CRY HAVOK!”

When we point to comics that perpetuate victimization, this cover fits the pattern. No biker dude, no Hulk, she is not property. She is Lorna Dane!

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Typical nick knacks; I am eyeing the vampire blood and noting the hippie patches.

The Hulk does not recall a battle from a few hours earlier. He finds himself in some underground bunker being perused by US Army men. Hulk does not care as to why! We do not care as to why Archie! We care not for General Ross! As they try to gas him out, Trump smash puny Army Men and flings General gas mask aside.

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8MM projector…I need to get back to The Bay and grab those 8MM of the cabin in Boulder being built. My first home. Hopefully my final resting place.

In four panels we are at peace. THOOM up into the sky, Trimpe pulls his punches on quality to much for my taste, but he is probably thinking deadline…or like me…just doing whatever happens, but sometimes either way, the results sore. General yells up at the vanished, who cares not what he yells. For he left the underground bunker building a panel ago, for the puffy clouds. Serene, the giant New Mexico moon glows behind the Hulk on a bluff, with his “haulting thoughts.”

Hulk thinks of tiny and happy world, where love for Jarella of K’ai brought him joy. Presumably, not ‘stupid Banner.’

In the final panel of the page, the bluff, the moon, the desert, and the night, are filled with words of Hulk’s will and/or dream.

Dawn comes, with choppers firing upon the bluff. Always with this military industrial complex.

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14 albums for $2.86; I pick: 2 Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Jimi, Sabbath, Cat Stevens, Jethro Tull, 2 Sly and the Family Stone, Chicago, Led Zeppelin, Aretha, The Raiders Indian Reservation, Mandrill, Chase, and Delaney & Bonnie.

The Hulk is saved by an act of Congress, as back in DC orders are to wait a hearing.

Hulk: “Hulk doesn’t understand.”

Senator Clegstead supported the capture of Hulk, and Senator Dutton simply thinks these funds should be used to fight poverty. Newbie.

Back in New Mexico, Betty Ross has Major Talbot, braking orders to spy on her lover, Bruce. They are in a military Jeep behind a bluff, with binoculars. Spooks.

Talbot, who if my lore is correct, was placed by Betty’s side by her dad the General, to be her love interest, but instead he has been friend zoned, and is a patsy. He spies the Hulk leaping from bluff to bluff…always awesome!

Hulk jumps into a bicker gang and destroys their charters rides, as he had spotted from miles away they were chasing down a green haired girl in a convertible. He thinks it is Jarella! Oh dear.

This is a lonesome cowboy turned political comedy turned ROM COM…

HULK holds biker by vest.

Hulk: “YOU! You are still AWAKE. Tell Hulk what HAPPENED!”

Biker Dude: “Can’t BELIEVE it…Green-Haired Chick STOPPED CAR—just pointed her HANDS at us—-Like hitting’ a STONE WALL—bikes flew everywhere but STRAIGHT—-!

HULK drops biker dude.

HULK: “GO SLEEP! WORDS MAKE NO SENSE TO HULK!”

BIKER DUDE passing out: “just can’t BELIEEEEEve iiiit*”

HULK: “WHERE IS GIRL?!”

Girl in a wonderfully simple desert establishing panel, walks towards an adobe building bellow the pink sky.

In a classic romance comic shocked up close panel, she is surprised by…

…a Harley approaching…

In a Kirby dot filled iconic man being thrown from chopper panel…

ZPAK!

…we then turn from his mangled situation to the words “ALEX!”

Who stand above on the bluff, smoldering.

The two mutants reunited.

Alex: “why didn’t you write, Lorna?”

She might not have wanted him to see her, so she decided to surprise her. He would have met her. He calls them “old pals.” She calls this a business meeting. Chuck wants him back at School.

As dumb as that conversation was, I do love the panels. The refreshing way they capture mid 20th Century comics. The coloring, and the adobe are my vibe. I cartoon like this!

We have seen Alex Summers, Scott’s younger brother twice before; Chapter 5, where they and us are introduced to Maddie, as a pilot in Alaska, when their father ditches them again AND Chapter 7, where Alex questions Scott, as he investigates a connection between Maddie and Jean. This is a flashback for us, and also our introduction to Lorna.

A flashback, within our flashback, centers something central to how I think of Alex. I don’t care to read or see anything that counters ‘this.’ The only one to get me to do so with joy was some Larry Stroman art. Which happens to be my first, what I call, Fever Dream :x:-Men stories. ‘THIS’ be that Alex has “had the superhero number.” He has had plenty of time in the desert to think, and wants no part in that life and the life of an :x:-Men. Which he sees nearly as clearly as I do, a member of the audience. He recalls the moment he and Bobby got into it over Lorna, and he nearly killed him. While this seems out of character for Bobby…but maybe he was going deep undercover on his true feelings…and Alex was all heart…driving both to act out of character. Lorna lets him know, he didn’t actually effect Bobby that much; ego check! And that Alex was only trying to protect her; romantic note. And then is like, what about helping the world. But then she tries to close the deal with Chuck’s guidance and comparing his potential with Scotts.

Alex: “Sorry lady. No Sale.”

I agree. I don’t trust Chuck and wouldn’t want Scott to be what I am trying to be. Also, superheroing is nonsense.

Lorna: “I didn’t come to sell you anyhting. I came because I cared! But don’t worry! You’ve convinced me I’m wasting my time! GOOD-BYE!”

With that she runs away from Alex and the Adobe hut. Which is when the HULK drops from the sky!

THOOM!

I love the utilitarian use of this panel of Alex running into the building, even if it is for something silly like changing into a costume so he can announce he is also a reluctant superhero. It’s sooooo…pause…why I get my jammies, and deliver my canned line. The adobe hut shines in these panels.

Alex: “and while you were doing the CLARK KENT/PHONEBOOTH bit, hero, that man-monster’s made of with you GIRL!”

HOW THIS COMIC KNOW I WATCHED SUPERMAN III LAST NIGHT!!?

Alex has the answer in his head…it’s science…and he and Lorna are scientists. Whithout the costume, his concentric circles become uncontrollable and he would level the landscape and everything within. And if there is something Alex and I care about…it is this landscape and its ecosystem.

He is reluctant, but also knows…this was dumn, because the out of control is what he will need against Hulk to save Lorna. Not that Lorna needs saving, nor that Hulk is a threat.

Hulk takes Lorna to the highest Mesa bluff. And then realizes the reason she struggles. She ain’t Jarella. He jumps to the possibility she is all trickery. But thankfully a jeep approaches…so he has another conclusion to jump to. It is of course Betty and the Major. Who knows about Jarella, and hasn’t had the heart to tell her that her love is in love with an alien from a micro planet. Betty, is trying to get him to drive slower, because it is kicking up to much dust. As Loran and Hulk argue on the Mesa, bellow Alex makes his presence known. After startling Lorna, he then tries to reason up to Hulk. Hulk makes it easy and comes down to him. But makes clear he thinks Alex is a bug to be stomped. So Alex releases his powers nocking Hulk off course mid air. Alex and Hulk go hand to hand. Alex is no match, but his peers give him some dirty tricks.

This brings us to the two best pages of the comic. “Hulk has only BEGUN!”

He rips a section of the Mesa away from the rest of the bluff. It is 25 times as big as the Hulk and has Lorna on the top of it. Alex attempts to reason.

A panel of him doing so is wonderfully illustrated, and evokes real emotion. Only the reasoning is with himself. He knows after the previous panel Hulk’s will is to smash.

The Hulk crotches, waiting for Havok to finish reasoning with himself. The Hulk is nothing but thoughtful.

A close up of Alex’s eyes, include tears, and details worthy of our admiration. Trimpe, has his moments. Alex wonders how to utilize his great power to get the Hulk to gently place the Mesa down, so Lorna does not die.

Hulk waits no longer.

Alex thinks what Chuck and Lorna say: “with proper incentive and training!’…well, the incentive is saving the girl I love! As for training—it’s got to be on the job!”

Alex concentrates small centric circles into Hulk’s mind. Pressuring him to gently lower the Mesa down. He then uses a controlled force beam to lower Lorna down. And the Hulk rests under the shadow of the Mesa. Reveling Bruce within.

The jeep pulls up with Betty and the Major. Betty holds Bruce, who’s lips let slip, “Jorella, my love..” Betty has questions. The Major has answers.

We turn with Alex and Lorna to The Uncanny ❌-Men, perhaps with some reluctance.

Walter Simonson, inked by Bob Wiacek present an Uncanny X-Men that includes a John Romita Jr. corner box, in a cover that centers Dazzler, bringing back Juggernaut to hulkingly shadow her. The corner box has the price at 75¢ and the ❌-Men as being Shadowcat, Magneto, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Colossus, Storm, and Rogue. So we open the comic to:

Scotland, North of Cape Wrath, Muir Isle.

Winter.

Snow.

Night.

Full moon.

“Folly’s GAMBIT”

Elizabeth Braddock AKA Psylocke

Telepath Psycho-Blaster

Mutant

Guice pencils, Leialoha inks, Petra Scotese color assists + A-Team members: Glynis, Orzechowski, Claremont + Nocenti

Bets is running, full costume, with worrisome urgency across her face.

It’s a beautiful sight.

We only know what a gambit is. We will never know here who Gambit is. This is “to me MY ❌-Men.”

I feel like the last time I read this issue was in 1987, and it was more like April, not February. I picked it up, along with No. 215, as soon as I could after reading, No. 218. This is No. 217. I also, know I skipped No. 216, because it looked like garbage. Still does. So it was skipped.

It’s not simply I run into issues in the wild here. It is not simply I am dedicated and then the story and/or art shifts away from me. If a comic looks abysmal to me aesthetically, I am perfectly content to ignore it.

Know that I am a trained cartoonist a paradox has formed. I can project a contextual reasoning that feels empathic onto the cartoonists. I can even us this and let in the door a comic that would once have not made it across the threshold. I am super great at making up an excuse in the moment to be flexible. The contrarian can grow.

However, if I start letting in any old riff raff comic I have no home to invite them into. I have no love in my life. I have no pennies to my name. And I am drowning in garbage pulp. So despite, letting in some comics in “to me my ❌-Men,” I would never…before…at fifty something, for the final time, I am finding reasons to.

The balancing paradox, is this all began as an accounting of the comics I have, and figuring out which were to toss, to sell, to pass along to Savannah and any potential kin, and which I would hold for them, till my dying breath.

It was working until, I began to think I should have for them, acquired very selectively more comics. I have been on the hunt like I am 12 now. A discerning eye, with pennies to my name. My sites are set for what only can qualify to make it through the door and stay, until the door is my kins. I acquire only that worthy staying in THIS house.

The dilemma currently forming is, does this acquired story, here, qualify, in terms of passing it down, so they may read the full run themselves. Or do I admit, chances are they don’t read any of it, and any of this diary drivel. To them their own path and agency. I will likely in this case facilitate accesiblilty to their own choice. Here. Just here. Just this story. Just “to me my ❌-Men” will have a lower threshold, then all the rest of the comics in THIS house.

There is nothing terrible here in No. 217. It is serviceable.

That New Mutants No. 52 was close to as rough as it gets around here, in “to me my ❌-Men.”. To me it was not worth it most of my days, but for some story set up, it works in the now. I had never read it before…and am confused on how it was even vetted to get in, let alone placed in context. Ultimately, it all got worked out and found its place. The NM No. 52’s in this telling of this story, are few and far between. I am uncomfortable with thier inclusion. What’s done is one. As late as their additions may be.

While, No. 217, has been with me, moving from town to town, state to state since 1987. Looking at it now, I wonder why. Despite finding good enough reason in the now. You got lucky No. 217. As I was turning 12, I saw something in you. And it was not what I saw in No. 218, but I get ahead of myself there. It was not as effecting as No. 215, picked up the same day. Had to have been. My first Uncanny X-Men back issues.

What was No. 208, then No. 218, became, a collection of No. 208, 215, and 217-218. Plans to pick up No. 219, and so forth. As I had dropped X-Factor. ◇ELEKTRA◇ Assassin had ended. Uncanny X-Men No. 217 came out in February and was and is no ◇ELEKTRA◇ Assassin.

Guice, who had been my preferred X-Factor penciler, delivers two panels; one “suddenly” of Ali delivering in the air, at distance, above the birch grove, and sea, with Bets silhouetted and crouched in shock and awe; a second of Bets upper quadrant profile facing against the action, breath cold, pink hue of night, face and form in chiaroscuro. At times, it doesn’t matter whom is the penciler and inker. The panel is a late 80’s Uncanny X-Men panel. Here we have two perfectly refined in a row. A moment paused and reflected upon. Bets reflects on the brilliance and brightness of Dazzler, and the soulless darkens of Mojo, who provided her bionic eyes to see this event, without blinding experience.

The trawler, the Mary Rose, sees this same light from the sea. Crew may be stunned, but its Cap’n:

“Yon light’s over Muir Isle. Lot O’ weird stories-about tha’ rock an’ she who owns it, Moira MacTaggart. A body goes anywhere near there…at his own risk.”

As an onramp to “to me my ❌-Men,” this works quite well. We have many, this one stands out to me in this moment. Knowing exactly the moment I plan on ending this telling of the ❌-Men.

Marvel is always A-tempting to pull us into the past and beyond. In the same panel this sentence ends…we are introduced to Wullis, who is instructed by his Cap’n to keep an eye out on these waters for the rock is near. In Wullis mind we learn he as a real master: Doom. And the editor feels I could be doing better here, with inclusion of Fantastic Four v X-Men. Who am I argue with Nocenti. My bad. Horse has left the barn, however. AND I ain’t trying to get into another in hindsight pretzel twist. We ain’t fuckin’ with no Doom if we can help it. He will make this all about him. The narcissist. We press on our course.

Same moment, a third vantage point, the source of the light in the sky: Rogue has Ali by a harness, strapped to her back. A fun set up, but it is clear Guice is not able to deliver on every panel. What was top shelf in panel one and two the page before, is deteriorating to serviceable. Like Trime, in that deadlines, and/or my reality, what happens on the page happens, trusting the process and your preparation…sometimes looks brilliant and sometimes just serviceable, kinda way. Trimpe, lived in a reality, where he simply delivered a hand full of choice panels, and/or pages, are really just got ‘er done, the rest of the way. A volume business. Guice here, seems to have a higher standard, but you can see why I am rare, finding his work inspiring at times. His is frankly not a well known name. I keep trying though.

Good thing we read all those Dazzler back issues. Now we have clear context for the banter and in process trust exercise we are witnessing here. Claremont helps this page. There is debate about the flair that Ali made light up the night sky. And both have trouble telling each other their contritions on the past and the present. But they keep it lite and humorous as they spot Bets. Rogue is worried Ali is overplaying her hand. Ali thinks she had blinded Bets and left her vulnerable. Neither seem to be keeping telepathy in mind. The boasting and advising is about the be tested.

Claremont describes in poetic detail what it is to have Bets brake through your minds shields and for you to find the fortitude to stay with it. Rogue does just this. However, her physical retaliation keeps missing the target, as it may not even be there. Rogue is then swung around by her own mind through the sky until, Bets lands her hard into a rock formation, with a genuine apology. Bets used Rogue against herself. However, this gives Ali enough time and distraction to focus forced light into Bets back.

It seems every panel with Bets, Guice puts in effort. He slacks on the rest.

Ali keeps her light aglow, so she doesn’t trip, as she approaches her feld teammate. Who has simply played her. Bets lays on the ground, poured Ali in, who’s thinking she hasn’t the control she should over this newly developed light blaster. Bets takes over her mind and then turns Ali and her new powers at a rocky formation where, Lonshot has been lurking the entire time. But luck be on his side.

Longshot flipping about, ties them all up with his line & spikes. Something he keeps in his many pockets. Ali is more annoyed than Bets. Rogue is kinda livid. She tares her team mates away from the line, and then takes one, Bets by the scruff of her suit into the air, ready to punch her. Every panel with Bets works, for nearly all, every time. Rogue looks fantastic for the first time in this issue. Ali did two panels before. Guice woke up, because of Bets. I am convinced.

Sean Cassidy; Theresa’s Da; is there to stop the exercise just in time. The old vet. Sean is a terrible ❌-Men. However, as a Muir Isle local in a seater, working with mutants…he is kinda the best. Breakfast is getting cold. Assessments are ready.

The sunrises over the sea, by the isle. Breakfast is on the table, or coming, as Sean serves another plate. X-Men drink coffee. So do we.

Rogue inquires on Logan and Ororo updates. Sean, says they got into a scrape upstate NY, and came out ok. They will let Rogue know when she should head stateside to join them. We skipped the conclusion of all that…good to know murder grandpa’s didn’t get ‘em.

Rouge of all people should understand how absurd her statement is. She accuses them of being a team and there for should be together. Now if she said gang…and then made it about them needing each other for survival in struggle…especially now…well…she basically does this…just sub in team for gang.

Sean underscores, they are there for training under him, because look at how they cot here. Mutant Massacre is not in any way something they have recovered from. They need this R’nR and schooling. Rogue is questioning Ororo’s logic, and Sean is like she the leader…and folks make mistakes. Until the don’t. He then shifts to critique of Bets choice to heading out in open country in the training session. When Longshot says:

“Dead, burned animal flesh and unborn baby birds…YUM!”

THE BEST!

Rogue: “Don’t be gross, Lonshot.”

She in a mood.

Bets logic seemed fine, until it faced Longshot’s luck, is the assessment.

As for Longhsots, my avatar:

Longhsot: “Did I do something wrong, Banshee? I didn’t mean to.”

Me all day.

Banshee: “Ye did fine, Boyo.”

THANK YOU JESUS.

“…That looney talent O’ yours may prove to be an invaluable asset to the (gang). Makin’ Ye the one ❌-Men whose moves can’t be predicted. The ‘LONGSHOT’ that always pays off.”

Then Sean questions Rogues decision to not utilize her teammate Ali in handling Bets, and Rogue goes with the, I could handle Bets on my own at that point, and Sean calls her wrong…Rogue admits she screwed up and smashes his table. She is extra sensitive right now.

Sean ignores it and moves on to Ali. Why did she rush into close range on Bets? And Ali goes with the “I thought…” and Sean cuts her off with, “no, lass, Ye didn’t.”

He centers this is about survival.

He focuses in on “strengths and weaknesses” within team…sorry…gang work. References this in contrast with a “collection of individuals.”

“Enhance the strengths an’ balance out the weaknesses. Creating synthesis.”

Moira has a massive above ground research complex, that Claremont refers to as, and I quote, “underground research complex.” So whatever you want to call it, above ground or bellow ground pool…it’s a huge pool, either way.

Her doctorate is in medicine and genetic research. Ideal for having what I am guessing is the majority of resident NYC living mutants in her Scotland basement:

“The hospital wing is full to bursting…”

Callisto is the only Morlock, to be out of a medical bed. It’s not like the privileged few mutants are unaffected, but what always happens, happened here to be sure. As Callisto works out, Moira and her assess the gloom. More will die. Callisto, wishes them a speedy passing. The ❌-Men might be better off, but Moira has her concerns. She believes Logan and Ororo are not being transparent with how well they are coping. Without them…

Moira: “…how will the ❌-Men endure?!”

Callisto: “The won’t.”

The pressure is getting to folks. After breakfast the ❌-Men join Callisto, who is one of them gym rats who lives there. Bets gets some PT from Sean. Longshot juggles wine bottles while balancing on top of a pull up bar. Rogue is pushing through the pain, in an electronic energy weight design to counter he super human stangth; thanks to Carol Danvers. Ali and Callisto are doing pull ups on the bar next to Longshots. Callisto, the ever thoughtful personal trainer is in Ali’s head. It’s not enough to simply best her, Callisto rubs it in. Ali is still feeling the dawn and breakfast demoralization, is reactive, and fails. Ali calls Callisto out, and Callisto reacts as you would in a Morlock tunnel…or any street in urban America, c. 1987. A knife to Ali’s jugular. A clear reminder of what waits for them outside this secure location. They are stracted, as Longshot looses his consecration and falters:

Longshot: “whoops!”

Ali takes the moment to disarm her attacker, and storms off. Callisto’s point fallowing her as she exits.

Callisto: “…you be strong. You fight—…or you DIE!”

Ali: “Oh, yeah? Maybe I’ll start with you!”

Guice and team, aren’t blowing my hair back with the art, but the pacing a panel structure, the page layouts are not something I am objecting to. On occasion like the central panel of the next page, the art hits just right. In between the elements work together at a high enough level. It’s the individual execution I am accusing of being serviceable.

Ali heads out on the rocks to the shore. Bellow she heads to the dock. VOIP! The boat is untethered. Rogue chases after her by air, in her iconic, black, white belt accent and green boots, Ali’s coat in hand. Ali’s in her pink 80’s work out essentials. Color circles around her. Ali is in her head; she knows Callisto is right. She is dead without becoming what Callisto is suggesting. It is exactly why she has resisted this life, that she seeks to spread joy, not become a survivor like Callisto. She detests everything she is in right now. Her fear keeps her there. Her practical self has placed her in this place. She needs these people to protect her. She may even need to loose her desires to make it to tomorrow. And here is one of her arches, from that that old life, offering her, her coat, and a lifeline. As she just cut one and is headed out to sea. To see, she knows not what. Open waters. Space. Will she return. Unknown. Rogue gets this right: “your choice.”

Ali finds herself in Ullapool, a new outfit, walking by Irene’s books and curiosities, and into Black Ned’s pub. She gets the look of admiration from strangers, she feeds of this. She calls that and this normal. Only she admits to herself it’s fake. She is drawn in by libations and song. It’s another pub, where everyone knows your name. She does what she has always done. Becomes the center of attention, and life of the party. Dancing the night away. Then her turn to sing, and it stops the room. Things settle into a flirt, and possibly more. Conal, walks her out to the the brisk night air. A convertible nearly takes her out, as Conal pulls her back. She spots the driver. Knows the face from X-files. Cain Marko AKA Juggernaut! She borrows a motorcycle of the street, and ditches Conal, who can’t understand what on Earth just happened. He thinks she is out of her depths.

Ali: “Wrong my friend. I’m one of the few who CAN!”

Ali uses the speed of the bike and the ambient air of the night, to charge her powers with the sound. Turning herself into a silent tail. What she knows of Cain is in a file, that she only half believes. And she is puffing herself up. Over confidence and under appreciation about to collide into a brick wall, at silent speed.

Cain stands, full costume. Ready. His ride behind him. Her ride avoided him, but not his. Ali flying is a well drawn longshot panel.

Her mutant existence makes her more durable, but she defiantly held that. Cain is mad about the bike damaging his car. Bike will never be found in them woods. He talks smack he can back up. Ali speaks a basic superhero tough guy line. Cain is struck by the name: “Dazzler? No FOOLIN’?!?” He’s a fan. Has her record. Seen her live. Never in a million years did he think he would get this chance. Unfortunately, he is in a hurry. Work you know? Only thing is, he is meeting Ali on one of the few nights, she has an ax to grind. “…you’re going to be later still.”

Cain: “Awhww. C’Mon, Honey. Don’t talk like that. Give us both a break. I don’t want to have to hurt you or nothin.’

Now sure, this is basic predator jargon. And sure he probably is the worst. But we have spent 191 issues of comics establishing a few things. His step-brother, Chuck is the actual worst. We don’t know it yet, but if you watch movies, you know his step-sister, Cassandra Nova, is probably the worst of the actual worst. His step-nephew, Legion, is kinda a lot. Meanwhile, what we have learned over two issues, in Chapter 14 & 28, are two sympathetic events:

That he was made a mark on a bad date with evil AF Selene of the Hellfire Club, and turned that into a bar fight with a hot head Piotr, that was a teachable moment to the kid, authorized by Logan and Kurt, that he, Cain, paid cash for. And, then when he was doing some normal banking during day light, as the city was looking for him, the city and the cops drew the ❌-Men and Nimrod to him and he nearly died, defending his legal right to bank there. The bank and his reputation in tatters, he headed to the next branch. Here, sure he is speeding to work…Who hasn’t done this?! And, now he fauns over someone who loves that sort of attention. Has been taking that in like candy all night and now…what…?!

Ali: “Then, give up. Besides, you won’t get far on two flat tires.”

Cains has good reason to be done with the ❌-Men.

I think I have reason to defend this issue. I am shocked. It is justice for Cain Marko. And the art is helping…not hurting my case, here…on this page.

The fight starts, and frankly in five panels, I have more fun reading then I have during most…knowing full well my favorite is coming next issue. Cain is classically dismissive. Tit for tat there. Ali claims and delivers something else. She uses tiny bubble patterns to sooth him into a lull. Which nearly works, beautifully on this page, I might add. Just as wonderfully though, Cain is one of the few folks (like the Hulk) who you really should not do this sort of move against. It gets them kinda pissed. In a fantastic visual sequence:

Cain: “Whua?!!

WHAMM!

Cain: “nobody hypnotizes me, babe! NOBODY!:

Slamming his hands against each other, creates a crater, with Ali in it, stunned. He is yelling his truth, and she is finally getting the message.

Two more pages, on the run, in her bag, talking nonsense, he truth bombing her, he catchers her in the drink after she falls off a cliff. She got him in close. Toast, she got a move.

Pageturn, she got got distance on him again. Up a hill in the moon light. SHe takes in the Highland sites. The beauty. She got her fingers ready, like a gun…she has been drained…no sounds to pull from. One last shot.

Page turn. Six panels. Time crawls. Beautiful light fills the page through desing. On a bluff, Cain edges closer, as her energy slows him, but drains her. She accepts in this moment. She is an ❌-Men, and we both accept they are a team. No more gang talk. WWIII is not around to correct us.

Page turn.

Cain: “you finished.”

No light, beyond the moon. Cain, the fan, speaks to her with admiration. As to our horror, she collapses. He wasn’t just a fan. He was obsessed.

Cain: “I WORSHIPPED her! I k I I l e d h e r !”

May of 1986, I splurged and picked up two comics. X-Factor and Uncanny X-Men. What had been my first comic purchase the week it came out, X-Factor, had been a regular thing, November, 1985-July, 1986. One issue per month. Rare exception was Uncanny X-Men No. 208. My commitment to X-Factor waning and I was seduced by Bill’s art and from July, 1986-February, 1987 ◇ELEKTRA◇ Assassin became the one. Now we we turn to March of 1987. Uncanny X-Men becomes the one with No. 218. The greatest single issue of Marvel Comics for ALL TIMES. IMHO…c. 1987 & 2026. And for most years in between; spending a decade in a “it’s No. 244” phase. I am back to this positioning.

My brother, Jordan, had just turned 8, I was 11, just shy of 12 still. The divorce was seven years ago. Dad had gone from splitting time, to being in my life every other weekend four years ago. I was in 6th grade, in the final months of being a citizen of Berkeley. A Bizerkeleite, transplanted from the Rocky Mountains at two. My brother and I had stopped playing with our action figures. I had even stopped collecting Garbage Pail Kids cards. While musical exposure was diverse at this point, I wasn’t beholden to any band. I shed the inherited “Beatles” identity in the early eighties, and fully plugged into KITS, Live 105.3, out of the City, and their Mordern Rock broadcasting; Camper Van Beethoven, Siouxsie and the Banshees, etc...I had begun to identify with Marvel and specifically comics featuring mutants, but a primary identity transition from Star Wars “fan,” was not complete. I would still site Elf Quest over the ❌-Men. I had completed a solid foundation for my path. ◇ELEKTRA◇ Assassin had completed a process that began seven years earlier with my exposure to Tintin. I was to be a cartoonist. But what sort. There can only be one Calvin and Hobbes. There is only one Bill Sienkiewicz.I was in the process of saying my goodbyes to my hard earned diverse cast of close friends; Joy, Dushuan, Shang-Fu, Steve, Tyler, Exania, Aaron, Marc, and Christian would be the last. Just like my lost connection with my Boulder people, it was happening again. At a beach. It was summer, cold, The Bay’s way. Mom, Jordan, Christian and I. A last goodby, before moving to Marin. My brother would run into him in Santa Cruz at the turn of the century. They wouldn’t think to echange numbers. They would run into each other. They never did again. Every one of them would not be seen again. The work that Marvel had done on me, beginning with the Electric Company in 1977, was not completed until March of 1987. As my entire world turned to Uncanny ❌-Men No. 218.

It would take an alignment of inevitable maturity of a tumbleweed on my part, and internal creative struggles following the business of ego and greed on this comics part, to upend my devotion to this path. Setting both the comics industry and myself back into the wilderness. However, we are two and half years from that panel.

Bob Wiacek is back, inking the next cover, over Arthur Adams pencils this time. Glynis or Petra presumably providing solidly bright coloring, held by an orange background. With Art’s thin action lines editing out. Nothing has changed of note within the corner box or logo. We know the date of the pencil and ink completion; 1-19-87. Dazzeler’s firing a soft blue light, one originating a sharp angular star burst from her outstretched hands, the other a goopy light show. She is in her relatively new costume (debuted end of 1985, at the end of her canceled self-titled comic run); blue, right shoulder, left hand, and head exposed; a red tied headband holds her strawberry blonde hair; a starburst on her chest aligns with Longshots branding (and the New Universe’s; in a few months, I am in Safeway, Mill Valley, home town No. 3…I just recently started counting (b)Orinda…and picking up D.P.7 No. 10, becoming dedicated to monthly consumption of two comics titles for the first time), starburst repeats on right calf, left calf has a red strip complimenting head dress. Ali, very much alive. I had no concept of this being a spoiler, as this was my officially committed on-ramp to Uncanny X-Men. I could care less about Ali here, at the time. The other three on the cover, are what does it. I was already committed to, and expecting, Kitty and Ororo from No. 208. I was very familiar through my first exposure to Marvel comics with Logan (Wolverine Limited Series). I was probably here originally because of him. This drawing of Rogue is not great when you look at it closely. Not her best hair day, a good version of her costume, but not my absolute favorite. Her pose probably sells it, but the anatomy is kind off. I think the palette is what compelled me. I have no clue about Bets here. And I couldn’t tell you why it worked in the moment. It just seemed inteseresting. By guess is my queer side was taken in by the pushing against superhero aesthetic norms. It really is Longshot that works. Which is crazy, because that is the worst haircut in the Marvel Universe. And yet, when he doesn’t have that mullet flowing just so, his entire look falls apart. I am not a fan of shoulder pads, or over complicated layering of leather, but again it isn’t right if Lonshot doesn’t have that. The pockets and paraphernalia all work for me always…well…when Cable and Deadpool copy this look…I get less enthused. His three fingers is wonderful. And the design of his blades coming at us is what probably sells this issue to me. It helps that in this one case they reflect Rogue’s green. Is it the best cover of all time. Nah. It is the one that worked magic at the right time one me however.

The struggle is real. Put on your sex positive thinking cap.

Comics are ink on paper or 1 & 0 posers of ink on paper. Also carbon based life forms, at some point some comics represents the carbon based life form we call the peoples. For these peoples to produce other peoples, we generally fuck. For us to do this, when safe, we usually find some level of mutual attraction. When we make comics, we use this reality to sometimes try and represent this attraction.

Now, it doesn’t have to come down to the base instinct of production of more carbon based life-forms that cary on our genetic makeup. Sometimes, most times when we are honest, it simply comes down to an aesthetic. Which becomes a bit of mystery at times. It can also become complex in how we express this, and to whom.

We have developed a cultural ecosystem, that is rife with contradictions, paradox, fluidity, and binary constraints. Aesthetics are continuoulsly communicating differently to all peoples who encounter them. We respond to them through our individual contexts, which are fluid and complex. And yet when we express our reactions outwardly, others may find reason to pin their aesthetic communication onto us as a way to help them simplify an understand of our characterization from their perspective. They do this for a full spectrum of ways. On that spectrum is fucking.

Keeping in mind there is far more common and complicated reactions that can include hostility, indifference, friendship, collaboration, etc… Comics are a medium that is often communicated through a juxtaposed visual and literary lexicon of coded symbolism, designed to evoke a connection with people, and provides space for them them to intimately consider the complexities, contexts, of actual people through comics aesthetics.

The risks come with external communication with other people, IRL or through more 1 & 0 posers carying word from the other people. We do this for the expanded potential of survival and accessibility into a society, building community. Which again is not generally focused on fucking. We don’t judge. Only we sure seems to make it seem like we do. Even more since 1 & 0’s got in on this. Or so the aesthetics signal me.

Internally, our sexuality remains a mystery we struggle to pin down. This despite the 21st Century being night and day in comparison with the 20th Century.

I wasn’t rushing it as a teen in the 90’s. Despite having been a horny lil’ kid in the 80’s. In the Bay in the 80’s we talked about sex a lot. Sex Ed was in 6th grade and again in 8th grade. We were amongst the first students to learn about AIDS and HIV in class. I would have multiple people in my life die from it, including my Mom’s best friend at work, and my favorite teacher Freshman Year of High School. I would work, in the 90’s, with Miss Gay SF, in their day job, dressed as a flamboyant yet kinda meh man, not their true self, the most gorgeous woman in the city. I experimented as a young adult with a wonderful community leader. I witnessed daily the process of transgender surgery transformation, and know the feeling of fear that it may not be surgery, but an encounter the night before that made our friend appear this way at coffee. My best friends doctoral dissertation was on how our Sex Education in the 80’s failed her and girls in our class, never you mind the queer community we absolutely were connected with intimately. Eviscerating any illusion there was equity. Not that I had much of an illusion, being raised by an empathic unflappable and direct feminist.

I was in a diverse community. Sexuality was an open conversation. My default setting is respect for other peoples bodies and sexuality. My first Life Drawing class, was not a thing. But there is always contexts that can challenge a truth. I have made mistakes. Looking back, Asperger has assisted me in misreading, confessions, and mistakes that hurt.

By 1987, I had a great deal of knowledge about aesthetics, sex, and sexuality for a 20th Century boy who had not been abused. I didn’t have the answers in my pockets with an algorithm to be oh so helpful. I am literally coming of age at the moment in time, I was about to open this comic. Its early day, relax.

I am being raised by Hippies. First in the woods, were nudity is a norm, and then in Berkeley, were it is not unheard of. My Mom, a Batik Craft Movement Fine Artist and Architect, created and had on their bed a Batik nude portrait of their neighbors back in Boulder on the bed for the first five years of my life. Neither of my parents or this artists nude explain or inform on some deep freudian way anything here. And here we are at the coming of edge moment, where I become obsessed with a path that informs my life, and what is working for me in every other way, simply doesn’t when it comes to physical attraction.

Signs of my personal aesthetic leaning around attraction; being young enough to be shoed away from the cover of Love & Rockets No. 1 by Comicx ‘n Comix sales clerk; being left in a room during a child psychologist party with a bunch of Crumb comics and then in college realizing “were they insane, Janice Joplin’s cover was one thing…but this was problematic;” and my brother and I were just reminiscing about how crazy it was our cousin wasn’t getting that our Aunt was sending signals through every baby sister she ever got to care for him, ‘cause we absolutely were as kids. I had a type. And they were suffering and continue to, though in plot witnessed ways. Looking back I was stuck in neutral when it came to being helpful. Attraction is not a means to allyship. A byproduct of the context, my discomfort is trivial. But also mine to struggle with. Those early moments clues to a mystery. It is primal and base. And here I am trying to be of use, empathic, supportive.

I would end up loosing my verginity to a women I was dating for a minute. It didn’t work out, because I hadn’t discovered Dieselhed, Hank III, and was dismissive at the point of George Jones, and I couldn’t see myself line dancing in the 90’s. The attraction was, she was a large Black woman, and we had similar humor, but not enough commonality beyond this, so the feelings were mutual. How I got there and where I went from there, has a lot to do with the 70’s and 80’s however. This isn’t that story, but it helps to know the direction it is leading to.

Within there is mystery. There are the obvious answers, and then there is the totality of data collection, but there is no “aha, that is why!” There seems to be no singular cause. The mystery is about form and size. A coded aesthetics informing an attraction. The dynamics of which are directly plugged into comics in general and superhero power fantasy more specifically. Only complicated by musculature and fat are integrated somehow, not in opposition in the fantasy. In reality, society was building industry to the contrary. The reason there is question is two fold; one, this was not the 21st Century and it wasn’t the mid 20th Century, the coding was very contrary to the norm; thin was in; two, there are these seemingly foundational elements of origin that come off as anomalies; thin was my world, despite my neighborhood.

Fat, size as feminist power, was the exotica and the street…but then what to make of this:

Marc Sylvestri’s type, is clearly aligned with where the 80’s sexual industrial complex was, where French Runways were, where Jane Fonda and Richard Simons had been trying to be so helpful in getting the adults to. This was the safe space, where the aesthetics aligned with a comfortable, and unproblematic adolescence, entering into societies expectations. Sylvestri wasn’t doing it for me on this level. I was fucked.

Opening gateway Marc Sylvestri’s Uncanny ❌-Men comic, a 20th Century boy, a 21st Century man.

As I do so, I am flooded with inversion of my new found sympathies for the murderous Cain Marko, and a memory which may be the “aha” to my personal mystery.

Cain’s obsession was the broadcast norm through the 21st Century. The fear of The Hulk representing the other, informed by the fear and harboring of the Cain’s of this world within our communities and homes. The binary norm of a pedestal for the Ali’s of the world, and the pursuit and possession by the agency of men in contrast with agency of whom Ali represents. Designed to not be all women. Cain, the Hulk, not all men. They are Jud Fry from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma!. Making space for men to cast themselves as the white knight, the Curly McLain; the Steve Rodgers. The common man, turned towards a pedestal along the popular princess. Me not being anything like Cain, Hulk, or even Steve in appearance, but understanding them clearly enough, to know I have a van diagram shared with all three. I also feel this and understand this dynamic with Kitty and Ororo, but I can’t say I do with Ali. Not that I don’t have empathy. I do. Especially as we enter into this. Cain’s obsession is abhorrent to me. His actions equally so. His context, I can empathize with. Like the Hulk, I can see his struggles.

The memory I have, is when the 70’s turned to 80’s, a critical time for me, a move from one state to another, the birth of a brother and the pending divorce was creating a lack of trust with my trustworthy parents, and my inability due to Asperger navigate the coded languages of my peers, as I was also learning codes switching within and outside my house, I was struggling as the stability I had known, was requiring a maturity to soon. The backdrop to an evening party with my live-in-sitter, at their friends apartment, with many who had pinch hit taking care of us Cohen boys. My parents ready to leave, Jordan was getting fussy. I wanted to stay. It was a sleep over. They were all Cal students, they all encouraged it. My parents left me there, on the lap of a women I did not know. Every adult is big to a kid, but she was bigger than most. Muscle and fat. And she knew it. We walked into the room were we would all be sleeping. A safe space. I honestly don’t know. But for a moment a betrayal of trust. Raises her arm, makes a muscle. I look up with complex feelings, I don’t yet understand. She says, “Ben’s going to sleep with me. He likes my big muscles.” She was the Cain Marko, the Hulk of the party. I was no Ali, no Steve. I was a Longshot.

Could this be my super power fantasy, sexual awakening, cartoonist aesthetics orgin story?!? I have no clue.

With that thought fucking with my head, the aesthetics of a desert like my visits to see Grandma in the Palm Springs Desert, appears on the page…only it is another fantasy place of mine, we have returned to where this Chapter began:

“The Rio Diable Mountains, of Northern New Mexico—country that’s nearly as pristine and empty today as when the first (peoples) saw it, centruries ago.”

Geologist Alex Summers, and Archeologist Lorna Dane, presumably not in Betty Ross and Major Talbot’s Jeep, speed along filled with content joy. Obviously living their best lives.

I am no longer being fucked with. I am in my happy place, with them in theirs. The magic of aesthetics.

Not a car guy, but really happy with my third generation, hand me down Datsun B-210, until the transmission fell out going up my Tam Valley driveway. It became the home to a neighborhood man who had a small cult fallowing at the Depot of Tai Chi and hacky sack enthusiasts; his messiah complex was all inclusive. One morning he claimed we would miss out on our morning coffee talk, because he would be on a comet headed to destroy the Earth. It’s true he did not show. However, when the day after happened, I asked Sam what happened. Sam, changed his mind.

Cars I did have a desire for however, were 80’s Nissan Pathfinders, Jeeps, and a variety of VW’s; Bugs, Vans, Rabbits, and Jettas. Here, in car heaven, the Jeep is careening towards a VW Van. Sam does not change his mind.

“It’s a good life…that’s about to end.”

-Claremont c. 1987

My Mom survived a roll over when my parents moved from Maddison to Boulder. If she had not, I would not be typing right now. Her’s was across multiple lanes of highway. Here Sylvestri has it unfold over three pages, down a cliff. A boulder about to land on top of them. Rollbar, plus Havok’s concentric circles blasting it apart saves them.

CHARGE of the LIGHT BRIGADE

The A-Team is fully assembled; Sylvestri, Green, Glynis, Orzechowski, Claremont + Nocenti. Built a hella rad on-ramp for us, they have. I was with them all of the way. The plan is to take you through most of it. Nearly all.

I was hooked.

“Later”

Six panels, the happy couple takes this setback in stride. Assesment with humor. Injured without a fuss. Making this trial a romantic setting. ❌-Men are a romance comic. The shading in the desert is choice.

“Much later”

All cleaned up, last step, Lorna uses her powers to right their metal steed. They carry on thier marry way.

Reminder, I had not read No. 217 yet. So I am coming into this blind. I don’t think I know who Ali is, let alone what happened. Halfway through page 5:

“Somewhere else…”

A black panel, the thought balloon, is confused on where and what…I am also wondering, who. She is not well, we know this from her thoughts and that she has the ability to illuminate the space.

We are getting a clue to Sylvestri’s aesthetics here. We have seen him before, besides, in Chapter 42. What he lacks in body diversity of female protagonists, he makes up for in delicacy of a loose, yet controlled, gestural line. Not adverse to chiaroscuro, spot blacks, a charcoal dry brush applied by Green, a black panel, he errors on a light touch, comfortable with the use of negative space to allow us to breathe in the environment and a moment. He uses the same gestural loose delicateness in character, nature, and technology. The scratchy and action lines are deceptively resistant to being over played. This makes Glynis measured coloring and the slightest bit of edgy in Orzechowski’s lettering and flexing of SFX, work in concert with Sylvestri to facilitate space that Claremont has always needed to be pithy and verbose. Sylvestri seems to be the perfectly match penciler to the writing, that at times has not been just so over the decade plus on this title. Exceptions have been documented in previous chapters. Green’s inks and the printing on Newsprint are in perfect harmony to deliver a refining of Sylvestri and Claremont’s storytelling.

My personal favorite is Sylvestri’s crow scenes. We have had tiny people here, but not the full experience.

The architecture of the highest paid pencilers in history, Image comics, the 90’s look, Marvel going public, the collectors market bubble, it begins with two pencilers. One who is there, and one who inspires. Both of them are in this chapter. Walt deserves a nod, but it is Art Adams and Marc Sylvestri who create the aesthetic contexts that feed the creative and business intersection which makes it balloon up and all come crashing down, as it pops. Adams, voluptuous sexiness had not reached its 21st Century level, but it was clear the two had different tastes. Adams leaned into zany, energy, and was unafraid of hatching. Sylvestri could get odd ball to be sure, but he tended to keep a refined grounding, over energy. He would use a single lines movement to create and shape space. Adams would use tiny ones for the same purposes. Both were informing those coming up under their wings, and were building on and away at once from the Miller, Sienkiewicz, Mazzuccelli art house, into a metal playfulness. Jim Lee, Rob Liefeld, Todd Mcfarlane, and then Eric Larson and Whilce Portacio behind them, would all be taking what Sylvestri and Adams were doing and hyping it up to the max. That’s their brand, extremes. See the film The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys, and you get what Image was about; childs play. Adams and Sylvestri were adulting. The other Image founders were ignoring the subtle nuances that for me make this all work. I was seduced by their innovations like the world was, but it became clear that what Adams and Sylvestri were doing, along with Alan Davis’ use of line weight and curved form, as a balance to Miller, Sienkiewicz, Mazzuccelli. While those influenced here, by this comic, would become a disruptive force that brought the industry to a halt.

We know not who she is, any of the rest, we do know her face is effecting, and her situation seems dire.

Ali: “I’ve been buried alive?!?”

In a black panel.

Page turn.

Alternating from the burial present, to the context from No. 217, we learn of Cain being the cause. Her hubris. She clams herself to save breathing and navigate. She reasons, he thought her dead. She thought it was a safe place to mitigate collateral damage. She was correct.

She uses her sense to find the scratching of an insect above ground. A mouse. Wind. An eagle. Water. Sylvestri is sharing some of his visual lexicon which will come into play along the way.

Finally, she is discovered by Bets, who’s eyes and butterfly telepathic affect appears in the dark. She had been collecting these sounds to transmute them into light, which she sends as a flair for location. She passes out from the effort.

Black panel.

Page turn.

It is as if, John Romita had been preparing us for the visual language Silvestri would use. It is clear to me now, how the A-Team, had informed and maintained a narrative over the decade that held Claremont in concert with his storytelling partners the pencilers. It was equitable and the passing of the torch is nearly seemless, without ignoring the Kirbiesque power of strength in Romita Jr and the delicateness gestural natures of Sylvestri. The 80’s were in such good hands.

There has been discussion elsewhere, and for the past quarter century+ about the crutch that need for Logan in an ❌-Men comic. By the end of this decade I would become resistant to interest in the character, as saturation became the norm. There seems to be a difference between the role of Logan and Spider-Man. I she She-Hulk as a more natural fit for the role of brand connector. One who who can show up and not dilute and warp their value. Peter is Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman. Jen flirts with the concept. Logan is an odd cuck for brand ambassador.

I also saw Kitty as the POV. I suppose I have softened to the idea that Jubilee becomes the POV for millennials, as Kitty was for GenXers. I suppose I am embracing a passing of the torch on that idea. Some would argue, you need the Lone Wolf to that Cub. So Logan is the natural fit. Laura AKA X-23 in that role for GenZ, and perhaps she take the Logan role and there another for Alphas. I am not caught up enough, and my GenZ is all growed up. None of this is required in a ❌-Men comic.

The discussion has evolved, because of the flawed nature of the film adaptation, in the absence of Logan, one needs Chuck and Maggie to both be present for an ❌-Men story to function. This is an illusion developed by a failure through business to center and utilize the art and story which delivered the ❌-Men to heights within the comics market, that created the contexts, which changed the comics business, and solidified the interest in the ❌-Men, which resulted in generations of adaptations across mediums. These adaptations have never got this part right here. We haven’t seen Chuck for over a year and Maggie has been primarily a New Mutant character over that time. We will be seeing less and less of him, until we won’t even think of him for two years here. In “the” ❌-Men story that changed the world.

The third part is driven by a warped understanding of what happened, as folks have not been doing their own homework. We celebrate Kirby, and we respect Stan. So the cheat sheet has been, center the characters centered in the origin of the comic, by the King and the Man. We seem to need the gravitas of Chuck and Maggie, pushing and pulling, finding balance, but the “real fans,” the comic book “readers,” those actors who did their homework, etc…think to themselves, this is about the students. That means this is about the original class. Those two centered in that story; Scott & Jean. Only we GenXer readers saw one dead and brought to life in a spinoff. We saw the other abandon the “team,” only he seemingly believed was such a thing, find his best life off book adrift, returning for less then a minute to get bested by our actual No. 1, and then run back to the love of his life in a spin-off, abandoning his wife and child. Who by the way, are still more present here than anywhere else. This reader was on that spin-off train, but a year into it, what was my chosen on-ramp became something that simply wasn’t working for me, and I was driven back to the source material. Where I discovered a superior art production and storytelling.

It is here, that there is no Logan in this issue beyond the corner box. There is no Chuck or Maggie. There is no Jean or Scott. There isn’t even the leader of the ❌-Men. The No. 1; Ororo. There is the remnants of a school and student body frayed, but still tethered together not by courses, but shared experiences of struggle through trauma, that binds characterization and audience. Who are buying issues monthly in record numbers for Marvel, and have cemented Marvel as the decades, end of an era, No. 1 publisher of comics in North America, peaking the interest of investors set to exploit the opportunity from inside and outside the hen house. There is only frayed loose connective tissues, worth its weight in gold.

This right here is the strength of an ❌-Men story. A romance comic of two folks with no interests in superheroes bookending a story of four characters struggling in life, finding in each other, the ability to minimally put on a performative display of superheroes, as more intimate and meaning contexts connect us to them.

I have come to the conclusion I prefer any combination of Ororo, Kitty, Rachel, Longshot, Piotr, Betsy, Kurt, Forge, Warren, Ali, Alex, Lorna, with OR WITHOUT Logan, as my ❌-Men “team,” but I don’t need them being a team or a gang. I also really mean this statement. You simply don’t need Ororo, Kitty or Logan even. We have Ali, Betsy, Longshot, and Rogue here on page eight. We had Alex and Lorna on page one.

I keep getting on and off this highway. And here I am in it for years, till Jim Lee and Gambit get me waffling as this becomes a 90’s comic not for this GenXer. When the rest of the world, outside the comics market, begins to get onboard, and the bubble sets to burst. Making a mess we are still cleaning up.

Ali, whose entire mutant life, is over exposure to light, has her hand over her eyes, blocking the sun, as she is alive, and no longer buried away in the dark. This will be an adjustment.

“Voices, sound. I LOVE it.”

Her thoughts are accompanied by another’s. Bets is easing her into another chance at life. Her assessment is, after a bit, Ali will be fine. Longshot observes, enthused. Ali is embarrassed. Longshot expresses and shares genuinely empathy and concerns they had. Ali apologies. Rogue stands, as the other three are lower to the ground bellow the tree on this Scottish grassy and rocky knoll. In this tiny persons panel. We see exactly the string bean aesthetics of Sylvestri. It is elegant. Rogue’s having a good hair day, Adam’s made an error. Her jacket, a dark green, light green wrist length gloves, calf covering boots with high heels (Kelly Thompson might make a point, and have one here), and bikini bottoms, over a black body suit. Bets and Longshot in their usual. One black leathery. The other pink and flowy. Ali in her grave attire from the night out before. A hug between the three on the ground. An assurance of the bond forming. The team transforming from gang. Friendships amongst the newest “official” ❌-Men.

Longshot: “Rogue, don’t be apart. Join us. Ali needs you, too.”

Rogue: “Ah’m always with you, Sugar. In spirit.”

In this moment, I am Rogue, precisely, not Longshot. Though we both share in his empathy and friendship…the mush is not happening. Rogue has actual reason, unlike me.

She tosses a stone into the outer atmosphere where it burns up.

This page, in eight panels, getting smaller at the end, builds the visual lexicon, character development, relationship contexts, the story, is foundational in my fandom. It is here that Longshot begins to bond with me and the ❌-Men feel like home.

Bets and Ali walk, all three women in the panel, the same body type, maybe some slight height differences, but that is likely surface they are standing on and perspective. Very Jem and The Holograms, the cartoon, not the Kelly Thompson and Sophie Campbell comics adaptation. Sophie cartoons inspired body diversity. She is more than a former classmate. She is a hero to me. Here Sylvestri clarifies his limited point of view.

Bets and Ali have a contextually fun conversation as two people who know so little of Cain. Bets informs Ali of his status in ❌-Men lore, and Ali is like, I learned this the hard way. Which is interesting considering both women have been around for many years, but also serve as newbies here. Neither knew, but both should have probably known. And one pretends to know now, when the other experienced it first hand. A phone call from town the night before, gave the other three a clue as to what was up. Small town living.

Longshot, innocence personified, is empathic to Ali’s emotional state, but also curious. She understands enough to be open and honest. She feels as if she does not belong. She feels unqualified. Rogue hears this, and as someone who has been tangling with her since the beginning of the decade, makes clear, Ali bested her in the past, and belongs with her in the present. You had “gumption.”

Rogue: “Be real, Girl. We’re NONE of us perfect. We all have a lot to LEARN!”

That be ❌-Men comics!

Sean’s speech is pouring out of Rogue and now Bets. Balancing weaknesses. Whole stronger, sum of parts. Trust.

As they walk down to their 80’s suburban (I love the ones with the woody detailing) and Rogue turns to a seat in it and the radio…news:

Rogue: “Juggy’s in Edinburgh.”

He playing HULK SMASH.

‘we ❌-Men or wha'‘?!’

I am not taken in by action and violence. I respond viscerally to displays of power as design aesthetics, gestural beauty, wonders of physics, expressive dance of body, light and color, graphic elements of shapes and lines. I am a peaceful person, who has experienced and in struggle utilized violence for survival. It does not turn me on. And yet, I am obsessed with superheroes, to the point of essentially earning a MFA in them on a granular level.

As audience being taken in by this ink on pulp, and as a novice cartoonist turned professional, I can and do value action sequences in comics and on occasion on a screen. However, it is not why I am engaged. Until, it reveals it self to be art that is worthy of engagement to this audience member. No action sequence has spoke to me like this one, in all of my days.

Over 81 panels, in elevan pages, the first seven seven being three double page spreads and a single page turn in uninterrupted sequence. The interruptions of ads being an important taking of a beat, another double page spread in these single pages of action with opportunities to breathe. I took in at 11 and I take in now at 51, something so effecting, I wanted to be able to know, understand and do this work.

The story shifts inland, 150 miles SE to Edinburgh, the ancient capital. Sylvestri establishes with illusionary few lines, and flats by Glynis. Rogue flys in holding like a pizza, the suburban. Longshot’s torso out the window, like a dog, noting NYC is glass, and this be stone. Landed, in a sheep grazing hill beyond the city.

Bets: “tough and sturdy like its people.”

She can’t sense Cain’s thoughts. We will learn why. She can sense those around him however. Rogue is off like a rocket, de facto leader, she has them come along at their own speed.

Claremont adds in some fat shaming comment about Cain, from Rogue. It is a product of the time, and the folks creating this. I don’t love it one bit.

Destruction smolders and explodes near by, as Rogue comes in hot. Though she has the advantage of being behind Cain, she still does the Peter Parker branded super banter into quip, which Cain, volley’s back; an arches turn. A warning of, he is what he is, he does as he pleases, you have been warned. She strikes him and Orzechowski flexes a BOOM filling a panel, that Sylvestri and A-Team members overlay, with Rogue and the vague existence of Cain. It shatters wonderfully the shop windows and startles folks…we are getting some crowd scene pleasure here. Sylvestri bring me joy. Rogue takes a moment in the last panel of this double page spread to admire her punch.

Page turn to another.

It one of those times, were Sylvestri’s choice for protagonist female form works at a high level, panel one freezes the moment of Rogue still powerful in stance and ability, is diminished by height and breadth of the Obelix that is Cain Marko. In response to her impressed in her own punch.

Cain: “me, too.”

Iconic panel.

He then backhands her away, at distance, through panels, and ancient stone castle architecture, to become a crater in street, an open grave, in front of Dark Carnival: Science Fiction and Fantasy Bookstore. The A-Team working their magic all along.

Cain is approached by a green moving truck from behind, driven by Bets in pink. After grasping his hands and KRAKOW!ing them into it’s grill; in two perfected profile action to action shots Cain’s outstretched massive hand appears in Bets is face as her body shifts back from impact and for avoidance. Which she can’t. She blasts him with her mind, and he drops the truth bomb, that his helmet is supposed to protect him, and had…until here it is not enough against her focused mental attack. An annoyance.

He seeks to finish her off, when two of my favorite Longshot panels come a knocking. Three if this throwing blades Ktang, Kang, Byang off his helmet, but one Thup. Embedded. Enough to catch his attention. He turns and sees a casual Longshot flipping a blade, sitting on the hood of an Edinburgh hooptee.

Longshot: “I’m Longshot.”

Cain: “You’re HISTORY chump. You figure those little knives can do me any damage?”

Longshot: “You never know. Anythings possible.”

Cain has been spreading word of his unstoppable inevitability all over Scotland.

Page turn to double page sequence. All time favorite.

Cain: “Not a chance.”

Longshot starts in on the innocence.

Longshot: “These people have have done you know harm.”

Smashed hooptee, backwards flipped Longshot.

Longshot: “Why do you smash their homes?”

Frog leap, crotched in air out of range for Cain wonderfully swung and action lined outstretched fist. Mass v annoying perfection panel.

Cain: “They’re in my way…just like YOU…HOLD STILL, BLAST IT?

Longshot panel kick to Juggy’s face panel.

Longshot: “So you can hit me? That’s silly!”

Cain leans into expressions of threatening frustration.

Longshot’s action lines have revealed a missed grab by Cain, and a leap through his crouched legs, breaking the panel boarder, still not yet an over done technique invented by Gil Kane. Leading the eye to a standing and ready, shoulders up, Longshot, in the next panel, as Cain at distance grabs the corner of a stony city building.

Longshot: “?”

WHAM!!

Two panels later, end of page, and onto the juxtaposed one. Longshot has been the second to be buried alive by Cain; an open grave in-between, making it three.

Cain walks away, towards what ever is in his way next. As Bets, is left second guessing like Ali has been. Who approaches joining her in clearing ancient architectural stones. A green glove and tattered torn black, green hued, arm of a body suit, joins them. From the crater, not a grave, Rogue, lifts massive sections of stone wall over head. Her teammates, stones, and tiny pebbles. Deep in a whole light emerges for a slumped shadow, Longshot.

He waves joyfully and calm. Totally fine. The three women pull the bird skeletoned charmer out of a mess of it.

Ali: “…you could have…”

Bets: “Should have been…”

Ali: “…been KILLED!”

Longshot: “Is that bad?”

These pages of violence are a delight!

Page turn to a single.

“Meanwhile, on Bridge Street, right above Waverly Railroad Station…”

A man hanging off the bridge, where Juggy tosses a car right in front of him, and near by constables direct other Dunediner away from Cain’s path. The constable instructs another to call for help; naming specifically “Brigadier—Lethbridge-Stewart—", “the army,” and “Captain Britain.” Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart is Doctor WHO character, however, Claremont is on his way to introducing Brigadier Alysande Stuart, who is affiliated with Claremont and Davis’ W.H.O. and has a twin Professor Alistaire Stuart of RCX (as well as MI6, MI13, W.H.O.), which we know of from Chapter 43. Spoiler: Brigadier Alysande Stuart will in the end being a member The ❌-Men. Her twin will go on jaunts with Excalibur. Bets was and will be Captain Britain; the same being said for her own twin, Brian, as you all know by now.

Four blades wiz by Cain, who actually ducks a bit. He is set to confront the Longshot, but he ain’t the ❌-Men who leaps into his arms on the next panel, and places a smack of lip to lip upon him.

Cain: “NO! GET AWAY!”

The sexual assault or comeuppance continues, as Rogue drains his persona and powers into her, with this flesh to flesh encounter. She sores well above Edinburgh and flings Juggy down towards the train tracks. The results being aided by Longshot’s blades having loosened his helmet, and Rogue ripping it off, extra strong now, in mid air.

Page turn.

THOOM!

Another crater, open grave. A train approaches the tunnel on the other side of crater; he lives. Incoming…Rogue, who notes, British Rail will not be happy with her work:

RAMBO!

Longhost warns of the train.

Rogue: “Ain’t that just PEACHY!”

Juggy takes the opportunity…Rogue flys out of reach…these panels are so perfect…and just keep coming.

Page turn…every page a winner…we get treated to our last double paged action.

Rogue has Longshot up in the aid with her. Into the tunnel, towards the train. Its conductor now aware of the issue outside the tunnel. Time is not on his side. Longshot is dropped on the train, for luck, and Rogue circles back to face it head on, with any luck. While on the juxtaposed page, Ali has entered the crater, and having stored the noise of a rampaging Hulk wannabe, she blast him with transmuted sound into concentrated light. The train screeches adding to the ambiance. Rogue who is iconic through out these pages leans into the panel and the train, her form power and seduction at once. A tiny Rogue works against the mass in the next panel. A still large Juggy wonders blinded, as Ali climbs to the edge of the crater to eye her team mates progress with the oncoming train. While below Bets is now in the crater with the disorientated and helmetless Cain; but still dawning psychic protective headgear. Ali has concerns. Bets trusts the plan.

Page turn.

Ali leaps farther into the crater from its interior edge, so many thoughts in her mind, she works through it all as she takes action. She arrives on Cain shoulders, as the train is nearly upon them. Zaps his final layer of psych protection off, and leaps free, as Bets absolutely “nail”s him and Cain is finally out. Some pebble fall on the exhausted and triumphant Ali and Bets. Above Rogue has stopped a train, with the luck of a certain passenger, at the edge of crater. She created.

“a h ‘ m g e t t I n ‘ t o o o l d f o r t h I s !”

The action is over. Two page left, in Marvel’s best single issue of all times, IMveryHO.

“Later”

Gordy and Rupert observe, Ali alit and Rogue carrying rail ties, talking about equitable labor, and union workers pay. Sargent-Major Benton (not of Doctor Who), is in charge of Juggy, as they take him away in a large rig, into custody. Ali’s light show, is to effect any photography and scramble tv pictures. Bets scrambles their in person audiences perceptions of the four ❌-Men. Feeding their ideals, of sups, and not the reality. So it is not the ❌-Men who are given credit, by the general public. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, no relation, updates the ❌-Men, while Juggy was creating chaos here…Claremont and Cockrum’s Black Tom Cassidy was looting the Bank of Scotland. The diversion worked.

Rogue: “An’ we fell for it—like AMATEURS!”

Bets: “…such, my friend, is life.”

Assessment is they began forming into a team, and learned hard, how far they have to go, to actually call themselves, ❌-Men.

Page turn.

“Same night…”

New Mexico.

Lorna, recall some campers they saw who were driving a VW bus…maybe they are one and the same. Worth investigating. Alex has set up tents, but they are torn now. Lorna notices a burn scar in the desert surface. Using her expertise she deduces a crash has accrued and a path leads to a rock fall near by. They combine their powers of Plasma and Magnetic energies to reveal what is under the hillside. The bodies of the campers who drove the VW bus they encountered, AND A MASSIVE WHITE STARSHARK, inside the hill. Starsharks cary Brood. A Broodqueen could mean the extinction of the humans.

I was perfectly happy not knowing of the Brood past then (see Chapter 1, and my preference for N’Garai)…I kinda wished I still didn’t know. I don’t love them ❌-stories. I do love this shark…and this page…I wish Alex and Lorna more digs…but I have feeling…this will suck them into the superhero life, they clearly wish to avoid.

I felt for them. I hold onto that feeling still.

Regular Conan penciler turned regular Uncanny X-Men penciler Si(y)lvestri tags out of A-Team, after a single issue, for Bret Belvins, for a fill in issue. Marc having earned a breather after that pitch perfect series debut. We last saw Brett pencil Uncanny X-Men’s 25th Anniversary cover issue, back in Chapter 46. He has done an issue of New Mutants in-between. We passed it over. This is his final test before becoming the regular penciler on New Mutants, a perfect fit for him, New Mutants, and Louise. The New Mutants series would have one more regular penciler to closes the series out. A feller by the name of…checks notes: Rob Liefeld:

Spike Lee’s Levi 501: Button That Fly c. 1991

…We are a year out from encountering Rob’s work, but I am pretty sure Age 11 Ben would have preferred Rob, while Age 51 Ben has a clear preference for Bret. I am not sure why I have held onto Uncanny X-Men No. 219, and none of those initial X-Force issues I once had, all these years. I still got my New Mutants No. 98 though. The reason there is a question, is Age 11 Ben was put off by this Uncanny X-Men cover. I still have visceral reaction to it. Bret was not the right fit for this series. He landed just right subsequently.

The maniacal expression on the cover, are not an illusion. Bret’s Disney level cartoonists skills continue through his time on these ❌-titles. Alex and Clermont share narration, as we open the comic, back at the school. Bret’s new cartoonist home setting.

Alex: “Me. I never liked the place.”

There is no place like home. There is no place like home.

Tambalvidz byBen Cohen c. 2025

To far from any Western Desert. To close to heroics and self discovery of truth that mutated his path. Always twisting away from the trail he trying to blaze for himself. A modest life. A discovery of the past, not a path towards the risks of future of extinction or domination. The binary choice presented to him was the trauma of mutation turned child into the mimicry of a man.

A dig, forced his hand. A call from Albuquerque, NM to Salem Center, NY; unanswered.

Alex: “…assumed the worst…”

On the grounds, through the door, the halls, past a broken up Cerebro, Ororo’s attic room, Danger room…elevator opens…maniacal expression from the cover: Ali, Longshot, Maggie, Bets, Ororo…from behind…neck grabbed…large panel of Rogue’s kiss, and Alex assaulted, like Cain. Logan and friends above him. Rogue’s face comes in, hand outstretched…warping and fading the ❌-Men, Rogue too…

Black panel.

Alex awakes in a sweat. Startles Lorna.

We get the best explanation I have encountered for Alex’s powers. He exits his and Lorna’s home on the High Mesa, probably the same place as seen in Incredible Hulk No. 150 at the beginning of this Chapter. He awoke with uncontrollable buildup of a feeling of fire in his heart and mind. It feels white-hot his eyes, and builds through his senses from there. He is unaware of Lorna running after him, calling his name. Concentric circles have formed around what was Kirby dots, before he left the bedroom. Outside, they extend out into the frigid winter night closer to Colorado than Mexico. A quick thought of hope, as he knows what he is doing have the potential to impact anything within the air space or in orbit of Earth that is passing overhead. His powers come from cosmic rays that are transformed and stored as energy he is in this moment returning to where it once came from. He knows if you are in Taos and Santa Fe, and awake, you will be able to see the light. He looks like a star. He has fused the ground to glass.

Lorna places a blanket over her lover. The kitchen comes alive, as she prepares comfort foods and drinks for the ill, using her minds control over metal.

He has a memory of a trip to NY, an ordinary and fine visit to the School. Everything was fine. Lorna has her experience, that he left and returned. But the dream, recurring every night since, indicates this other reality. He is certain the dream, or at least a reality of there being an issue is the truth. He is on edge, nearly as much as he was last…leaving the orphanage. Leaving Scott behind.

Lorna tries to tag along, but Alex is resistant. She flys them in the Jeep into the night sky. The Airport is their next stop.

The Murauders are in the mountains, observing their movements. The orders are what they are. They wait for Polaris return.

Alex sits at Cerebro, broke, otherwise the school is tidy. A datebook diary in his lap. He notes, he barely knows the ❌-Men at this point. His fault. Magneto, has an appointment today at the Hellfire Club. Alex is reasonably concerned.

In New Mexico, Greycrow assembles a long range gun. Site on Lorna, who sits at her study, thinking of her stubborn Summers. Arclight pounds the ground, creating an earthquaking shockwave, that knocks the home off its block. Lorna, books, wood, glass, and adobe goes flying. The scientist knows this to be a geological impossibility. Greycrow fires. Sabertooth approaches like a cheetah.

In Manhattan, at the Hellfire Club, Alex is welcomed in by Tessa, and brings him to Professor Xavier, the cover for Maggie, throws Alex off. Seeing him with Emma also, seems unnerving. Alex is not at all taking this well, and Maggie is not being helped by Emma…nor his own words. An alliance between these institutions seems impossible in the Summers’ mind. Maggie sites, Ororo insisted. Only thing is, Ororo is unavailable to be seen by Alex, it seems. And Maggie is the messenger, to communicate through. He sites the fate of the world, and this being challenging times. Maggie is left by Alex, to think admit aloud, he is in no position to be heard, even in truth.

Alex seeks help, so he walks down the block towards the Avengers mansion…where it once stood. Now rubble. Editor note indicates, Masters of Evil are responsible in the pages of the Avengers 273-277.

He dials Moira, someone he really doesn’t know all that well, but Chuck did trust her. Callisto answers and is a “hardcase,” as we know…and Alex is a Summers…so he is being to ridged, himself. Callisto suggests try Magneto. Alex, nope. How about my big bro? Callisto, points him towards the yellow pages and hangs up. As an X-Factor ad passes behind him and the pay phone, on a bus. He now calls back home. Lorna, does not pick up. Might be one of the X-Men's all time situational comedy pages.

Lorna, hides behind a rock as a howl reminding her Wolverine, echos from the flames behind her. An actual cat prowls…as does a mutant. He is on top of her.

Sabertooth: “Time to DIE, Polaris.”

She turns the rock on its head, and then captures him with the metallic within the environment. He frees himself. Distracts her just enough, for Greycrow to fire off a specialized beam of energy that seems to be surrounding her.

As across the country, her lover is in costume and stocking Maggie, as he heads into the underground once called the Morlock tunnels. A train nearly takes Havok out. He escapes through a door, falling, catching himself on a ladder. In the tunnel, he approaches a light. Ali. With Ororo, Bets, Longshot, and Maggie. Ororo is reviewing the state of things. Morlocks nearly wiped out. Piotr, Kurt, and Kitty may not make it, or return to the team if they do. ❌-Men’s number in half. The Muraduers named as the cause…and continue to hunt them all down. Collateral damage will occur if they continue to fight with a chance to survive. To give in is not an option either. The path forward is to fake their own death.

Alex assumes he is in another nightmare.

Rogue startles him from behind, and he instinctively fires upon her. Then runs.

The sandy wind is blocking Philippa and Greycrow from seeing Victor’s progress in New Mexico. He comes flying from it like a bag of sand. Takes down Greycrow. Philippa, in maybe my favorite page of the comic, is dropped into a crack in the earth and stuck, as it closes in on her. Greycrow metal weaponry flys around him, hitting himself in the face.

Maggie, like his daughter, uses the metal in the environment to capture similarly, her lover, Havok 2,000 miles away. He uses his energy to escape. Ali gets in a fire fight with him, as Lonshot ricochets around, saving her. Bets uses her telepathy to deescalate their friend.

Ororo: “You said he would not remember.”

Chucks training had instilled a level of resistance to an incomplete memory wipe. And they did not intend for him to forget to much…just enough.

Ororo looks awesome here by the way. Bret makes for a really fun comics read aesthetically. The New Mutants will be lucky to have him. Glynis or Petra nail this lipstick.

After speaking aloud the consideration of murdering Alex…they let him in. This is when they get to the part about Malice.

Alex narration: “And as I listen. I realize that my days of bystanding on the sidelines are over. They speak of death and sacrifice.”

Ororo refers final call to Maggie, as Alex expresses a reluctant desire to help, because the school simply provided him hope when he had none, and his brother was so invested…it is his time to step up. Maggie makes it clear the sacrifice and takes the open hand that had once shunned him. Alex must now tell Lorna.

Lorna is without clothing, hovering above bested Murauders. The ask what she will do with them. And she responds:

“LEAD you, of course! As Mr. Sinsiter always intented.”

Victor: “MALICE—”

It finishes from there with a bit too much arch vitriol, and terrible costume change. However, I sure am glad I kept this thing with me all these years.

Next: Daredevil