“Augh gawd!” She screams in agony, arching her back as she struggles to push past the pain. Lifting her head slightly, she clenches her eyes shut and grits her teeth. Sweat pours down her face, sticking her hair down. Her hands grip the sides of the bed so hard that her knuckles are white. “Arrrrgghhh! I ca-I can’t...augh!....I can’t do this!!!!”

“Yes you can child,” urges the old midwife from beneath the sheet over the screaming woman’s legs. “I can see the head. Please, give me one more push girl. It’s almost over.”

This young woman, barely fifteen, came to the elderly midwife’s home only a few days ago. She had been heavy with birth, and weakened by fever. All the midwife’s questions as to her past and the child’s father were left unanswered, the girl often crying in response. The midwife understood. In these difficult and war-torn times, such bastard children have been commonplace. Her only concern is healing the expectant mother of her illness, and keep her alive through the birth.

“Ah...ah...ahhhhhhh!” Throwing her head back, the young mother-to-be gives a final, tortured wail of agony. With the last of her strength, she gives one final push.

“Come on,” the midwife whispers. “It’s almost out, child. Here it comes. It’s a...” Her face goes pale as she looks down at the creature in her hands. “It’s a....my god.”

The mother has brown hair and brown eyes. Her newborn boy has bright red hair and intelligent green eyes. He makes no sound, instead looking up at the midwife holding him with a full awareness of what is going on around him.

She would swear the baby boy winked at her. She gasps, almost dropping the little bundle of joy in her hands.

“My...my baby,” the mother whispers weakly, her arms lifting slightly. “Wh-where’s my baby?”

Startled that the mother survived the delivery, the midwife rushes to her side, baby in arms. “He-he’s here child. You can hold him if you wish-”

“Noooo!!!!” The mother screeches at the sight of the baby. She waves her arms wildly, almost striking the little boy. “Tha-that’s not my baby! Not my baby! No, that’s him! It’s him!!!!!!!!”

“Shh,” the midwife tries to calm her down, but the young woman continues to rage about. She falls off the bed and crashes to the floor, still writhing about wildly. After about a minute, she goes still. The midwife has seen death often enough to recognize it’s coming.

Standing over the tortured, dead body of the young mother, the midwife looks down at the unusual baby in her arms. He’s giggling.

Breathing heavily, the midwife closes her eyes in fear and begins to relax her arms. It’s a newborn baby, fragile. A short fall to the stone floor should rid the world of whatever this monster may become. All she has to do is drop-

The shadows behind the midwife roil and shift, forming into a massive face against the wall. Tendrils of darkness seem to encompass the midwife, soaking into her. She stiffens, her eyes glazing over from completely white to completely black and then back again. Shuddering, the midwife breathes out, relaxes, and finally looks down at the baby boy with her normal eyes.

But where there had once been fear and revulsion in the eyes of the midwife, there was know love and devotion. “Hello, my little Montgomery. I can see already that you will become everything I wanted and more.”

Cuddling the baby boy, she steps over the body of the young mother and leaves the room. Within that simple birthing room, the shadows shift back to normal.

The world is a harsh place.

It has been ten years since the Summer Rebellion removed the threat of the Sentinels, uniting mankind and mutantkind through mutual need. But there are rogue mutants and fanatic humans everywhere, and none are safe from the Emplates. Also, the ravages of such a long enslavement, as well as such brutal conflicts as the Muir Island Massacre, have left this world with scars that may never heal.

The XSE have not yet been formed, and the human enforcers are woefully inadequate to the task of protecting the innocent. The great technology of the past is all but lost, and with it most of the technological security measures against mutants. Only the wealthy, with their limitless research budgets and vast security forces, are guaranteed safety in this harsh, savage times.

And among the whole of the elite, none come close to the wealth amassed by Anthony Shaw. Unknown to many, much of the Shaw family fortune was obtained through government contracts to manufacture Sentinels, including the advanced Nimrod model. Near the end of the Gene War, Anthony’s father had the foresight to pull his money out of Sentinel manufacturing and conceal all evidence of his business practices. The latter was rather easy, considering the chaos of the time.

With their standard business genius, the Shaws bought up all of the scarce woodland in America, totaling little more than several thousand acres worth billions of dollars. Within a year, the Shaws had recovered all of their losses during the Gene War and then some.

It is at the head of the smallest forest owned by Shaw Industry, twenty acres, that the massive manor home of the Shaw family sits. This manor is made entirely of wood, and the whole estate is encircled by a twenty-foot high wall of pure adamantium, with force field generators at every fifty feet constantly humming to sustain the force field that extends from the top of the indestructible wall. It is within this estate, just north of Pittsburgh, that the Shaw family resides.

Sitting in his easy chair, sipping his glass of water, Anthony Shaw gazes out the window of his den, observing his moderate forest. Behind him stands Genesis, White King of the Hellfire Club. Genesis had come to call on Anthony with an intriguing proposal, and Anthony Shaw is not one to dismiss anything the White King has to say.

Sipping his water, Shaw turns from the window to face Genesis. The years had taken their toll on the White King, with more than half of his aged body replaced by cybernetics. For all his age, however, Genesis remains a strong leader, one that Shaw is not yet ready to oppose.

“Your proposal is sound, my king,” Shaw states. “Of course, I am open to anything that can help restore order and put an end to the hostilities. Sustain such a large personal security force is expensive, and business is not nearly as profitable as it should be.”

“There is more than money at stake here Shaw,” Genesis replies. “Many mutants are still contained in the camps. Every year, more mutant children are branded with the mark over their left eyes. These Exhumes cannot be contained by the human enforcers, and even the personal security squads are hard-pressed to contain the damage. Except for your squads, of course,” Genesis adds.

“Yes,” Anthony Shaw muses. “However powerful these Exhumes think they are, my forces are more than capable. I hire the best, Genesis, and I get my money’s worth. Whatever it is that you’re implying, it is both unfounded and untrue.”

“Not exactly unfounded. The Exhumes’ last attack was on an artificial wood production plant. Had that not happened, you’re business would have been even less profitable. And let us not forget the business practices your family is well known for. I’d hate for evidence of your family’s last big business venture to become public.”

Finishing his water, Anthony Shaw calmly considers the White King’s words while crushing the glass into his flesh. He doesn’t even seem to notice this act, nor does he notice the pain or the blood running through his fingers.

“My family did have rather...undistinguished reputation,” Shaw states coldly. “Perhaps it is time I made a gesture to make up for that. Very well Genesis, I will support in this venture to form an organization of mutant enforcers.”

Genesis nods approvingly. “You’ve made the correct choice Shaw. I promise you, what we’ve doing will have a vast effect on the world.”

“Yes yes,” Shaw says dismissively. He is looking out the window again, watching the sun begin to vanish behind the treetops. “You’ve gotten what you want Genesis. Anything you say afterwards is quite meaningless. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is my time to be with William. I’m sure you’ll let yourself out.”

Turning, Anthony Shaw is not surprised to see Genesis already gone. “Someday I need to figure out a viable defense against magic,” Shaw muses. Wiping the blood from his hand with his handkerchief, Anthony Shaw strides out of the den into the hall, moving towards the stairs.

Anthony Shaw is nearing his son William’s room on the second floor when he hears the laughter. Frowning, he quickens his pace and peeks into the large play room. Sure enough, his son is playing with those two whelps.

“Trevor! Montgomery!” Anthony barks out, interrupting the three children in the middle of a laser gun-fight. “To your room now! I don’t want to see either of you hear again!”

Montgomery, a rather creepy boy with dark red hair and piercing green eyes, at least knows his place, bowing his head and rushing out. His grandmother, the midwife who had saved William and his mother’s lives during the difficult delivery, had taught him the servant’s skills well, and Shaw had been glad to take the child on after her unfortunate death. Anthony Shaw had always found it easy to tolerate the boy, and had thought such an indiscretion to be beyond him. Clearly Trevor had put him up to it.

Anthony looks down at his illegitimate son Trevor Fitzroy as he walks out of the room. Trevor meets his father’s eyes, a slight smile on his lips. It is not just because Trevor is a shame to the Shaw family honor; Anthony Shaw genuinely hates the boy. More than once, he’d considered taking old Aunt Emma’s advice and killed him. He wishes he knew what she had seen in his mind, what horrors there were that shocked her to death. Perhaps the White King’s little mutant project will give Anthony just the chance he needs to get rid of the troublesome Trevor.

Making sure the serving children are off to where they belong, Anthony Shaw turns to his son angrily. “What did I tell you about playing with those children? They are beneath you, William!”

“Everyone is beneath me, father,” the young Shaw sighs. “Why do you insist on imposing your adult elitist views on a child like myself? At the moment, I do not care about status and wealth. All that I care about is having fun, at being stimulated by the attention of others my own age. I do not care about whether or not they are beneath me, though they obviously do.”

William Shaw tosses the laser gun to the floor and looks up at his father. “Montgomery lets me win, goes out of his way to keep me from being harmed. He knows that he is inferior, and so he treats me like the king that everybody tells me I am. That brings me joy, builds my ego. At the same time, Trevor acts as though he is my equal, as though he is even better than me. He challenges me. Sometimes I win, bringing me true satisfaction at being the best, and sometimes I lose, showing me the mistakes that I must correct if I am to succeed in life. They are giving me what I need, father, and if it means defying you so that I must learn and grow properly, than so be it.”

Anthony Shaw sighs and rubs his goatee, considering his eldest and true son. William is indeed an intelligent boy, with a remarkable insight and ruthless perspective that Anthony can only feel proud of. This, his son, will make a fine Black King someday. And he is right. He will need such lessons as those children teach him.

Shaw nods. “As always, my son, I cannot argue with your logic. I will not object to your playing with Trevor and Montgomery again. But see to it that they do not interfere with your other lessons.”

William Shaw bows. “Of course father. Speaking of which, it is time for our lesson, isn’t it.”

“That it is William.” Pressing a stud on the wall, Anthony leads William to the center of the room as the holographic program begins to run. “Today, we study Genesis, the White King of the Hellfire Club. Pay close attention, William, for this man is what stands between you and limitless power. Know the enemy, so that you can destroy him when the time comes to claim your heritage.”

Philadelphia was once known as the City of Brotherly Love. It was the birthplace of democracy, a clean city that had been perfectly designed and constructed.

Those days are gone. The famous buildings are smashed to rubble, those well-planned streets devastated and defiled. Like the rest of America, like much of the world, Philadelphia has become a carnal pit, a home to the refugees and undesirables of the world.

And a hunting ground for the Emplates.

Montgomery Joy leaps from the crumbling rooftop, just barely rolling onto the next building. Leaping to his feet, Montgomery pulls out his crossbow and fires two bolts behind him as he continues running. He hears one knocked aside, but also hears a slight scream as the second connects. Taking advantage of these precious few seconds, Montgomery jumps from the roof onto the rusted old fire-escape, and rushes down to the street.

Above, the three Emplates continue their chase. The leader rips the crossbow bolt from his chest, ignoring the blood that drips out. Snapping the bolt, he motions for the other two to split up. Thus far, it has been a good chase, but it is time for this foolishness to end. These Emplates hunger, and they will feed.

Montgomery hits the ground running, reloading his crossbow. One year since he’s been removed from the care of the Shaw’s, and for one year he has been running. After such a sheltered life, Montgomery should have been an easy target, but he’d learned to survive surprisingly well. Years of practiced misses in laser gun-fights against William Shaw taught as much as practiced connecting would have, and Montgomery had had ample opportunity to climb the forest in the back of the estate. He’d quickly learned that buildings weren’t that different from trees.

Unfortunately, Montgomery realizes the moment he enters the blind alley that he’d failed to learn the most important rule of survival. Know the area.

“No!” Montgomery cries, slamming his body against the dark, forbidding wall of death that mocks him. After running for so long, avoiding those that have desired his death from the moment he left the safety of the Shaw estate, Montgomery Joy has nowhere else to go.

Montgomery sinks to his knees in despair, his crossbow dropping from his limp hand. “Why are they after me?” he asks softly. “Why do they want me dead? Why did Mr. Shaw force me out? What have I done to be hated so.”

You were born, a dark, harsh voice whispers on the outer edge of Montgomery’s mind.

He jerks his head up in surprise. Could it be the Emplates, mocking him before they come for the kill?

No, not the Emplates. Yes, the voice is speaking into Montgomery’s mind. Reading his mind also, apparently. You were born a very special person, Montgomery. It is because you are so special that the Emplates desire you. It is also why Anthony Shaw hated you, for he cannot stand to be around those that he so wants to be.

“What do you mean?” Montgomery asks in confusion. “I’m a nobody; that’s what I’ve been from the day I was born. Why on earth would Mr. Shaw want to be me?”

The shadows within the alley stretch and shift, forming into a massive face upon the wall in front of Montgomery. Because you are a mutant, and Anthony Shaw does not share his family’s genetic legacy. Because there is nothing the Emplates love more than to sup upon the genetic material of mutants. You are a genetic weapon, Montgomery; one of immense power, and because of this you are a hunted man.

Montgomery laughs at this piece of news. “Ironic then, that I’m going to die because of power I was never even aware of, much less use.”

The mammoth, laughing face of shadow seems to close in on Montgomery. I can help you, boy. I can unlock your power, enable you to destroy the Emplates hunting you and gain your revenge on Shaw. I can give you your destiny, and all you have to do is let me in.

Montgomery laughs with joy, his red hair waving and his green eyes glinting. “Then by all means, show me this power.”

The shadows roil around Montgomery Joy, sinking into him. As he is enveloped in darkness, two voices laugh with maniacal glee.

Scant moments later, three shadowy figures emerge at the face of the alley. The Emplates have Montgomery’s trail, they know they have him trapped. The hunt is over, and soon they will feed.

Searching the alley with his eyes, the lead Emplate growls in frustration. “He could not have climbed out,” he snarls. “Search for him!”

The other two nod and leap for the walls, quickly scaling them with ease. Suddenly, without warning, hisses fill the air. One of the climbing Emplates screams painfully and falls to the ground. The leader sees crossbow bolts and knives sticking out of the dead Emplates body.

The Emplate looks up and peers at the shadows, a growl in his throat. The mouths on his palms gnash their teeth and drool. “He is here. Find him!”

There is no answer from the second Emplate. The leader circles, searching the shadows, but he cannot see nor feel his progeny. A piercing, tormented scream rips through the air, it’s very sound freezing the Emplates blood in it’s veins. Somehow, it know that the scream was the deathcry of his progeny.

For the first time since his transformation, this Emplate feels fear. No one man has ever managed to evade the Emplates for so long, let alone slay two so easily. Whatever power this mutant possesses, he could not accomplish such a task. Others must have found him; allies who protect him from the Emplates.

“Come out and face me cowards!” the Emplate screams defiantly.

Boots land heavily on the cracked pavement behind the Emplate. One man has leaped down. The Emplate turns, and smiles at the sight of the lone Montgomery Joy, smirking in malicious triumph.

“Where are your friends?” the Emplate snarls, taking a step toward Montgomery.

Laughing, Montgomery taps the side of his head and steps forward. “My friend is with me, as are yours. They are a part of me now, and soon so will you.” Montgomery’s skin shifts in pigmentation and writhes in several areas. On the top right side of his head, the screaming face of the second Emplate briefly appears.

Growling like an animal, the Emplate leaps forwards, his deadly, marrow-sucking hands outstretched. “You sick bastard!”

With ease, Montgomery ducks below the Emplates lunge, slicing upwards with a knife and laughing. “Now, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” Back-flipping, Montgomery leaps over the Emplates back-hand swipe. “Sorry, but thanks to your friend, I’m just as fast as you are.”

Crouching in his land, Montgomery slips his hand into his coat and hurls several throwing knives. The Emplate screams as they thud into his body. But he still has the strength to rush forward, his hands outstretched.

Laughing, Montgomery leaps over the pitiful lunge and clasps his hand on the Emplates face, his fingers digging in. “Now you’ll see how it feels,” he mocks. “Consider this a hostile takeover!”

His eyes going wide in horror, the Emplate feels not Montgomery’s fingers digging into his face, but his face actually merging with Montgomery’s hand. “Aaaaarrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh!”

One moment, there were two figures in the alley, struggling against each other. In the next moment, there is only one man, laughing the laugh of the insane. The minds of savage killers ramble in his mind, and their skills are now his. He has realized his power, and through them he has survived.

Now all that is left is vengeance.

A powerful light flashes through the darkened hallway. Attached to it is a rather large rifle, held by an even larger black man with long dreadlocks and an ‘M’ tattooed over his right eye. He is Bishop of the Xavier Security Enforcers, and he is here at the Boston headquarters of the Hellfire Club in response to a distress call.

“You find anything Shard?” Bishop asks through the communicator on his collar. Turning the corner, he shines his light on three body, all brutally killed.

“Just more of the same,” Bishop’s sister Shard’s voice crackles through the communicator. “More dead bodies, and no sign of the killer. I tell you Bish, whoever did this is one Grade-A nutjob. You find out what happened to the power in this place? Without much light I’m practically useless here.”

“You can never be useless Shard,” Bishop responds, and he means it. “The generators in the basement were blown. Apparently one of the victims were hurled into them with several tapes of dynamite strapped to his body.”

“Yuck. You think that’s vicious? I just found the Black Queen’s body.”

“She in the same condition as all the others?”

“You bet, if all the corpse you found are crucified with wooden stakes impaled through their hearts. Clearly this guy believed the rumors about Selene....hunh. This is odd.”

“What is it Shard?”

This body at her feet, there are splinters in his hands, one of which is gripping a hammer. That’d mean this guy killed her, and he died shortly after.”

“For some reason, I’m not surprised. There are similar situations all over this place. Dead bodies with their obvious killers dead next to them, with their obvious killers also around and dead. Either we arrived at the tail end of another Hellfire War, or somebody drove everybody in the mansion insane.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time bro. Okay, I’ll radio HQ into sending us a telepath. Maybe he’ll be able to detect some spooky vibes or whatever it is that’d be floating around-whoa!”

“Shard! What happened?”

“N-nothing. I just got startled by a rat is all. Say uh, Bishop, I’m going to go down there and join you. If I can’t rely on my powers here, I’d rather not run into whoever did all this by myself.”

“Wouldn’t matter anyway Shard, if the killer really is a psychic.”

“There could still be one or two mad Hellfire members around though. I’d just feel safer with you Bishop.”

“Okay Shard. We’ll meet in the personal chambers of the Inner Circle.”

Slowly making his way through the Hellfire Club mansion, Bishop can’t shake the feeling that something about all of this is very, very wrong. Everybody in this vast building, nearly three hundred people, are dead, including some incredibly powerful members of the Inner Circle. The fact that the Black Queen Selene herself could be killed in such a painful manner shows that they are dealing with a sadistic killer of incredible power.

Kicking in the door to the Inner Circle’s personal chambers, Bishop went in with gun at the ready and attached light shining the way. Blood covered the walls, and the furniture was tossed and shattered everywhere. At a wracking noise, Bishop whipped around towards one corner, his rifle pointed and ready to fire.

Bishop’s light shines down on a shattered shell of a middle-aged woman kneeling on the ground, weeping over the body of a dead young man. The woman, who Bishop recognizes at Mrs. Contessa Shaw, widow of the late Anthony Shaw, looks up at Bishop with tear-streaked eyes.

“He killed my son!” She wails, agonized and grieving. “That monster killed my William!”

“Easy Mrs. Shaw,” Bishop soothes lowering his gun, but making sure the light is still on her. “Who did all of this Mrs. Shaw? Who killed your son, and all of these people?”

“Montjoy did all of this,” a voice answers behind Bishop. He turns around swiftly, raising his gun. Only his sister Shard stands in the doorway. She steps forward, a funny little smile on her face. “No need to be so paranoid Bish. We’re the only ones here.”

Behind Bishop, Contessa Shaw is crawling against the wall, her son William’s body clutched in her arms. She is looking at Shard, and she is shaking with terror.

Bishop does not lower his gun from his sister’s head. “How do you know who did this Shard? Who is Montjoy?”

That same dopey smile on her face, Shard just shrugs, lifting the barrel of her rifle slightly. “Because I’m Montjoy, you big dolt.”

Then Shard shot Contessa Shaw through the chest.

“No!” Bishop cries out, firing his rifle at his own younger sister.

Moving impossibly fast, ‘Shard’ ducks the blast and rushes Bishop. She kicks the rifle out of his hands, and swings her own rifle at him. Bishop catches her on the wrist and twists, causing her to drop the rifle. Not even crying out in pain, ‘Shard’ drives her elbow up, slamming it into Bishop’s chin and driving him back.

Before Bishop can fully recover from his, ‘Shard’ tackles him to the ground. Pinning him, ‘Shard’ smiles and holds up her hand. “This day has been a lot of fun for me, but the look on your face when I used your sister’s body to commit murder was simply priceless. I’m going to love savoring that anguish.” As she pins the struggling Bishop, ‘Shard’s’ features alter slightly, become more masculine. Her hair seems darker, redder, and her eyes have a vicious green glint. Laughing, she clasps her hand to Bishop’s face.

Crying out in anguish, Bishop lashes out with is mutant power, ridding himself of all the absorbed energy stored within his body. His ‘sister’ is hurled across the room by the blast. Bishop crawls to his feet, drained both physically and mentally. For a moment, he’d been merged with that...that thing. He’d seen into it’s mind, and it has left him quite shaken.

Leaning against the wall, Bishop sees his sister lying on the ground, unconscious. Someone else lies next to her, a creepy looking man with old Victorian clothes and long red hair. Alternating his gaze between his unconscious sister, the two dead Shaws, and the groaning man who had killed them along with everybody else in the house.

His face a mirror of rage, Bishop strides towards the moving Montjoy. Grabbing the sadistic mutant by his long hair, Bishop lifts him off his feet. Montjoy just looks up at Bishop, and smiles. Bishop slams his fist into Montjoy’s face, hurling him against the wall. As Montjoy struggles to rise, Bishop slams the butt of his rifle against the back of Montjoy’s head.

“Montjoy,” Bishop snarls as he cuffs the killer’s hands behind his back. “You’re under arrest for multiple homicide, and for assaulting Security Enforcers. You’ll be locked up for the rest of your life, with men who will just love your presence.”

As he is hauled to his feet, Montjoy’s smile never fades. “Actually, they’ll be the ones locked up with me. And I intend to make the most of it.”

Montjoy makes up in the middle of the night, his bed sheets wet with his sweat. Ever since he’d been locked in that damned device, he’s been plagued by the memories of his past in the future. Fleeting flashes of his time as a boy at the Shaw Estate, of when his powers manifested against the Emplates, and of his capture just as he’d been so close to completing his vengeance.

Montjoy steps out of his bed, remembering his time in prison. He had ruled there, spreading fear and discord throughout the population. Later, when Fitzroy had staged the massive jail break, he’d been so close to having his final revenge. But the intervention of the Bishop and the X-Men had prevented this.

So Montjoy ran, and he hunted Bantam to hide his presence. He’d killed the fool, but not before Bishop and the X-Men learned that he was in this timeline. Nevertheless, Montjoy continued to work towards his vengeance.

Walking to the window, Montjoy looked out at the water surrounding the monastery, at the dark and stormy night, and he smiled. Through his actions, the London Hellfire Club was virtually wiped out. Soon, the Hellfire Club as a whole will be destroyed, and Trevor Fitzroy with it.

For now Montjoy is not alone in his crusade. He is with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, a group of individuals every bit as demented and sadistic as he is. Montjoy will have his revenge, and everybody who gets in his way will end up dead or worse. Starting with Bishop.

Author’s Note

Woo! It’s taken quite some time, but I’ve finally finished my five-issue, in-depth look at most of the members of the infamous Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. I’ve told the origins of Unuscione, Masque, Mastermind, and Montjoy, while including a nice tale the Big Three of the Brotherhood. I hope you guys have enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll let your likes and dislikes about my story be made known.

Stephen Crosby