Bobby should have set his alarm, because by the time he finally managed to roll out of bed and locate a pair of pants, he was already running late. He only had about an hour of free time to actually make it to the voting poll, and hell yes, he was voting. Voting was a hard earned right, and he couldn’t exactly preach to all the students the importance of voting if he didn’t do it himself.
Of course, in all of his lectures, he conveniently forgot to mention the fact that one wasn’t always given the best choices of two candidates. It came down to a Hydra member and a Brotherhood member, and it was obvious which one Bobby would choose if he had to pick one. A mutant, even a potentially anti-human one, over a Nazi any day.
When he stood over the poll, he almost wrote in a name. There were a dozen other mutants out there who would serve better than Malcom Thomas, but what good were write-ins in the end? With a sigh, he checked off the mutant’s name. On one hand, there was definite excitement in the action. Mutant representation was a rare gift, and he’d savor this feeling while it lasted.
On the other hand, he hoped the path the man led them down was the right one for everyone -- and that the public’s reaction to his election, should he win, wouldn’t be too violent.
He looked down at his ballot paper. Would they know? Would they know if he didn’t vote Wallace?
He assumed that they would. They always knew when he’d managed to do something wrong. That’s why they’d sent Sadie. That’s why they’d caused an issue with him.
Just needed to follow orders. Was it so hard for him to do it now? He always had before. He just needed to vote for Wallace and leave it. They would at least be off his back for a while.
Only, he couldn’t agree with the man’s policies. Only, he much preferred the idea of writing in someone else. Only, it would be so much better for him, and for Ginny, if he did not vote Wallace.
He didn’t want to. He couldn’t justify it to himself. He wouldn’t be able to convince anyone that it was a good idea.
He’d made the mistake before, he’d made worse mistakes before. He’d voted for worse candidates, who had inevitably did horrible things. He’d lived in countries where there were no voting systems. He’d lived through countries living in the faults of their voting systems. Thatcher. Brezhnev. Bush.
He had promised himself that whenever he could he would vote for the right thing. But now, when he had been provided with the chance to follow the orders that he had told himself that he had to - his own honours couldn’t let him.
So he did the only thing he could to appease both sides. He spoiled his ballot.
Betty wasn’t living in New York when the ballots were passed out, and despite the fact that she was now working at NYU’s cellular research lab, she never got the voting packet. And she was okay with that.
Politics were something that reminded her too much of her father; the way everyone seemed more than eager to reach the top of some ladder, no matter how many fell before them. Betty hated the whole ordeal of voting. She hated having to choose liar or another, settling down with some sort of evil.
Had she gotten the ballot, she would have most likely thrown it out. Recent events in New York, her father, the mutants. . . it was all too close. She was in full support of mutants and their rights- hell, she was hoping that the research she was conducting would help support their desire for equality.
But for now? Best to sit this election out, see what happened, and trust that the right decision would be made by the general public.
Her mail lay neatly piled on her tabletop, waiting patiently for her to sort through bills, random ads, and the weekly letter from her mother. She always appreciated the letter, at the very least. But there was another envelope tucked beside her letter; a ballot.
Sharon waited until she was settled down with a cup of coffee before looking over the choices. She had seen the campaign speeches, researched both men, and saw the destruction they had caused Thomas’ campaign speech. And in the end, she marked a check by Malcolm’s name and set the ballot down.
Did she believe in politics? No. Carter stopped believing in them after the war, after she saw those elected in S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks betray everyone and reveal their Hydra origins. But it was because Wallace was a member of Hydra, was a believer in their ideals, that Sharon refused to even think about voting for him. Hell, if she managed to dig up enough proof, she would be the one putting a bullet between his eyes. But that wasn’t how life worked, and it was obvious that Thomas would be the safest choice overall.
Taking one last sip of coffee, Sharon turned over her voting envelope and licked it shut, her decision made. If Wallace was elected and made one bad move, she would be the first to volunteer taking him down. Until that moment came, it seemed all Carter had left to do was track the major players and take them down one at a time.
The ballet was placed before him, prompting one decision or another. Truth be told, he would rather throw the paper away and turn the other way; allowing New York to fall apart under some other new mayor. He had watched too many countries and organizations be corrupted due to someone’s eagerness for power. He didn’t want to contribute to another downfall. Not here, and not now.
But that wasn’t an option. He needed to vote, to take a stand against not only Hydra, but those who wanted his boyfriend to be killed or dissected. So he did the only thing he could; he bubbled in his vote for Malcolm Thomas, signed anything else necessary for his vote to be counted, and walked away from the table. Thomas promised to take a stand against anti-mutant protests, and for whatever reason, he trusted him.
Should he need to, there were always those who could literally rise against Thomas and kick him out of office. Fitz hated the thought of a coup, or violence to solve politics, but he just wanted life to get better; for those he cared about to stay safe. Besides, Hydra needed to be stopped one way or another. . . barring them from a mayor seat wouldn’t hurt that progress.
Despite the fact that he was leaving the vote behind, Fitz couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He hated politics, hated the whole system, but something was sitting wrong with him. Especially with this in particular; he knew what Thomas’ views were on mutants, but he still distrusted it. For whatever reason, there was a nagging in his gut that wouldn’t pass.
She was one of those people that understood politics and would actively debate about the rights of Mankind and Mutantkind, but she had never given a second thought as to how any of that would play out. She acted off instinct, bouncing off of other people’s opinions in order to gain an answer that she thought was logical, but right now none of that made any sense.
Because people were always going to beat her down.
Tell her that she wasn’t worthy of this planet.
That whatever she did, it wouldn’t matter because she just wasn’t like them.
Who was them? Who ran this world with such a tight grip that everything fell apart in their hands? It was Mankind that opened up Pandora’s box and unleashed every single bad thing into the world. They never listened, and certainly never cared to, no matter how much it seemed like they would. In the eyes of Mankind, she was the superior that had to be exterminated. She had something that they didn’t have, and it drove them to insanity thinking that she could use her powers against them and bring their race down to naught.
Couldn’t they see that they overran the Mutants already? There were more of them than there was of her, and yet, they were still afraid. Terror could make a person do crazy things to the ones that they considered to be a threat, and in the eyes of the Government, she was a threat. And all of it because of the powers that she didn’t mean to have.
But the way she saw it was like this:
Every person, no matter who you were, Mutant, Genetically-modified, or Human, evolved from the same being. You were unique in your own way and no one should have had the right to take that away from anyone. She’d read too many stories and articles about the lives that had been lost because of what she could only describe as jealousy. It ruled over the lives of the Humans and inflicted illogical fear upon them because a certain type of people weren’t like everyone else. It was cliquey and shameful, and to think that at one point in her life she had been classed as one of them was nearly embarrassing.
Nearly.
If you had even a speck of irregularity in you, it was bound to be snuffed out. If you were that irregularity, then trouble was coming for you. And when that happened, all that would be left for you to do would be to run.
For God’s sake, it was like high school had followed her out of the building and into the real world. With people picking on looks and abnormalities, and giving chase in a constant game of cat and mouse. Whenever it seemed like progress was being made, something would happen that would say otherwise. More often than not, it was her father with some great new plan to take over the world, but even he had toned down his actions to some extent. Yet the war still raged on, and undoubtedly without real reason.
She’d look over at her group of friends — to the man who threatened to set fire to things when he was frustrated or just wanted to joke about. To the girl who was scared to touch for fear of hurting others. To the teacher who could mold the weather in her hands like it was the most malleable thing on earth. — and she didn’t see a threat. She saw people who were making something of themselves and leading others into greatness. She saw stolen lives, lost souls and the ever-grateful. How could anyone decide that they were unimportant, unneeded beings that no one would miss? Because she sure as Hell knew that she would miss them if any of them disappeared one night.
Lorna Dane wasn’t interested in politics, because nothing made sense, and nothing had a point. So she didn’t choose to vote. Everything was going to come to its inevitable end anyway, and she was a part of the minority that five hundred years ago would have been burned at the stake for witchcraft. She was so tired of the endless hatred.
