TITLE:Revenant
STARRING:Hellion and X-23
UNIVERSE:Totally AU
RATING:M
SUMMARY: What if the X-23's first target had a last name change from Johnson to...Keller? Hellion and X-23.
Chapter 1
It happens so fast that he doesn't truly grasp what has happened until later. It happens so fast that it isn't real until he watches it on the news, and even then it's like he's watching it happen to someone else…someone completely unconnected to him. One moment he's smiling for a picture, each of his hands held by a parent. The photographer had asked them to say 'cotton candy', explaining—with false enthusiasm—that it would make their smiles look more genuine for the picture. Challenging, since mom and dad always look annoyed, and he…well, he'd rather be anywhere but here.
As the camera flashes, the crippled girl—standing to his left, in front of his father—becomes…something impossible. Something wet and warm splatters across his face, and he blinks instinctively. Then he sees it's red, and for a moment he thinks he's been injured. But it's not him, he quickly learns. It's the two adults behind them. Their hands slip out of his, and he stumbles backward into the photo drop, utterly confused. There's a lot of screaming and a lot of blood. People are trying to run.
She's not done. She dances like some sort of artist, pivoting on her toes, swinging her leg through the air, sweeping her foot across the windpipe of those who seek to stop her. Fists armed with shining metal blades plunge into stomachs and twist. He sees her cut off someone's hand, and feels sick, but too terrified to move, sprawled on top of the backdrop. By some miracle he doesn't wet himself.
And just as suddenly as it began, the dance of death is over. She's looming over him, breathing hard, her startling green eyes narrowed behind the thick, bottle-cap glasses. Strands of hair have escaped the strict braids on either side of her head, and now, instead of looking crippled, she looks deranged.
They watch each other for a few moments. She raises her fist. He scrunches his face up in a wince, but the blow never comes. Looking at her again he sees that she is hesitating, her fist shaking slightly in the air. Suddenly she withdraws the strange blades into her hand with a SNAKT! sound.
Before he can speak, the girl's head pivots around. Her expression changes. She turns abruptly…to go.
Swift, white-hot anger rushes through him, from his head to his toes. "NO!" he shouts, impressing himself with the power of his voice. He reaches out—with what aim he doesn't really know—and his choking rage emerges from his fingers in a green tidal wave. The girl is swept off her feet and slammed into the red-splattered wall across the room.
He looks at his fingers, astonished. His concentration breaks, and the girl falls to the floor. She scrambles to get to her feet, but it is too late; now even he can hear the sounds of sirens, and people shouting and screaming outside. He realizes that he needs to keep her here, needs to keep doing whatever he just did in order to stop this...animal. It's not hard to think about being angry, and so repeating his earlier action is the simplest thing in the world. He catches her again as she makes for the hallway, and somehow lifts her into the air.
A few moments pass with her struggling, and he is just about to lose his hold again when the doors bust open and the authorities come in. He feels a rush of relief when he sees someone he recognizes from TV: Captain America.
"S-she did it," he says immediately.
The costumed man looks at the girl in the air.
"Good work, son," he says. "You're very brave. I'll handle it from here, okay? You just let my team take care of you now."
...
PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE WILLIAM KELLER SLAUGHTERED ALONG WITH 25 OTHERS
Killer captured by Captain America but later escaped
By Gregory Smith
AT 10:05 a.m. PST, congressman and businessman William Keller-along with 24 other members of his party plus supporters-were slaughtered by an unidentified assailant at the Los Angeles Convention Center. The Police and Captain America have at this point declined to comment on the suspect, although it has been confirmed that the latter had captured the killer at one point, only to have him or her escape in transport. The Police have stated that they will be later issuing a warrant for arrest, pending further investigation.
Amongst the 25 people murdered was Keller's wife Elizabeth, and his personal assistant Judy Price. Other names have not yet been released at this time. The only surviving victim of the attack is the Presidential candidate's eleven-year-old son, Julian Keller. He has been taken into protective custody by the L.A.P.D. until further notice. There is no word as to whether he is an eyewitness, although it is strongly suspected.
Police chief Robert Peterson issued the following statement at 1:02 PST at a press conference: "There is no doubt that this is the work of a highly disturbed mind. The individual has combat experience, and is clearly a terrorist to the highest degree. Until further notice, it is advisable that all residents in the L.A. area practice caution around strangers and lock their doors. A safety curfew is being enacted. All residents of the downtown L.A. district should be in their homes by 9 PM. Residents will be informed as soon as the curfew is lifted. Our force is doing its utmost to protect the city, and is making every effort to identify and incarcerate the suspect that is possible."
...
So reads the yellowed newspaper clipping in the steel frame that sits on the highly polished walnut desk, along with a gleaming silver pen cup, a letter tray, and a sleek Mac computer, with a white casing. Behind the screen sits a young man. He's in his early twenties, as is evidenced by the fact that his still youthful and his hair—almost as dark as his black Armani suit—is free of grey. He has a slightly roman-shaped nose, and underneath that, a determined mouth and a strong chin.
His eyes are a very vivid and unusual shade of violet blue. They are trained on the monitor in an intense stare, as if the information it is displaying is something bordering on the divine. The tie around his neck has obviously been chosen to compliment his eyes, as has his light blue dress shirt.
Slightly to this man sits a shining, golden nameplate: 'Julian Keller, CEO and Chairman of the Board of Directors'.
Behind the desk, sunlight is streaming in through the enormous glass window. It is apparent by the scenery that this office is many stories high, perhaps on the top floor, as the window offers an impressive, almost aerial view of the Los Angeles skyline.
...
Many stories down, a girl is approaching the same building with quick, energetic strides. Heads turn as she passes by, intrigued by her flawless and pleasing design.
She reaches the revolving doors to the lobby and impressively does not slow. When she emerges, she continues in a bee-line toward the employee at the reception desk. "Excuse me," she calls.
The receptionist is a typical nine-to-five office worker. She has sleek blond hair that speaks of maintenance, a pretty face that speaks of high-quality make-up, and somewhat underwhelming features such as grey eyes and a thin mouth. Her attire is a smart, crisp two-piece linen suit in a respectable tan. The golden colored plate on her desk reads 'Reception'.
Looking up from her magazine, she gives the girl a practiced smile, which fades when she notices the girl's startling green eyes. They seem to eclipse the rest of her face, even the bright red lips and the gloriously thick hair swept into an up-do. It looks like black silk. I'd kill for hair like that, the receptionist thinks, annoyed. "Yes?" she asks aloud.
Her visitor hesitates in a nervous manner. She's somewhat out of place. In the Keller building—with its marble floors and impressive architecture—everyone's wearing neutral colors like navy, black and khaki; this girl is dressed in a bright red skirt with matching stiletto heels. The little black cardigan she's thrown over her shoulders doesn't really tone the outfit down enough.
Finally she notices that the girl is holding a very crinkled looking piece of paper.
"Can I help you find someone?" she asks, smiling again. Maybe this is the daughter of one of her many bosses. She looks about the right age, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Didn't Ed mention just last week that his little girl needed a summer job?
"Um, yes." The girl shifts. "I have some business with Julian Keller," she says.
The receptionist blinks.
"I'm sorry?"
The girl frowns. "I-I need to see him. It's really important."
The older woman raises her eyebrows. "Ma'am...he's the CEO." Her ultimate boss, who she's spoken to all of three times. He rarely uses the visitor pauses. "Really?"
"Yes." She taps her well-manicured nails on the desk. "He doesn't do meetings with the public."
"It's a personal matter," the girl insists.
The receptionist's expression doesn't change. "He didn't call down to advise me that he was expecting someone."
"No, this isn't scheduled," the girl says. "It's really important though."
The receptionist purses her lips. "He doesn't enjoy being disturbed."
"Please," the girl says, her green eyes very wide. "I would really, really appreciate the favor."
"Well..." the older woman hesitates, then decides that Keller probably won't kill her for informing him of the visitor. She doesn't disturb him often. "Fine, I'll phone up. What's your name?"
"Laura Kinney," the girl replies, in a relieved tone.
She leans back slightly as the receptionist picks up the phone and presses a few numbers. Five seconds pass, and then the other woman speaks. "Hi, sir. Linda the receptionist here. There's a Ms. Laura Kinney here to see you...claims it's a personal matter." She pauses. "I didn't think so. Sorry I disturbed you." Another pause. "Uh-huh. Right away." She hangs up the phone and looks up at the girl. "Sorry."
Laura wrinkles her nose. "Could I have his phone number?"
"...no." The receptionist raises her eyebrows again. "Look, ma'am, he said no. You can leave a message...or I will be forced to call security. Your choice."
The girl purses her lips. "Are those really my only options?"
"Let me think about it," Linda says, now thoroughly annoyed. "Yes. Please, leave."
"To hell with you!" Laura snaps, snatching her list off the desk so fast the paper makes a crunch sound.
She storms toward the door, and the receptionist rolls her eyes. Teenagers.
...
"Son of a bitch," Laura says to herself, standing outside now. Her dark hair swirls around her in the breeze as she looks up at the top floor of the fifty-four story building where she knows her target is from a quick glance at the door's directory.
Perhaps target is a poor choice of words.
The names on the list still clutched between her fingers are actually the opposite of targets. They are the families of the people she's killed over the course of her career as X-23, back in the days of Weapon X. Which is long behind her now; ten years ago, to be precise. She's completing a final step in her journey to de-conditioning herself, and that is to confront the people she caused personal loss to. And then...will she finally be free?
Laura secretly doubts it. All she has to do is think of that moment when she had finished slaughtering a room full of twenty-four people, and the warm glow of achievement that she feels over fitting in just...evaporates.
Nowadays, killing has taken on a different meaning for her. She weighs the consequences of killing deeply before considering it as a route of action. Imagines people she's grown to care for falling under her blades. Her friends at the school, perhaps. Her boyfriend. Maybe even Logan, if it weren't for his healing factor. As a consequence, she has killed very little in recent times…perhaps three people in the last decade. And even those were genuine dirt-bags that had it coming.
She reaches up and brushes hair behind her ear. One step at a time. She knows it all needs to start with this Keller guy, seeing as his father was her first primary target ever. She can't imagine anyone she traumatized more in her existence than that poor kid. She remembers catching his eye as she had been about to kill him…and hesitating, because she'd suddenly thought of the puppy they'd made her slaughter for the empathy conditioning. Something in his eyes had reminded her of that puppy. She'd heard echoes of her mother's whispers: put it out of it's misery!
Her hands had begun to shake. She realized—even then—that if killing a puppy was bad, killing a human child had to be worse. Her brain might have not quite understood why, but her heart had known right from wrong, and killing these things—the innocent things—was wrong.
That moment of hesitation was the start of a journey. Who had known the kid would have powers, too? Powers that would lead to her capture? Captain America had detained her. She counts her blessings that it was him, because anyone else would have smuggled her to S.H.I.E.L.D. to be used for further killing. Not Cap though. After a brief struggle with his morals, he'd contacted Logan and together they had agreed that Laura was best placed at the school. A bullshit story about the killer escaping had been publicized, and instead of growing up in a cell (either facility or prison related), she'd been raised in a school by a man with a strict code of honor and the wisdom to help nurture her emotions.
So here she is, acting on emotions; attempting to make restitution for those she has wronged. Apologizing to the living family of the twenty-four people she'd killed that day is how she will put X-23 behind her forever…but that's easier said than done. It's not like she can just buy them flowers and a box of chocolates. Hallmark won't really help her out either. She isn't even sure how to handle it yet.
All she knows is, the process will start with the boy she'd spared.
Well, apparently not a boy anymore. He must have grown up, if he's the CEO of the Keller incorporation. Laura arches her eyebrows. She really hadn't expected that. She also hadn't anticipated being denied access to the persons she needs to apologize to.
Laura sighs and then rubs her temples. Think. Yes, she can scale the side of the skyscraper with ease, but it would be very awkward in a skirt and stilettos. She purses her lips again, then has an idea: shopping.
She heads down the street, her expression considerably brighter.
...
Having just pulled herself over the edge of the skyscraper's roof garden, Laura straightens out her skirt and swings her new bag to her front. She checks the parcel inside, then pulls out her heels and pulls them on, taking a few moments to make sure they are securely fastened before surveying her new surroundings.
She is standing in the middle of a gravel expanse filled with plants. After a moment she spies just what she's looking for: an access door. Heading towards it in careful strides so as not to twist an ankle, she pops one claw—SNIKT!—and eyes the door's lock. Electronic keypad. Severing the connection will probably trip an alarm in the building, probably silent. She hesitates, then shrugs. She can reach the guy before the guards come...and giving them the slip after won't be all that hard.
She slips her claw into the space between the door and the frame, then pushes the surface inward and retracts her claw—SNAKT! Now Laura is standing at the top of a short flight of stairs. At the bottom is another locked door. She descends quickly and repeats the process, then takes a deep breath and enters the office building.
The first thing she notices is that the carpet is white and luxurious, a surprisingly bad choice in her opinion. White just attracts so much dirt-and in her experience, blood. She straightens, then pulls the door closed behind her and heads up the hallway quickly.
She sees that the doors up here aren't numbered, so she will have to rely on name plates. After about a minute of walking, she reaches a heavy oak door, labeled with what is a golden plate. She can determine this from its chemical scent. It reads:
Julian P. Keller
CEO & Chairman of the Board of Directors
She knocks on the door, three times, smartly with her knuckles. Her heart is beating a million times per minute, and she feels a little dizzy now that she is actually doing this.
"Come in," a man's voice calls. It's muffled by the wood, but she can hear that is about mid-range in depth and tone, and that he is speaking with an accent—most likely of Los Angeles origin.
Laura takes a really deep breath and reaches for the doorknob.
