The Witness
An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own X-Men.
Chapter 1: The Beginning- Murder Most Foul!
"I have built my organization upon fear." -Al Capone
Prologue
Chicago, Illinois, 1926.
As Prohibition reaches its apex and the stock markets continue to rise, the United States rides the crest of an unprecedented wave of economic prosperity. The Windy City jostles with New York as the center of all things American, but beneath its exterior of urban expansion and bustling thoroughfares lies a much darker, sinister underbelly.
The Prohibition act has given rise to the golden age of American organized crime, and Chicago is its unofficial capital. Bordellos, speakeasies and sockhops, serving everything from bathtub gin to the finest sauvignon, cater to the needs of those with a thirst for booze in direct defiance of the law. Criminal kingpins push and shove to stake their claim on the vast market that bootlegging offers, but in time, one has risen through ruthlessness and casual slaughter to dominate all the others.
Al "Scarface" Capone has the entire city of Chicago in the palm of his hand. No one, it seems, is able to so much as lay a finger on him and his vast underworld empire; the judges are on the take, the cops are crooked, and the lawyers fight each other for spots on Capone's payroll. No one dares to openly defy Scarface and his iron-fisted rule; murder, betrayal, vice and violence are all the order of the day in Chicago's back alleys and dark, unlit streets, and those who are foolish enough to risk Capone's ire have a habit of simply dropping off the face of the Earth.
This is one lesson that up-and-coming district attorney Mr. Jonathan Pryde has yet to learn. The new DA is not afraid of Capone and his legions of thugs, and has stated in many public appearances that taking down Scarface and cleaning the streets is number one on his priority list. Brave to the point of arrogance and filled with idealism, Pryde works night and day to bring Capone's organization down about his ears.
Unfortunately, Al Capone does not take kindly to having his lofty position challenged…
Now…
The Pryde Residence, 11:00 p.m.
Life was quite idyllic for eighteen-year-old Catherine.
As the young socialite daughter of the city's most prominent new official, she always enjoyed everything that early twentieth-century high society had to offer. Grand parties in Carnegie Hall, social visits from her mother's friends and her father's business associates, and the very best education money could buy were all the order of the day for her, and as she had prepared herself for bed that fateful evening, she had happily reflected on the fact that being a Pryde meant that one was denied nothing in life.
Aside from his high salary as a civil servant, Mr. Pryde had recently made a killing in the stock market. Everything he touched had seemed to turn to gold, and it wasn't long before he had had to open up a second bank account just to hold all his money. The Pryde household became filled with priceless knickknacks and antique furniture that had been shipped overseas from Great Britain and the European continent, and the large, crystalline chandelier that hung in the parlor had been made according to Mr. Pryde's exact specifications. Several cooks, maids and housekeepers kept the usual monotony of chores at bay, and therefore Catherine was not the type of girl who had to worry about making her bed herself. That sort of thing would have been done by one of the servants only moments after she would wake in the morning.
Catherine opened a drawer in the mahogany dresser by her bed and retrieved a silken nightgown from its interior, but before she could slip out of her daytime apparel and climb between the sheets, the ringing of the door-chime caused her to glance up. The sudden noise gave her a start, but this didn't bother her very much as she snuck out of her room and peeked over the balcony.
What she saw next would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Outside, a roll of booming thunder heralded the sudden arrival of a heavy squall of rain, and a flash of lightning illuminated, just briefly, the huddled figures on the family's front lawn. A car could be seen parked near the sidewalk, too, but it was the ominous shapes outside that made Catherine suddenly very uneasy.
Mr. Pryde's slippers made a shushing sound on the tile as he went to turn the knob, but his cheerful expression disappeared along with most of the color in his cheeks when he opened the door to reveal the squad of heavyset, stubble-faced, beady-eyed thugs on his doorstep. Catherine's father reached for a cane that he kept in a small vase as one of the men, a particularly disreputable-looking fellow with a crescent-shaped scar underneath his right eye, nodded curtly to him while reaching slowly into the folds of his jacket.
"Are you Mr. Pryde?" he asked, his voice thick with a New York accent.
"I am," Jonathan had nodded curtly, as his wife came up behind him with a worried expression on her face. "To whom am I speaking?"
"Just wanted t'make sure we had the right house," the thug grinned maliciously as the barrel of a Thompson submachine gun protruded from the hip of his waist. "An' by the way, Scarface Al said fer me t'tell ya 'hi.'"
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAT!
Catherine screamed as her parents' bodies were perforated with dozens of holes, and the whizzing and whistling of flying lead mingled with the shattering of glass and ceramics as the hailstorm of bullets flew in all directions. Mr. and Mrs. Pryde slumped amidst an enormous geyser of blood that painted the walls with a wave of crimson gore, and the man who'd murdered in such cold blood coolly stepped over the ravaged corpses of Catherine's mother and father as his men filed in behind him.
"Tear the place apart, boys," he grunted, gesturing vaguely around him. "Remember, the boss said to leave no witnesses."
The man to his left produced a wickedly-pointed switchblade from up his sleeve. "Can we have some fun with 'em first?" he asked, sniggering with anticipation as he glanced around for a prospective victim.
It was just Catherine's bad luck that his eyes happened to land squarely upon her.
"Up there!" the hitman shouted suddenly, elbowing his companions to gain their attention. "She's seen the whole thing!"
"Get her!" the man with the Tommy gun snarled, hefting his weapon and slapping another drum in place before pulling the trigger back. "Don't let her escape!"
Catherine threw herself onto the floor as the volley of deadly projectiles shattered a gas lamp that had been affixed to the wall, and the searing-hot oil landed with a splash on a set of nearby drapes which promptly burst into sheets of roaring, furious flames. Catherine raised her hands to ward off the unbearable heat as the fire raced along the stair well, engulfing anything in its path as the blaze grew into a firestorm, and though sudden and terrible grief made her heart heavy, Catherine's mind was buzzing with a single thought.
I've got to get out of here.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs as the group of thugs came in hot pursuit, and Catherine ducked into her room and bolted the door securely shut before she threw open the window. The wall shuddered under the furious pounding of the angered hitmen, and Catherine's heart leapt in her chest as she nerved herself for what she was about to do.
With not even a thought for the rain outside, and with her eyes stinging from the wisps of smoke that wafted under her door, Catherine vaulted over the windowsill and just barely managed to grasp the gutter-pipe that ran around the roof of the house. The cheap aluminum bent with a groan, but it served to slow Catherine's fall as she ripped it free of its moorings. The impact of her body landing on the dripping-wet grass made her teeth rattle in their sockets, but Catherine was up and running just as a spray of bullets chewed the earth where she'd lain just a second before. Gritting her teeth in bereavement and anger over the life that had been so abruptly turned upside-down, Catherine shook off her high heels and began to run as fast as she could, her feet splashing in the mud as the rain soaked her to the bone, but despite her desperation, Catherine took one look back at her former home just enough time to see it become engulfed in flames. The house's framework was silhouetted against the orange-red walls of fire, and Catherine uttered a despairing, heaving sob that was cut short as she heard a car's engine roar to life down the street.
Her eyes streaming with rainwater and tears, the last of the Prydes turned and fled down the dark street. With nowhere to go and no one she could trust, Catherine began to run with no specific destination in mind, only the goal to get as far away from here as possible, wherever here happened to be. Catherine was smart enough to realize that her being witness to a murder being committed in Capone's name made her a serious liability, and with the entire city in Scarface's pocket, it would not be long before the whole city began hunting her.
She had to find help. Catherine still hoped against hope that there was still someone out there who would get her to safety. But with no money and no possessions, where could she hope to go? Certainly anywhere in the U.S. would be out of the question; there was nowhere within America's borders that Capone's long arm could not reach.
Catherine suddenly turned and flattened herself against the wall in a narrow alley. The golden glow of a car's headlights cruised by the sidewalk where she had only just been walking, and the puttering of the transmission mirrored the frenzied beating of Catherine's heart.
There was no use in trying to get anywhere right now, she realized. The streets would be filled with Capone's thugs and spies; she wouldn't even get past the city limits unharmed if she were to travel now. It would be better to wait until the following evening, when the search had died down somewhat, before venturing into the open again.
Catherine hugged her sodden dress closer to her shivering frame, and she began to shudder violently as the chilly rain made the blood freeze in her veins. This, combined with the exhaustion and fear, caused Catherine to collapse in the muck as the night's events finally took her toll, her head nodding forward as her eyes closed.
It was fortunate that Catherine Pryde would not be the only person to pass through the alley that night…
A/N: I'm BAAAAAAAAAAACK! XD I know it's been a while since I wrote "The Emperor's Hand," but I had this little plot bunny and decided to give my Historical KURTTY series a modernized twist. So to new friends, I say welcome, and to old friends, welcome back! For those of you who are not familiar with this series, allow me to answer a few FAQS. First, Kurt retains his mutant appearance but lacks teleportation in this story; Kitty has been reinvented as a normal human. Secondly, the versions of Kurt that appear in my stories may be noticeably different than the character on the show, so if Kurt seems a bit OOC, don't worry; it's all part of the plan, as it were. ^^ Don't be too worried about updates, either; I generally update once every two or three days, so the next installment should be up very, very soon!
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque