Marionette

An Alex Rider and X-Men:Evolution Crossover

Chapter Two

WARNINGS: Beware the typos. This is unedited, I hadn't the time to look over explicitly.

Too exhausted to run, but unwilling to stop walking, Alex pushed on through the forest until he came upon at last an empty road, dusty cleared land before him. Not even bothering to do eeny-meeny-miny-moe, he picked a direction and started walking. Every road had to lead to somewhere.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on his side and it was only a few hours before he came upon a city.

A dank, dirty, and dark city, but a city nonetheless, a place he could lose himself in and not be found. When he had previous worked for MI6, cities had been his salvation as well-either that or blowing up the offensive base in a spectacularly anonymous way. Who would even think of a young kid blowing up things and indirectly slaughtering hundreds of enemies? Certainly not Alex, before all this business began.

At age fourteen, the most dangerous thing he'd ever thought he'd be doing would be crossing the street when he went to school. (He did live in a city, after all.) But at age fourteen, his uncle was dead and suddenly he was taking care of human terrorist factions underneath the orders of MI6.

It was only recently that he had started taking down mutants, under his own name.

Vengeance had none of the sweetness that it was reveled for; rather, it was bitter on his tongue and conscious, especially once he found himself unable to further justify any of his actions, not anymore. Every time he cocked his specially commissioned weapons, aimed at someone, eliminated a life, he couldn't rationalize it to any reason other than hate, and that made his heart ache worse than it ached for his uncle, for Tom, for Jack.

He hated himself more than he hated the mutant that killed his friends and most of his classmates. He hated himself almost more than he hated Ash.

Lost in his own thoughts, Alex stumbled with exhaustion and almost fell into the street. Car horns blared loudly in annoyance they sped past in the mid afternoon light, and he could feel people staring. H e was too conspicuous, maybe at night, the populace could pass him off as a druggie or a drunk, but in plain daylight it was obvious he was not where he should be, especially in his tight clothing and semi masked face.

He had to get off the street.

Much to his chagrin, Logan was slow in awakening. Having all the muscles in your body being burned by your bones kinda did that to you, and it took him a little over a day to recover. He awoke to the sight of Dr. McCoy hung over him, checking the IV drip that was plugged into this arms.

Damn. He hated the iv drips. His skin always closed around them far too quickly to be comfortable. He considered ripping them out of his arm, but his choice was taken from him as McCoy quickly began his..monitoring.

Logan had taken several instances to learn that when McCoy monitored you, you didn't wriggle. You didn't ignore him, and most importantly, you did not fight back. Especially since Logan healed so quickly anyway, it was almost guaranteed that he'd be let out almost immediately upon the finishing of inspection. Fighting back made the doctor suspicious, or god forbid, worried, and then you were fucked big time. Then, he had to stay in the sick bay for a whole entire day, with other people constantly coming in and checking on you to see why he was still in the hospital. And he certainly could not say, "Because of my own stupidity."

"Good to go," McCoy said after pulling down his eyelid to check his pupils.

He nodded gruffly and stood up stiffly (new tissue was always stiff) strutting up to the elevator and punching the buttons that would take him even farther down into the mansion-where Xavier was sure to be. To his surprise, the man was alone, and not hooked up to the supercomputer that dominated the room. He instead seemed to be contemplating something, and Logan made his presence known by yawning loudly and dropping himself gracefully into a chair nearby, making it slide a little on its wheels with his weight as he crossed his ankles, balancing his heels on top of his toes.

"Professor," he said lowly, the sound of the chair that he was leaning on making a loud creaking noise in the near silence. "You find anything new?"

Xavier tilted his head towards Logan in acknowledgement, but then shook his head in denial. "Unfortunately no. As of yet, I have found no clues that would lead me to your attacker. Also unfortunately, your injuries has much of the rest of the students understandably in distress."

"I'm pretty sure he was a mutant," Logan said careless, closing his eyes once he was certain that Xavier had his full attention on him. "I don't know any other type of kid that would be able to hold out that long against me."

"It should be impossible," he agreed.

The silence between the two men rapidly became awkward as both of them were lost in their own thoughts. Personally, Wolverine felt as if this whole situation was partially the fault of Xavier, everyone knew that you only sent him out if they were certain that whatever presence that was lurking near the mansion was a bad one. He wasn't exactly the most friendliest person.

Logan licked his lips and dropped the chair, startling the professor, whose head jerked up suddenly to stare at the tense mutant.

"We know it's not impossible, Charles," he said angrily. "This guy-he wasn't much more than a kid. He couldn't be older than seventeen, and that's genuinely pushing it. That weapon he used on me was designed specifically to incapacitate me. That charge would be useless on someone whose skeleton wasn't made of metal."

Xavier raised a questioning eyebrow. "You're certain he's after you?"

"No. I'm certain he's targeting mutants. He moves like someone who's used to fighting people stronger than him."

Folding his hands under his chin contemplatively, he looked away. "And are you certain it was a boy? His face was covered, from what I could see."

"I like to think that I know who I was threatening," Logan said dryly.

"I'm sure that you do," he replied. After a short pause, he continued. "Concerning your suspicions of him being a mutant, it is highly unlikely. Had he used any of his abilities, Cerebro would have picked it up, and I've been scanning for hours. there were no alerts that I missed, and certainly none at the time."

"None worth taking in to the school?" Logan asked, seeking specification. Mutations were more common than most people knew; most just weren't powerful enough to be worth any notice.

"None. However, Mr. McCoy did come across a lead that has only very recently caught the attention of the American government, and in a way very detrimental to us," Xavier said, wheeling over and pulling out a manila envelope.

It was a small file, and the pages smelled like freshly printed ink and Hank's fur. there were no pictures, and inside were only a few sheets of paper and a small stack of paperclipped photos. Squinting, he set the pictures aside on his lap and pulled out the first piece of paper, which read "Case File"-a copy of a report signed by the Metropolitan Police Service. He frowned.

"London Mutant Murders?" he asked. "Last I remembered, this ain't Britain."

"Yes, but recently, there have been many known mutants-usually a part of a violent faction-shot and killed by an unknown, known in the area as the London Mutant Murders. these are mostly from last year, and the only witness described a man dressed in black. With his identity unknown, it would be easy for him to simply move on to other places. this being a mutant faction, albeit a peaceful one, makes us a target. A dangerous target, but a target nonetheless."

"So you think he's targeting the kids? They are well trained against whatever ammo this guy thinks he's got on us," Logan said.

"Yes, well, I can't disregard this. Only military or Magneto would dare to launch an attack on this place. I built this with the intention of forming a haven for the children, and so, because of that, not many can really challenge this institution. I've been forced to look into third parties."

Logan snorted. He really doubted that some mutant murderer would make it all the way to the U.S. armed to the teeth and ready to wreak havoc. Paranoid he was, but he was more ready to believe that an anti-mutant party had risen up in the government than such a far-fetched idea.

For all his pretense, he didn't totally disregard what the paper said.

Five-seven to five-nine. it read. Caucasian male. No presumed sign of psychosis. No contact with the government. Fourteen mutants dead, no evidence left behind. It's as if he could just disappear…or as if someone was covering his tracks.

Snapping the folder shut without looking at the pictures, he stood up suddenly. "I'm going to check the woods one more time before dark."

If this boy really did kill fourteen people, then Logan had reason to be wary; if not for him, then for all the mutants of Bayville.

For the first night, Alex slept in an alley. He wasn't ashamed to admit it, though he knew he must have looked quite pathetic, passed out amongst the garbage bags of a small bar. The entire alleyway stunk of piss and beer, almost as bad as the lavatories at the boot camp he went through when he was fourteen.

He was awakened by dawn light filtering mercilessly into his eyes; his legs and chest hurt as if there was a permanent cramp in his lower intestines, and he dry heaved for a couple of minutes before turning over on his stomach and coughing. Dark spots blinked in front of his eyes like club lights before filtering away slowly. Luckily, no one had found him passed out in the alley.

Uneasy on his jelly like legs, which felt as if they were going to give out under him with every step he took, he shuffled slowly into the mostly sleeping city.

When he was shipped out to the United States (when he lost Jack), he was supposed to go to West Coast, California. Officially, on paper, that was where he was; living in San Francisco with the Pleasures, finishing his sophomore year in secondary-high school. But then, he hadn't been in school for a long time, and at this point in his life, he didn't think he was ever going to go back.

"Think of the assignment," he told himself, "Find your Target, hit your target, and don't think of anything else."

He had no life to live. His past would follow him and swallow up whatever future he might have liked to have had. the last time he had even dreamed of doing anything other than the spy life-the life it seems he was trained to do, the life he had no choice to follow- had been nearly a year ago, before the lesson had been firmly pounded into his head.

There will never be anything but this for you.

He could remember it clearly; he had been fifteen and it was a Tuesday morning.

Over the next week, he began to understand some criminals whose sole purpose in life was revenge. He understood the urge of wanting someone else's blood spilled,and it horrified him. Because, if blood had to spilled (and it was obvious that some force out there deemed Alex had to be the one to spill it) why did good people have to die?

If someone was going to die for him, it would be on his terms. Not like Jack had died, or how Ian had died, or even Tom.

Especially not like Tom.

He would die before he let someone else die like his only (former) friend.

He pushed his mask under his clothes, pushing away the bad thoughts as he did so, like that black cowl was the representation of all his problems. He knew that he probably looked just the slightest bit suspicious, but at least he did not look as if he were about to break into a person's house and murder them in their sleep.

He organized a list in his head of everything he felt he needed to do.

Primarily, his identity. He was still too close to the area where his failed assassination had taken place, and the ever watch mutants would be extra suspicious and on the lookout for suspicious figures. He needed shelter, to recover-the nonstop pain in his leg probably mean that he had pulled or sprained something, but he couldn't afford to get medical attention that would be placed on record or on file.

He also needed a place to stay, and that wasn't something that he could get as a minor. He still had his pension from his service as an agent of MI6, but that was tracked as well, and Bayville was nowhere near close enough to San Francisco. Any monetary transaction would look strange.

What Alex needed was his laptop, which was unfortunately not in the city. It was hidden in the woods far beyond the Institute, which was too far away for him to reach easily.

...Damn.

Oh my god, you have no idea how sorry I am for the long wait. You guys are all spectacular!

Unfortunately, I can't promise not to leave you guys hanging this long again; I've got familial, financial, and scholarly problems all going on at once, and I have no working computer nor internet. This is a luxury for me guys!

I'm also sorry for not replying to reviews, but know that I recieved every single one! You people are honestly too amazing; four reviews, ten favorites, and twenty two follows? All on thfirst chapter? I Love you so much. You have no idea.

To answer some questions…

1) Is this going to end differently than "Don't Ask?"

Answer: Oh yeah. Stick around and see. ;)

2) Does Alex have different abilities in this story?

Answer: you know, that's funny, because while rereading "Don't Ask" I never exactly specified what Alex's powers were? Several years later, I don't really know what i was thinking, and so cannot answer that question adequately. :P The foundations of the idea I had will still remain, but there will be lots of tweaks and it should make more sense overall. Thank you!

See you next chapter,

YellowWomanontheBrink

November 19, 2013

7:01 p.m.

Edited January 27, 2014

4:04 p.m.