Chapter Two: Gutter Ballet
A slight barely perceptible scowl sits on Detective Lenny Briscoe's otherwise craggily face. He can think of about a thousand places he'd rather be then the city morgue. The place has always been far too quiet and somber for his taste. Even when there is noise it always seems out of place, like it didn't belong there.
Straightening his dark brown suit slightly, even though it doesn't need it, he looks over at his partner with a sigh. Green shrugs before shoving his hands into his pants pocket. Turning his head he glances at the white sheet covering the body they're here to discuss.
"Sorry about the wait there gentlemen," a distinctively English accented voice starts off startling both detectives with its sudden arrival. An average size man with nearly jet black hair, a little white at the temples despite a young, sharp face with an angular chin, wearing a doctors white coat, stands in the doorway, "but you American chaps come up with some truly ingenious toppings for your food." In his hands he holds a clear Tupperware container filled to the brim with melted cheese covered nachos. "Originally, when one of my new, American associates first introduced me to micro-waved cheese and nachos I was aghast, wondering how someone could put something so revolting into their mouths, but once I tried one I just couldn't get enough them."
"Give it time," Briscoe mutters.
"What was that?" The English doctor asks with a curious glance at Briscoe.
Before Lenny can answer Green speaks up asking, "what happened to Rodgers?" There's something about the man that puts him on edge.
"Ah, she's taking a long overdue and much deserved vacation. I believe the south of France."
Green nods relaxing a little. Very little. It's in the man's eyes. The way he looks at them as if they're nothing more then an experiment waiting to happen.
"So you're the replacement," Briscoe states.
A haughty snort slips past his lips as he says, "hardly. Where are my manners? Nathaniel Essex, formerly of London, England. I'm here doing research on unnatural causes of death."
"You trying to tell me nobody gets murdered across the pond in jolly old England?" Briscoe inquires with just a hint of sarcasm.
"They have their fair share, but no where near the numbers you chaps have. How rude," he murmurs to himself. "Nacho!" He offers holding the Tupperware out to them.
"No thanks," Green answers waving them off.
Lenny shakes his head. Pointing at the covered body he starts to say, "What about Senator McCellum?"
"I don't think he's hungry," Essex responds dryly earning sharp glares from both detectives.
"What can you tell me about the body?" Green responds taking a serious dislike to the man. It's not like he hasn't heard similar comments from a hundred other doctors. He just doesn't like the man. Hasn't since he first set eyes on him.
Essex looks at the table holding the body, then with a negligent flip tosses back the cover. Looking at the body he plucks a cheese laden nacho out of the container and begins eating. Walking over to the counter he places the Tupperware bowl down on the Formica surface and opens a folder, perusing it carefully. "Now this is an interesting case. You would think the gunshot wound to the head would be the cause of death."
"Its not?" Green asks too stunned to think of anything else.
Essex shakes his head slightly. "Somebody's gone to an extreme amount of trouble to make you think Senator McCellum died in that alley."
"What are you talking about?" Briscoe demands.
"Well, to answer your first question this body could have been dead for a week."
"That's not possible," Green starts. "We," he gestures between Briscoe and himself, "along with half of New York saw the body less then an hour after it was shot."
Essex shrugs at Green's vehemence. "I can only tell you what science has proven. I found traces of Kermentlorin in his blood. It's use to keep dead bodies fresh, holds off rigor-mortis, decay. Its effects can last as long as a week."
"How come we've never heard of this before?" Briscoe inquires. "If it does what you claim it'd be the perfect way to set up an alibi."
"It would," Essex agrees smugly. "Only it's very rare, very expensive and the dose needs to be very precise to last the desired length of time. Not too long, not long enough. If its administered right its absorbed into the body and is untraceable. If it isn't its easily detectable to someone who knows enough to look for it."
"And you just know enough to look," Green comments.
"As I said, unnatural causes of death," Essex responds with a smug grin. "Now to the truly interesting aspect of the case. This isn't Senator McCellum."
"What?"
"Gentlemen, please. Allow me to finish before going into hysteria," Essex snaps. "Now there was a small amount of cellar degradation that showed up in the labs. Without further testing I can't be positive, but I'd be willing to wager the royal treasure that what you have here is quite possibly the first human clone."
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A couple hundred feet down from Loews 34th street Cineplex, a trio: two men and one woman, enter the ally, ignoring the police tape as they go. The shorter man, wearing a thin, mildly beaten, black coat moves like stalking panther; cautious, nose scenting the air, eyes darting, searching for any sign of his quarry or the unexpected challenger to what is his.
The other man, his average length light brown hair is partially hidden by his ruby quartz visor, at just over six feet is easily half a foot taller then his companion. He moves like a professional soldier, stiff back and rigid, but with apparent readiness to move in any direction at any given moment.
The woman with her fiery red hair cropped short, a little bit of a spike to it, is closer in height to her husband then her feisty companion. She walks down the alley with a dainty, almost reluctant step.
"Now I remember what it is I hate about cities," Logan remarks crinkling his nose at the stench filling his nostrils.
"Anything?" Scott asks sounding more demanding then normal.
Jean glances at Scott, concern shining in her eyes. Ever since the Professor had given them the details of the case Scott has been on edge. Without thinking she lightly lays her hand on his forearm sending him a silent message that when he's ready to talk she'll be there ready to listen.
""Lots. despite the boys in blue crime scene doing their best to wipe it out," Logan replies unconcerned about Scott's temperament or why he's been extra terse all night. He stops right in front of the blood smeared wall as he continues, "though most of it you two wouldn't want to know what it is. Not even sure I want to know," he mumbles at the end. "Your senator buddy was standing here, shooter right there," he frowns, scenting the air again. "Something's not right here," he says aloud.
"What's that?" Scott demands as if pouncing on a wounded animal.
Logan shakes his head, a harsh jerk. "I've got the shooter. I've got the shot. I've got the impact, the blood splatter. What I ain't got is a death scent."
"A death scent," Jean murmurs her confusion evident in her voice. "What's a death scent?"
"Everybody's scent is unique…"
"Like a finger print," Scott states
Logan shakes his head. "Fingerprints ain't as unique as the police'd have you believe. A person's scent is. Except for identical twins, but even theirs isn't exact, just a little harder to tell apart. When some one dies it changes, goes from living to dead. The person that was shot here, their scent didn't change."
"So either they didn't die," Jean begins.
"Or they were already dead," Scott finishes for her.
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Kurt latches onto the flag pole that extends from the side of building. Loops it twice and sends himself vaulting high into the air. He vanishes in a burst of gray sulfurous smelling smoke, that nobody is around to smell, and reappears sitting atop the head of a stone gargoyle.
He can't help the small smile that creeps across his face. He loves the rush he feels every time he's able to perform, whether under packed tents with thousands of fans cheering him on or where no one can see what he does. Now in a city of millions its like performing in front of the largest crowds in the world even if nobody ever does see him.
Tonight's performance though is more of a patrol, searching the surrounding area for anything unusual that those stuck on the ground might not find, but could be revealed by his unique perspective. A small earpiece and a miniaturized throat mic enable him to keep in contact with the rest of the group.
Plus there is always Jean in case of a sudden emergency.
A small button on the belt he had been given is suppose to turn on the mic and earpiece. All he has to do is hope he hit's the right one.
"I knew I should have put my reserved parking sign out," a friendly sounding voice comments coming from above and behind Kurt.
His head whips around as he crouches low going nearly to his stomach. "Unglaublich," he breathes out in astonishment as he looks at the upside down standing Spider-Man. Even in Europe his exploits are legendary. Probably even more so then they are in America. Left leg straight, foot pressed into the underside of ledge, right leg crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his chest, and head cocked slightly.
"Bless you," Peter replies having absolutely no idea what the pointy ear, blue skin man just said, but not wanting to admit it, as Kurt rises to his full height.
"Dieses ist unglaublich. Niemand im Circus wird glauben, daß ich Sie traf, wenn ich ihnen schreibe und erkläre," Kurt jabbers excitedly for a moment before realizing he's speaking his native German. "Ach," Kurt burst slapping himself in the head and silently cursing himself for being nine different kinds of fool. "It's an honor to meet you," he finally says extending his three digit hand.
"And you are?" Peter inquires cautiously as he extends his own hand.
"Nightcrawler," Kurt answers instinctively giving Spider-Man his stage name as their hands make contact.
Peter's eyebrows raise slightly under his mask as he replies, "not really a name to inspire a whole lot of friendly feelings."
Kurt shrugs slightly. "It's my moniker from my days in the Munich Circus," he tells the masked man standing upside down. "It has much more crowd appeal then Kurt Wagner," he explains.
"Of course it does," Peter responds. Getting the feeling that something isn't quite right, he shifts his head looking all around.
Out of nowhere five bright circular lights flare in the night sky dazing the two young men. The light fades returning the night to it's previous translucence. Only now hovering in the air are five, silver armored men of almost identical size and stature that stare at the two hero's through glowing golden eye plates.
"Looks like the boss was right," an electronic amplified voice comments. "A bunch of freaks sticking their nose in where they ain't wanted." He finishes raising his hands palm facing outwards.
Another tingling sensation runs up the base of Peter's spine all the way to his skull. "Get out of here," he yells flipping himself into the air.
Kurt hesitates just a fraction of a second too long as he watches a small circular slip of metal spin open in the palm of each hand. Just as a bright crimson beam lashes out he ducks down slipping to the underside of the statue. The beam hits devastating the statue's moorings.
Just like that it and Kurt are plummeting downward. With a small pop Kurt, along with a chunk of the statue disappear, leaving behind a gray cloud of smoke.
Peter shoots out a web-line snaring the falling hunk of stone as five armored mercenaries prepare, two taking aim on the vulnerable Spider-Man. With a massive swing Peter brings the heavy chunk of stone back into play hurling it into one of his opponents. It shatters into hundreds of smaller, less deadly debris but sends the man sailing backwards. Faster then a blinking eye he fellows as two other mercenaries open fire blasting chunks out of the concrete where he had been sitting.
Kurt appears above the man who fired at him, who looks up apparently astonished. He drops quickly swinging his impromptu club for all he's worth. The concrete shatters harmlessly on his armored opponents head.
Peter slams his adversary into the corner of another building crumpling the brick and mortar with the force of their impact.
Kurt instinctively grabs hold of the man's head, swings himself up and over driving his feet into his armored chest. Kurt flips backward landing on the side of a building.
A third punch crashes into the man's steel plated head and Peter silently curses as he feels his knuckles bruise. He barely has time to react to the punch that threa5tens to take his head off. As it is it's a glancing blow that'll leave his head ringing for days.
He leaps away as his uncanny sixth sense warns him of danger. A bare fraction of a second later two sets of crimson beams pummel his sparing partner for a moment. He simply brushes himself off as his eyes look on Spider-Man.
Peter flips diving down, shoots out a web-line snagging a flagpole. Swinging downward he builds his momentum. At just the right moment he release his web-line.
Suddenly Kurt appears in a sulfurous smelling gray cloud of smoke. "Allez…" He begins grabbing hold of Spider-Man. Disappearing -- leaving behind an even bigger cloud -- and reappears directly in front of Peter's target, "…OOps," he finishes. He hits with twice as much force as he would have normally. The armored mercenary flies backward crashing completely through the brick wall and into the building itself.
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"… and this man is your father," Jean remarks with a frown. Her fingers tightening their hold on Scott's hand.
Scott shakes his head, a minor tussle before saying, "it might be. I was four years old the last time I saw the man. Haven't even seen a picture of him since the fire when I was six. Hell, the man doesn't even know he has another son. Just disappeared, as if he fell off the face of the planet."
"Now you find out he might be a cold blooded killer," Logan remarks intruding upon their privacy. With a quick flick his Zippo comes to life lighting the end of his cigar. With a few deep puffs a thick cloud forms over his head. "There's something else," Logan comments as he begins searching the alley anew. "How'd they get in here?"
"Walked," Scott deadpans.
"Wish it were that simple," Logan replies. "These two just appear. Right where they were standing."
"Cyclops, Wolverine," Kurt's voice comes in over all there communicators.
"Crap," Logan snarls pulling his hand to his ear.
"Cyclops here. What's your situation Nightcrawler?" Scott questions demanding an answer.
"Not very good mien friend," Kurt replies.
"Can't we get a volume control on these things," Logan gripes.
"We could use a hand up here."
"We?" Jean inquires.
Before Kurt can respond a brilliant, blinding light erupts from the end of the alley. Logan's claws spring forth. Jean ducks her head trying to shield her eyes. "I've got six contacts," Scott calls out, his eyes shielded from the light by his ruby quartz lenses.
Jean shakes her head. "Their shielded in some way. Maybe their armor? I can't pick up any psi patterns from them. No thoughts at all."
"Must be some hell of a good shielding they got there," Logan growls scenting the air.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" An electronic voice taunts in a slightly British accent. "If it ain't three blind mice," he adds as the light fades.
"What's going on?" Kurt demands, his voice sounding frantic.
"Not so blind," Scott murmurs unleashing a low level optic blast that punches the speaker back into the wall.
"We'll have to get back to you Elf," Logan says rushing forward. "We got a welcoming committee all our own."
One, then a second soldier launch into the air. They're quickly followed by a third and a fourth. A fifth tries to follow suit only Logan crashing into him, his greater then normal weight too much for him to lift off carrying.
Scott rolls forward avoiding a hail of crimson beams rain down. Two, three, a fourth ray crashes into Jean's telekinetic shield driving the redhead to her knees.
"Jean!" Scott shouts.
Move! comes Jean's telepathic shout.
Without question Scott dives to his right as the armored mercenary he shot moments earlier zoom past.
With a savage grimace Jean mentally latches onto one of buzzing men peppering them with constant fire, and rips him from the sky pulling him to the earth at super sonic speeds. He hits with metal crushing force that leaves a small crater in the pavement.
From the back of the alley an explosion rocks the area. The concussive force of the blast knocking Jean and Scott off their feet as all the windows lining both walls shatter.
Logan pushes himself to his feet. His jacket a smoldering ruin, his body knitting itself back together. "You guys don't have to worry about playing nice with the sunshine boys there."
"Logan!" Jean shouts getting a good look at his broken, bleeding, and burnt body.
"I'll be fine," Logan responds keeping Jean at a distance. "Hurts a hell of a lot worse then it looks," he jokes lamely.
"What happened?" Scott demands watching the skies.
"Tried to open one of those tin suits up, must've hit one of their critical systems… Or something," he adds with meaning.
Scott glances back at Logan, a sick expression crossing Jeans face. "You killed him?" Scott asks
Logan shakes his head. "Wasn't nothing to kill," he states.
Scott looks confused for a brief moment as Jean says, "they're robots. Androids. No wonder I wasn't able to pick up any psi pattern."
"Are you sure?" Scott asks Logan.
Logan smiles, more of a half smirk, as he answers, "wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't."
A slight scowl settles over Scott's face. "Did you catch that Kurt?"
"Most, robots, androids. Oh my," Kurt's voice replies.
"Work your way back to us," Scott orders.
"In coming," Logan calls out shoving Scott one way and throwing himself another as crimson beams lance through the space they had just occupied.
The beams strike an invisible shield halfway to the ground and again Jean pulls it trying to repeat her feat of a few minutes ago only this time the armored suit is prepared to deal wit the force being exerted on it. Jean grunts sourly, sweat standing out her brow from the strain.
"Let go!" Scott orders unleashing his full strength optic blast. Instinctively Jean does as she's ordered. The mechanical man jumps skyward for a brief second before being able to recompensate. Scott's optic blast catches him full on, the incredible destructive crimson eyebeam launching him high into the sky-above the surrounding building- where it explodes in a small fireball. The concussive wave slams into the three remaining androids.
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Piotr stands just behind the Professor's electric powered wheelchair as it smoothly climbs the ramp, just on the off chance that something might happen. The young man cuts an imposing figure standing six and a half feet tall, and his clothes seem to emphasize his sculpted physic instead of obscuring it.
Ororo walks at Charles' side, her purposeful stride bordering on regal. Her striking features, and pure snow white hair are a stark contrast to her dark chocolate complexion, draw more then a handful of admiring glances. From the detectives, officers, lawyers, and suspects exiting the building.
As they near top Ororo bends down slightly to whisper in Xavier's ear. "If you'll excuse me professor?"
"Of course Ororo," Charles replies. His eyes unconsciously slipping towards where Ororo is thinking. He easily spots the blind man wearing dark glasses, a finely cut suit, and red cane trying, unsuccessfully, to make his way out of the front door as most people don't pay him the slightest bit of attention and jostle him to and fro.
"I'll meet you inside as soon as I'm able," she informs him straightening. She doesn't wait for Charles' nod before striding ahead. It doesn't take her more then half a dozen heartbeats to cover the distance.
Mathew Murdock sees the woman walking towards him as if on a mission like he sees everything else, a dark image set against gray back drop. Almost like a blip on radar.
With his hyper-sensitive hearing he easily picks up her heartbeat and breathing. Both of which are extremely strong, powerful just like her gait. If he had to guess he would say some type of professional athlete. Track and field, swimming, maybe soccer. His first guess would have been soldier except her hair is too long.
He had a feeling he knew why she's heading in his direction and it causes him to grimace internally. It wouldn't have taken him any effort at all to get past the teaming masses, if he didn't have to play the part of the helpless blind man.
"Excuse me," Ororo says forcing her way through the throng. "If you don't mind a little unsolicited assistance Mr.?" She inquires, lightly placing her hand on his forearm.
"Murdock…" He supplies taking a step.
"Like the Babylonian god?" She asks politely.
Matt frowns lightly at the question. "As in Mathew Murdock, attorney at law."
Ororo smiles, a small upturning to the corner of her lips. "Ororo Munroe, Teacher."
A puzzled look settles on Matt's face, most of which is hidden by his dark glasses. Without thinking he asks, "aren't you a little young to be teacher?"
"No younger then you to be a lawyer," Ororo comes back quickly the challenge clear in her voice. Like a soldier, Mat thinks to himself. "I just meant that you sound young. I'm use to teachers having these craggily voices and being like ninety years old. Or at least they seemed like they were ninety when I was just a boy."
"Than you weren't always blind," Ororo murmurs then grimaces at her words. "I'm sorry. That came out sounding extremely insensitive."
Mat shakes his head saying, "it's alright. Just about everyone I know has asked me that same question. I was a teenager when I lost my sight."
Ororo nods in sympathy as they near the bottom of the stairs. Technically Scott could see perfectly fine, but without his ruby quartz glasses to block his incredibly powerful, potent, destructive, and deadly optic blast he would be effectively blind himself.
"No sympathetic comment," Mat remarks dryly. "That's a refreshing change," he finishes a short heartbeat later. Mat suddenly feels the temperature dip a good five degrees as the wind picks up gusting a few times.
"In my life I've seen a lot of teenagers who have had their lives torn apart by events beyond their control. The fact that you're here, in the position that you are in means you've weathered your crisis, exorcised your demons and perhaps became a better man then you would have if you had retained your sight. Be thankful, many do not do so well as you," she finishes pulling open the cab door. "Your cab," she adds turning on her heel and walking away from.
Matt shakes his head as he slides into the cab pulling the door to behind himself. It had been strange. While the weather had been changing so drastically, Ororo's heartbeat, pulse, and respiration had accelerated as well. Like she was suddenly under a great deal of pressure.
Which isn't really that surprising considering how he managed to offend her. She did have a point though. If not for the accident that took his sight he wouldn't be the man he is today. No where close.
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Piotr is completely astounded with the ease and skill Professor Xavier has maneuvered them into the holding area. The guards had been extremely polite and helpful when asked for assistance, but otherwise didn't pay them the slightest bit of attention. He would have asked the Professor about it, but he had been afraid the sound of his voice would break whatever spell was woven.
Charles puts his hand to his temple as Jean's voice calls out to him. The strain of the intervening distance pushing the young woman to her limits.
Professor.
What is it Jean? He questions while trying to strengthen her voice.
There was an ambush, androids and some kind of teleportation field. We're holding our own, thanks in part to Spider-Man's aid.
Spider-Man? He questions startled by the information.
Long story you'll have to hear later. Just be ready in case they're after you as well. With that her voice is gone.
"Is everything all right Professor?" Piotr inquires.
"That was Jean. It appears somebody anticipated our movements and had a surprise in store for Scott's team."
"Then we must hurry…"
Charles grabs hold of Piotr's arm holding him in place. "What we must do is complete our objective. Scott and the others are more then capable of taking care of themselves. While its unlikely that anyone would be bold enough to launch an assault at a police station, it is a possibility. So is the fact the attack on Scott and the others is meant to do nothing more then draw off most of the precincts officers allowing somebody to slip in and assassinate the suppose assassin before he has a chance to reveal anything. If he even knows anything."
"Forgive me Professor. I didn't think…" Piotr begins downtrodden.
"Nonsense Piotr," Xavier cuts him off. "You thought with your heart, with concern for the safety and well being of your friends. Never apologize for that."
Piotr nods at Xavier admonishment. "Shouldn't we warn Storm?"
"Already done," Charles remarks with a grin. "Now lets get what we came here for and get out."
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Willow snuggles sleepily into the large blanket the stewardess had been generous enough to give her earlier in the flight, when she requested it. Right before her phone call to Kennedy. She's ready to fall asleep, tired beyond words, but in that totally content, fully satiated kind of way that holds sleep at bay.
With heavy, sleep lidded eyes she continues to stare out the plane's little porthole like window. It takes her more then a few minutes of gazing at the distant lights to realize that they represent the rapidly approaching New York City.
Sitting up slightly she leans into the window trying to get a closer look at, what most people consider the greatest city in the world. She knows it was foolish, that a few inches weren't going to get her into New York any faster, but still. It made her feel like she's contributing.
She narrows her eyes as something, deep in the heart of the city catches her eyes. A brief flash of crimson, like a thin streamer, zips into the night sky.
"It could've been anything," she murmurs as she tries to focus in where the flash had come from.
A trilling double beep chimes filling the cabin. A second later the captions dulls voice begins to drone. "We are…"
She misses the rest as Buffy plops down in the seat next her with a, "thank god you're off the phone. I don't know how Dawn could fall asleep with Faith and Wood two rows back."
Willow reddens slightly but hopes in the dim light Buffy doesn't notice. Instead of keeping her mouth shut though she says, "probably because she doesn't have slayer hearing."
Buffy scoffs muttering, "with as loud as those two are you don't need it. I would've stopped by earlier but I noticed you were on the phone with Kennedy."
Willow's face brightens again and this time she knows Buffy can see it because it lights up the entire cabin. "So what have you been doing?"
Buffy rolls her delicate looking shoulders. "Just walking around. Talking with whoever happens to be awake. The stewardess mainly, a few passenger, the pilot, navigator, now you."
"Aren't you tired?" Willow questions, concern etching her face. Buffy shakes her head. "Not even a little?"
"Nope."
"Excuse me," a tall, dark hair stewardess begins leaning forward.
"Hi Jenette," Buffy greets in an overly chipper voice. A broad smile splitting her face.
"Hi Buffy," she replies in a friendly tone. "We're going to be landing shortly so we need you to put your seatbelts on."
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Scott dives and rolls to the side avoiding three crimson beams fired from above. With a quick glance he surveys the battlefield. Logan, like him is stuck on the ground. Unlike him Logan has no way of reaching the five silver androids that fill the air, who at one point tried to drop a building on them. If not for Jean's telekinetic shield protecting them he'd be buried under several hundred tons of concrete, glass, and steel right now. After that the battle had spilled out into the street.
Jean has been using her power to keep herself in the thick of the battle alongside Kurt and Spider-Man. His speed, his strength, agility, and timely intervention has been an indispensable aid during this confrontation. The androids however have been proving extremely adept at adapting to each and every stratagem they came up with. What works against one doesn't against the next.
Jean, Scott calls out silently hoping she's listening for him.
What's up honey? Her rather excited voice comes back to him.
Scott frowns slightly hearing her tone, but doesn't say anything about it. I've got a plan, he informs her.
Spider-Man.
"Whoa," Peter blurts at the sound of the redhead's voice all around him. With a quick little back flip he avoids three different crimson beams.
I'm speaking to you telepathically, Jean informs him.
"In my head?"
That's what telepathic…
"You can't be in my head." He lands on the wall then leaps up into the air arching backwards at the apex. "Nobody's allowed in my head. Most days I'm not even there. Big signs; do not enter, stay out. If you wanna talk give me one of those nifty little ear pieces thingies." He finishes landing on the shoulder's of one android.
If there was time I would. If they weren't compromised we'd even use them. As a show of good faith my name's…
"Never mind. Just tell me what you need." He leaps off the android a fraction of a second before it blast him off from close range.
He can almost feel the redhead's disarming smile inside his head. If you ever need help just look up Dr. Jean Grey.
Logan slips forward then back avoiding two slicing beams without moving from his spot as the silver android swoops past. He growls in frustration as he takes a swipe at it that falls well short of hitting its mark.
The distorted pop of displaced air alerts him to Kurt's arrival long before the sulfurous smelling cloud of smoke or his feather light touch. "Cyclops has a plan," Kurt comments just before he triggers his powers teleporting himself and Logan. "Happy landings mien friend," he adds and disappears.
Logan looks down, eyes widening as the ground begins rushing upwards. "Why wasn't I…Ark." Then he spots the silver android growing larger. A ferocious grin spreads across his lips.
His adamatium claws slice through the silver metal like a red-hot, razor-sharp blade would slice butter. About half way through it's torso the android blows up in another concussive wave of force that would crush anything in range. Logan hurtles backwards at nearly the speed of sound and just barely holding onto consciousness.
Peter moves as fast as he can as Logan rushes towards him -- extremely grateful his precognition, his Spider-Sense, allowed him to get in the right position. "Fancy meeting you here," he says latching onto Logan just as he speeds past pulling him close and holding on tight, and praying to any god he thinks will listen -- which means any god he can think of -- shoots out a web line swinging them up with a hope gravity will do some good and slow them down before they have to worry about re-entry.
It feels strange working with other people. Having them depend on him and him having to depend on them. In some ways it almost feels like having a safety net, like he doesn't have to do everything himself. At the same time its an even greater responsibility because there are that many more people expecting him to pull his weight and do his part.
Kurt leaps backwards pushing himself off the side of the building. He vanishes in a burst of smoke and displaced air. Reappearing directly above one of the androids as it swoops past, dropping lightly onto the machine's back. Quickly, like greased lightening, Kurt grabs it's head and vanishes with it leaving behind a cloud of smoke in his place.
Instantly the android begins to veer and swerve erratically before coming to a sudden stop. Jean smiles from her vantage point and the headless android whips back the way it just came heading straight for another android. It swerves at the last minute avoiding the collision. Her grin broadens and her pawn takes off in pursuit.
Kurt lands amid the rubble on the ground, turns the silver head so he can look it in the eyes. "Alas pour Horatio, I know him well." With that he sighs, drops the head, and disappears with a soft pop and a gray cloud of smoke.
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Peter lands on the roof, looking down slightly at the man called Wolverine getting his first good look at him. "You look like a ten mile stretch of road kill."
"They stop teaching tact in school boy?" Logan asks with a glare at the young hero. With a light shove he pushes himself away from Spider-Man's support. He stumbles a little but keeps himself standing upright by share force of will.
"You look like you could use a hospital," Peter replies concern for the amount of blood he's losing showing up in his voice.
Logan glares up at the gaudily clad young man. Blood oozing from close to a dozen wounds, the adamatium covering the bone visible from his chin to just below his eye on the right side of his forehead because of the flesh being torn away.
Even as Peter watches the flesh knits itself back together. "I'll be fine in a minute kid," he growls savagely. More from the pain then any hostility he feels towards Spider-Man.
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Scott tracks the android Jean's chasing like a hunter, or sniper, leading his target, measuring his shot. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
He fires a full powered optic blast. A beam powerful enough to level a skyscraper. It hit's the lead android head on, square in the chest at an angle that sends it's fractured chassis soaring skyward.
The flagpole shivers rapidly from Kurt using it as a springboard to launch himself high into the air, but still falling away from the climbing android. He vanishes, a small pop and gray cloud marking his passage, and lands on the silver androids shoulders. They both disappear in a flash.
An instant later a pop and a cloud of sulfurous smelling smoke herald their arrival. Kurt vanishes as quickly as he appeared leaving the android buried up to his waist in the pavement, his momentum pulling it, and a large chunk of the pavement from it's waist down, arms dragging itself forward.
A lightening bolt slashes out of the clear blue sky blasting the androids chest apart. Another pair flash out of the sky, then a second pair. Each set striking the last two androids leaving them shattered husks plummeting from the sky.
Webbing snags the pair before they fall more then half way to the ground. "That seems just a little anti climatic," Peter notes critically as he lands on the ground next to Cyclops.
A thick layer of fog rolls in from directly under foot and quickly grows to encompass most of Manhattan dropping visibility to nothing. "Now if this a natural weather phenomenon…"
"The Professor sent Storm ahead, to land a hand." Jean informs the others lightly touching down next to Scott. She wavers slightly putting a hand to her head.
Scott's next to her in a heartbeat supporting her. "Are you all right?"
"Just a little fatigue," she replies with a nod. "I let the Professor know the situation is under control. He says good job," she says turning her attention to Spider-Man she adds, "and if you ever need anything don't be afraid to ask."
Kurt drops lightly to the ground as Scott steps forward extending his hand. "Thanks for your help."
"Mama always warned me about shaking hands with someone wearing body armor," Peter jokes lightly taking Scott's offered hand.
"Now all we have to do is find Wolverine," Kurt comments looking around.
"Yeah. About that," Peter begins. "That is one scary guy."
"Feel grateful he likes you," Kurt responds with a smile.
"Anyway, he said something about telling mama's boy, I'm assuming that's you," he says pointing at Scott, "that there was something he had to check out."
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Matt comes to a silent stop on the top landing of the fire escape less then a foot in front of the landing edge of the nearly solid fog bank. He had picked up the police reports on his micro scanner after getting in the cab. Having the cabbie drop him off a few blocks away, and changing into his working clothes he got over here as quickly as he could. Lightening bolts out of a clear sky, and then this pea soup thick fog had sprang up out of nowhere.
He takes a deep breath preparing to launch himself into an environment that is going to effectively blind him. Fog so thick its going to scramble his radar making it next to useless, but if the reports are accurate, that there is some type of mutant rampage going on then he has no choice but to go in and do his best to bring it to a stop.
Below him somebody burst from the fog, a wraith moving among shadows. A heartbeat so slow if he didn't have the man's out line he would think he had been imaging it. And something else, something that's vaguely familiar. An odor he had just smelt earlier tonight.
A cigar scent that clung faintly to Ororo. It's the same fragrance, only stronger. He knows it's a stretch linking the two, but they're both so close together he can't help linking them.
In a blink the man is past him and half way to the alley's mouth. Fifty yards in under three seconds and still his heart rate hasn't elevated in the slightest.
Making a split second decision, and with no hint of fear, he launches himself into the air with the precision of a professional gymnast. Silently, to human ears, his grappling hook reels him in as he swings after the spectar.
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Buffy allowed the slowly building buzz of the early morning rush to wash over her as she uses her keen sight to peripherally watch Robin as he leads the four young women through LaGuardia's terminal while scanning the crowd for, she supposes, her new step mom. Absently she listens to the former Principle of Sunnydale High School drone on about New York City. It isn't that she's not interested in what he's saying. Most of the time she would actually put a little effort into feigning attention, it's just with everything going on right now she has other things occupying her mind.
Her father, Hank Summers and the predicament he finds himself in. His new wife. The fact Willow has been nagging her to buy a home pregnancy test.
"Buffy," a soft, feminine and very dainty voice calls out from across the terminal. Almost instantly the tiny blonde's gaze settles on the ravishing olive skin, raven hair, and a very pregnant young Latino. "Buffy. Dawn," she calls out again with a broad, sweeping wave of her arm.
Faith glances back at Buffy. Shifting her bag on her shoulder as she moves. "B," she murmurs softly.
"I see her," Buffy responds altering her course angling towards the young woman without waiting to see if anyone else follows her. A woman who is maybe only a couple of years older then her.
Dawn bolts after Buffy trying to keep up with her older sister. A nearly impossible task given Buffy's head start and her determination to reach Isobel as quickly as possible.
Willow steps up besides the young teen, placing a gentle reassuring hand on Dawn's shoulder once she gets a good look at her troubled expression. Dawn looks over, eyes wide. "Is it my imagination or…"
"She's pregnant," Willow confirms with a nod.
Dawn's face scrunches up giving Willow a , duh, look. "I mean she doesn't look any older then Buffy."
Willow glances at Isobel, actually noted the woman's physical appearance for the first time -- aside from thinking that, even pregnant, she looks positively radiant. "You're right," she replies a little squeamishly as she remembers just how old Hank is.
"Buffy," Isobel greets the petite blonde, a warm smile on her face that doesn't touch her sad eyes. Stepping forward she pulls the slayer into an affectionate embrace.
Buffy stiffens at the unfamiliar touch, the invasion into her personal space. Only on the rarest occasion did her closest of friends ever get this close, personal, or intimate with her. Even Dawn knows enough to keep her distance, though she seldom does.
Isobel pulls back slightly sensing Buffy's discomfort. "I'm sorry," she says still grasping her shoulder. "Hank's told me so much about you," she looks over Buffy's shoulder, her smile broadening as she takes in the rest of the group. "And Dawn," she adds after a short pause. "I feel as if I already know you."
The tension in her voice, her grip is nearly a palpable feeling. Buffy relaxes, slightly. She didn't have any reason to dislike Isobel, aside from the fact she had married her father and is apparently pregnant with his child.
She shakes her head mildly allowing a pleasant smile to slip across her lips. "You just caught me off guard…"
"Something that doesn't happen very often," Faith interjects with a smirk.
Buffy shoots a razor sharp glare at her fellow slayer. A look that slides off Faith. If anything her smirk broadens that much more with the blonde's pointed look.
"I wasn't expecting…" She stops searching for the words.
"Someone nearly as young as you and seven months pregnant?" Isobel finishes for Buffy with just the ghost of a smile creasing the corner of her lips.
"That would be it," Buffy responds returning the smile.
Isobel reaches out, brushing back a stray lock of Dawn's soft golden brown hair. "Such a beautiful young woman," she murmurs softly. Then with a firmer voice she adds, "the pictures your father has don't do you justice."
"That's because all the pictures dad has of me are stupid little baby pictures," Dawn answers, her tone more then just a touch acerbic. "Well they are," she responds to Buffy's questioning glance. "It's not like he's gotten any new ones in like four years."
"Maybe we should get out of the airport terminal, and someplace a bit more private before you guys have this conversation," Robin comments looking around.
Isobel looks over at Robin, a mild frown marring her features. Before she can say anything though Buffy says, "you obviously recognize me and Dawn, but I should probably introduce the rest of our group. This is Willow, my best friend since we moved to Sunnydale. The brunette is Faith, a colleague of mine and lastly her boyfriend and former Principle of Sunnydale High, Robin Wood."
Isobel looks the group over before returning her gaze to Buffy. "There's something more?"
Buffy nods saying, "there's a lot more."
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Early morning light streams in through the large, stately bay windows suffusing the pallor with a gentle, comforting warmth. Charles looks around at the assembled group, a few battered lightly but none the worse for wear. Everybody is showered, cleaned, and ready to begin.
Kurt squats atop the mantle looking mildly out of place amongst the gold and silver. At the far end of the mantle, next to the study's double door, wearing dark sweat pants and a white tank top is Piotr. He still fumes at not having a chance to stand with his teammates.
Ororo sits at the end of the sofa, a warm cup of green tea, with a wisp of steam rising upwards, cupped in her hands. Marie sits at the opposite end of the sofa, her opera gloves folded across her lap. Standing behind the couch and just to Marie's right is her boyfriend Bobby Drake
Jean sits in one of the room's many stiff back chairs. Standing just behind her, his right hand resting lightly on her shoulder, is Scott. His face set in a pensive mask. Jean reaches up with her left hand taking his in hers and squeezing it tightly.
"We can safely assume that there is somebody else, some dark presence in the wings manipulating events," Xavier remarks.
"I take it you found something out," Scott says his voice sounding calm, collected except to those who know him. To them the anxiety in his voice is easily evident.
Charles nods his head, a tight frown creasing his lips. "More then I thought I would, Much more, though little of any real value. Some of what's there…" He stops giving his head a disturbed shake. "I'm not the first person to enter Hank Summers' mind." He looks up at Scott an abiding sadness glistening in his eyes.
"So he is my father," Scott growls out barely keeping his temper in check.
"He believes you're dead," Charles replies quickly. Hoping to cool Scott down before he can boil over.
"What!" Scott exclaims softly staggering back half a step.
Charles takes a breath cleansing himself. "The day after Felecia, your mother, told him she was pregnant with Alex he want to work just like always. Later that day he remembers the police arriving at his office telling him his wife and son wear dead. He remembers going to the morgue, identifying the bodies, holding the funerals, selling his business, and leaving. Traveling for nearly three years before settling back down in California." He stops gathering himself. "He found himself a job, quickly moved up the ladder until he was accounted one of the firms top money makers. There he met and fell in love with one Joyce Davis. They were married, had two children and lived happily for fifteen years."
"But something happened?" Jean inquires though her question sounds more like a statement.
Again Charles nods his head. "He started having dreams, nightmares really."
"About what?" Marie asks.
Charles shakes his head. "Hank doesn't know."
"It doesn't add up," Scott mumbles. "If he was working he had to be using his social security number."
"He was," Xavier replies, "just not the same one. Somehow…" He gives his head another shake. "He just began using a different one and it didn't raise any flags."
"Did he leave them?" Scott asks with vehemence.
Charles sighs, the resignation clear in the sound. "About seven years ago."
Scott turns around running his fingers through his hair. "Then it really doesn't change anything," he remarks turning away. "He may not have abandoned one family, but he did another." Jean quickly rises from her seat placing a calming hand on his shoulder.
"He's been trying to find out what happened to him," Charles responds patiently. "For close to two years his mind has had him in a mire. He remembers one thing, but his dreams have been hinting at something else entirely. He went back to Maryland, but couldn't find your grave. Not surprising since you're still alive. He found Felicia's, but the dates didn't match up. The death certificates were wrong, according to what he remembers anyway."
"Perhaps we should concentrate our efforts on who attacked us this morning," Ororo suggest wanting to move on from what is obviously a painful subject.
"Whoever it is they obviously didn't want us investigating the crime scene," Kurt remarks in his thick German accent.
Scott shakes his head saying, "it felt more like a test. Seeing how we react, what are capabilities are and how we function as a team. Every time we dealt with one android the next one was just that much harder for us to deal with, forcing us to switch tactics, come up with new strategies on each one."
"Then we can safely rule out Magneto," Charles says almost sounding relieved. "He knows full well what each of you is capable of."
"Somebody new," Bobby adds.
Charles nods as he says to himself, "someone who knows more about us then we do about them."
"Somebody that's gone to a lot of trouble to frame Scott's father for murder," Piotr contributes.
"So is it someone that has a grudge against Scott, his dad, one of us, one of his other children, or does the guy have the worst luck of all time?" Marie asks ticking off her fingers as if counting off points.
"Its the same person," Jean burst out softly, as if a sudden light bulb flashed in her skull. "Its got to be. Anything else would be far too big of a coincident."
"It is very possible you're correct," Charles replies with a nod. "Though that would indicate we're dealing with someone, who apparently has an inexhaustible amount of patience, an amazingly detail oriented mind." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "It boggles the mind, the amount of timing and planning that must have gone into this ploy."
"Why now though?" Ororo questions. "There has to be some reason why he would choose now to act."
"It could be a reason known only to him, or herself," Xavier responds.
Jean looks at Scott, a soft comforting light in her eyes. "At least we know your father isn't a murderer," she says after a moment.
Scott sigh softly at the statement. He still didn't feel any desire to discus Hank Summers. So his father hadn't abandoned them, he had been stolen from them. That fact did nothing to dissipate more then twenty years of pent up rage and anger.
"What makes you say that?" Charles inquires as he locks eyes with Jean.
"Logan had been very adamant about the fact that nobody died in that alley," Jean responds then adds, "not recently anyway," a little defensively.
Xavier nods lightly looking around even though he didn't have to. "And just where has our erstwhile companion gotten himself?"
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Matt lands nearly soundlessly in one of New York's cleaner alleys. The early morning sun warming his flesh as he takes in the alley's landscape. Only a light layer of grime covers the concrete, brick, and pavement. Cautiously he approaches the heavy steel door. It had only been a few seconds since he heard metal scraping against metal, then a sharp slicing sound, a door swinging open then close, but no click from its closing. There's nothing in the alley that would explain what he had heard.
That hadn't been the only strangeness he has witnessed since beginning his chase. The man himself moves like the wind. Close to twenty miles, back and forth, zig zagging his way across, what seems like the entire city. Sometimes over it, sometimes under it. If Matt didn't know better he would think the man knew someone had been following him. Considering all the facts he has though that has to be close to impossible. At least he thinks it should be, but who knows.
He pulls the door open, an incredibly loud noise to his own ears, but barely audible to anyone else's. He's mildly surprised to find himself in the receiving area of a department store. Conveyer belts and boxes, clothes still in their plastic bags hanging from overhead conveyers. And there isn't a sound in the building.
Running his fingers along the door casing he finds the reason why the door hadn't clicked shut, the handle mechanism and deadbolt were cut clean through. He feels a chill run up his spine as he wonders what exactly could have cut through hardened steel that smoothly, like a razor sharp blade slicing butter. Entering the building he shoves his fear aside, the man that came in here just before him might have answers to his client's case. Answers that he is determined to have for himself.
Matt's fairly certain now that man knows he has been followed, and that he is very good at keeping himself hidden. Matt might not be able to hear him, his heartbeat or his breathing, but he could still smell him. Normally he didn't like to rely on his sense of smell when tracking somebody, but right now he didn't really see where he has a choice.
Suddenly he picks up quick, rapid movement as seven small objects coming hurtling at him from the left. He ignores them since none of them were going to come anywhere close to hitting him. All of his attention instead focuses on the man who had thrown them. A good six inches shorter then him, but possibly just as broad through the shoulders.
Then the first bottle hit's the concrete, shattering, it's contents spraying the area and Matt realizes his mistake. He hadn't thought about how the man would have known he was being followed. A man with senses as keen as his own would have no problem picking him up. He would also have a good idea how to effectively neutralize that person. Render their senses nearly useless. A second and third land not far off with similar results. The perfume's strong odors, mingling together, is nearly enough to make Matt lose his last meal -- however long ago that was.
Matt quickly jumps away from the overwhelming aromas even as the other four bottles of perfume shatter and flood the air with their own individual fragrances combining with the others to make something truly nauseous. Smothering his urge to vomit he easily locates his adversary. His footfalls, while extremely quiet for someone sprinting across a grated catwalk, are loud in Matt's ears.
Just as Matt takes off after him, he drops over the side of the catwalk, more then twenty-five feet to the floor below. Matt listens as a series of switches are flipped, suddenly motors come to life, conveyer belts begin moving. Matt stops covering his ears for a moment as he concentrates on blocking out the extra sensory sounds and zoom in on the man.
Looking up Matt braces for an attack that isn't coming. He had disappeared again, and this time he couldn't even isolate his aroma thanks to the perfumes sickening odor flooding the room. Two senses down and touch wasn't going to do him a whole lot of good. He had the feeling if he got that close to the man without spotting him it is going to be a relatively short and one-sided fight.
His head snaps up as a slight sound thunders in his ears, his radar homing in on the source and there he is. Crouching low on the conveyer belt overhead. As soon as his head moves a low guttural growl erupts from between Logan's lips and he launches himself at his pursuer.
Logan knew he had picked up a tail almost as soon as the red clad wonder began following him, but he figured a game of cat and mouse would be a relaxing way to end the evening. It hadn't taken him long to figure out his senses must be as acute as his own, maybe even better. Logan didn't really know, didn't really care all that much either.
The sharp rasping of steel sliding against steel fills the air as his claws spring from the housing in Logan's forearms emerging from between his knuckles. Matt dives out of the way only an instant before his query turned hunter hit's the ground. Spinning around, his cane springing into his hand. He reaches out hoping to catch Logan before he has a chance to recover.
Logan's claws however slice through the weapon with ease throwing Matt off slightly. He moves in sensing the opening. Matt recovers quickly himself, his foot lashing out, slamming into Logan's gut with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. He flips upward, twisting in the air, his other foot slams into Logan's skull, only it's the lawyer that stifles a groan as it feels like he just kicked a steel I beam.
Logan reigns in his bloodlust, retracting his claws. He wants information not a corpse and in the middle of a fight its easy enough to get the second even without his unwanted assets.
Matt again quickly regains his bearings as he ignores the pain shooting up his leg. He launches a ferocious assault against his opponent. Most Logan manages to avoid, dodge, or block, but a few land clean.
A sharp blow to the throat, a punch that would have had any other man on the ground gasping for breath slips in. Instead of falling like Matt expects Logan's left hand grabs hold of Matt's right forearm and twist savagely as a low growl rumbles deep in his chest. Matt tries, but can't break the vice like grip. In less time then it takes to blink Logan latches onto Matt's throat with his right hand. Matt lashes out again, punching Logan as hard as he can in the chest to little effect aside from the throbbing in his hand.
Taking a different tack he slams his knee into Logan's right side. The next moment he feels his right leg taken out from under him as he's slammed to the unforgiving concrete floor. The force of the blow knocking the air from his lungs. Desperately he sucks in a lungful of oxygen as he manages to kick Logan in the left side of his head knocking him astride and rolling to his feet free of Logan's hold.
Logan shakes his head, a glare of mild annoyance flickering over his face. "I'm trying real hard not to kill you boy," he growls.
"Don't do me any favors," Matt mutters a moment before he launches his next attack.
Logan smiles as he slips to the right of the incoming punch. Then to the left of the next one as he throws a hard punch of his own that misses by a bare fraction of an inch.
Matt spins away from the hard knee driven towards his ribs throwing a wheel kick of his own that Logan ducks underneath. With remarkable muscle control he flips up and over, his heel catching Logan under the chin and knocking him back a step while he lands on his feet with grace and ease facing Logan.
"That tears it," Logan mumbles as his claws spring forth.
Matt dodges a wild slash then barely manages to avoid getting skewered by the uppercut from his other hand while connecting with a solid punch of his own. Then it's back to dodging again as Logan's claws slice through a conveyer belt behind him.
A quick left followed by a hard right to Logan's head barely even fazes him. Again Matt is forced to duck under a vicious swing. Slipping behind Logan, landing several punches to Logan's back. He then catches the spinning slash and flips him up and over attempting to take him to the ground.
Logan however manages to land on his feet back to back with Matt. In one continues movement Logan uses the momentum, his new found leverage, and an animalistic surge of adrenaline and strength to flip Matt over slamming him back into the concrete floor.
For an instant Matt feels the world drop away from him with the force of the impact. Like a drowning man desperately reaching for safety Matt struggles back to awareness. He feels the keen pressure of Logan's knuckles pressed into his chest right above his heart. He can also feel Logan's other hand against his right temple.
"Got anymore fancy moves boy?" Logan growls in a soft whisper.
"Give me a minute or two," Matt replies as he begins formulating a course of action.
Logan chuckles at that. Its not a sound Matt finds overly reassuring. "You've got balls kid. Now tell me why the hell you were following me before I chop them off and shove them down your throat."
"Where'd you get the idea…"
"The nose knows," Logan cuts him off.
The comment confirming Matt's suspicions. It means the man can identify him by scent alone. His senses might be on par with his own, maybe even superior. Its the first he's ever encountered someone like himself.
"Did a fair job of staying out of sight." Logan continues sounding as if he's deep in thought. "Which means you weren't using your eyes to keep tabs on me."
"Who are you?" Matt demands. He feels the pressure on his chest increase minutely.
"Just in case you don't know how this works. I ask the questions, you give the answers."
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Katherine, Kitty to just about everyone that knows her, Pryde looks askew at the slightly older Jubilation Lee, or as nearly everybody calls her, Jubilee. Despite the fact that she had been here longer then Jubilee she didn't have the older girl's presence or personality. Her force of will. Still anybody could see that plan of action is a road leading straight to a quantifiable disaster.
"And how were you planning on us leaving the campus?" Theresa Rourke Cassidy, or Siryn as most people -- because of her power -- call her, questions as she sits down next to Kitty across from Jubilee. "surely you're not planning on trying to fool the Professor."
"Of course not," Jubilee replies as if the idea had never crossed her mind.
"Then how are you planning in getting us off campus?" Allison, Alli or just Al to nearly everyone at the school, Crestmere inquires.
Jubilee looks around at the three other girls. Allison is the oldest of them, Theresa the youngest, while Kitty got the best grades, but Jubilee is the drive behind the quartet. The engine that keeps them running.
"What I was planning was to ask Ms. Munroe if she could assign one of the older students to take us into the city. Once there it'll be easy to ditch them and do our own investigation. Maybe find the person that's responsible for screwing with people we the care about." Her response becoming more vehement at the end.
"How are we going to do that?" Theresa asks. "Even the X-Men haven't been to find a solid clue."
"I never said it would be easy," Jubilee replies flippantly. Then she becomes serious as she adds solemnly, "we take care of the people we care about. No matter the risk or consequences." Years of living on her own, with only a few friends she could truly depend on had taught her that.