Part VIII

Pryde and Mourning

Kitty Pryde woke up in a sterile, cold, white cell, with a shimmering field of light for a door, wearing an inhibitor collar. She was lying on a hard, white surface that she supposed was some sadist's version of a bed. She groaned, and then sat up slowly, shaking her head.

"Katzchen?" a voice filled with tension called from across the room, "Are you awake?"

Kitty looked through the force field to see a cell identical to her own across the hall, holding Kurt Wagner, the demonic-looking man who had become like a brother to her. He was wearing a gray jumpsuit with the number 4201 in the upper right corner. She was wearing the same thing, except hers said 4509.

"Kurt," she said blearily, "What's going on? Where are we? I remember the sentinels… Kurt, the children, did they-?" she was alert now, sounding tense.

"Calm down, Katzchen," Kurt soothed, "The children all got away. Were at a holding facility called Camp 00789, and, as far as I can tell, we're here for questioning."

"Questioning? About what?" She asked.

"They want to know where the children are." Kurt said grimly, "No one's planning on enlightening them."

That made Kitty's notorious temper flare "Why those-" she started, and continued by calling the people in question a string of swear words that would have humbled a sailor. What gave them the right to condemn anyone, let alone innocent children, to the half-life lived by the mutants in these camps? How could anyone be so sadistic, so cruel? She paced the cell, ranting, for a long time, while Kurt waited patiently until she calmed down. Finally, she asked, "Where are the others?"

"Lorna, Alex, and Piotr are still unconscious," Kurt began, sounding anxious once more, "I haven't seen Bishop anywhere. They took Storm and Wolverine with them a while ago. Bobby is reforming." He gestured with his tail to the left. Shouldn't Bobby already be reformed by now? She thought.

"Why is it taking him so long?" she asked.

"Inhibitor collar," he replied, "Logan was healing slowly as well."

"Is that all of us?" she asked, slightly confused, "where did everyone go? Did they take them somewhere else?"

Kurt was silent for a moment. He didn't want to make her more upset than she already was, but he couldn't lie to her…

"Katzchen," he said slowly, "Hank, Warren, Betsy and Remy didn't make it."

Kitty sat on the cot, in shock, staring at the wall. How could they be dead? How could this happen? She wasn't crying. The tears would come soon, she knew. Everything just felt cold right now. Cold and surreal.

"Scott. What happened to Scott?" she said, her voice sounding dead, even to her.

"He…he died on the way here," replied Kurt, silently cursing himself for not saying Scott's name with the others. But he hadn't wanted to remember. Somehow, it was as if saying made it more real. And, more than anything, Kurt was hoping this was some kind of nightmare that he'd wake up from. Kitty just nodded and continued staring at the wall. Her inactivity frightened Kurt more than her bursting into tears would have. "Katzchen…?" he said hesitantly.

"I'm fine!" she snapped back at him. There was silence. Kitty got up and started pacing the room again, staring at everything as if it had committed some unspeakable crime. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. The X-Men spent their whole lives protecting these people, and in return they were murdered! Slaughtered! Thrown away like so much garbage! She kicked the wall, which didn't accomplish anything except making her foot hurt. She wanted to…to do something about it, to show these people how much pain they were causing the X-Men, the families of the dead…her. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears of pain, of anger. She wiped them away violently.

Kurt watched all this, his heart breaking for her. She needed someone. To be there with her, so that she could release all of the emotions that were building up inside of her. So that she could cry.

Kurt gathered his strength. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to 'port at all wearing this collar, and if, by some miracle, he was able to, it would most likely be very painful, not to mention utterly exhausting. He wouldn't be able to do it more than once. But he had to try. Kitty needed him, and Kurt was never one to ignore someone in need. He waited a few more moments, sending up a silent prayer. Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name…BAMF.

Kurt appeared a fraction of a second later, by Kitty's side, half unconscious, feeling worse than he'd felt in his entire life. He stumbled over to the bed, and collapsed on top of it.

"Kurt!" cried Kitty, and ran over to him, "Kurt, are you alright? Why did you do that?!?! It could have killed you!"

"Ah, Katzchen," Kurt said smiling, his voice betraying how much the 'port had cost him, "You know I could never resist a damsel in distress. You didn't really think I'd leave you over here all by yourself, did you?"

Kitty started to laugh, but ended up sobbing into Kurt's shoulder. He sat there, and held her, and rocked her back and forth, murmuring comforting things until she fell asleep, completely drained. It had been the worst day of both of their lives; truth be told, Kurt was just as upset as Kitty was, but Scott had told him to look after his team, and Kurt would never deny a friend his dying wish. So he sat there holding Kitty, and put his emotions aside. They would have to wait.

Part IX

No more hiding

A few hours later, Kurt heard a door open down the hall. He gently set a sleeping Kitty Pryde down on the "bed" and moved toward the force field, to peer into the hallway. They were dragging an unconscious Wolverine back into the room by the arms; it looked like he'd gone down fighting; his claws were out. They shoved him into a cell; Kurt was surprised to see that it was humans moving him; he would have expected sentinels. They began to walk down the hall and check the cells one by one, looking in on the prisoners. They stopped when they got to his. They looked around, almost panicking until they saw him in Kitty's cell. He wasn't hiding. He stood tall, defiant. Let them face what they had damned. They turned off the force field and dragged him out roughly. He fought them every step of the way, even though he was too tired to see straight, and he felt like his whole body was on fire. Somebody smacked him on the head with a club. He stopped struggling, dazed. He promised God he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his screams.

Part X

Déjà Vu

Piotr Rasputin woke up in a cold, hard room, full of cold, hard objects that barely qualified as furniture. He didn't know where he was, and the only other person he could see was a mostly-regenerated Iceman in a holding cell across from his. Bobby didn't look like he really wanted to talk (Colossus wasn't even sure he could right now) so he called out, "Katya? Kurt? Scott?" and hoped for an answer.

"Piotr?" Was the immediate reply from somewhere to his right. "Piotr, are you alright?" It was Katya.

"Yes, Kitty, I am fine. Where are we?" he asked.

"We're somewhere called Camp 00789, according to Kurt. For questioning." she answered.

"Where is everyone? I can only see Iceman from where I am, and the only other person I have talked to is you."

"Warren, Hank, Betsy, Remy, and Scott are dead," she said quickly, as if wanting to get it over with, "Logan's here…I tried talking to him, but he just growled at me. There's something wrong with him. They took Storm a long time ago; no one's seen her since. Kurt said that Lorna and Alex were here somewhere, and that he hasn't seen Bishop at all. Kurt was in here for a while, but I fell asleep, and now his cell is empty…" she trailed off.

Piotr was shocked. So many dead? In one day? How was it possible? He felt incredibly sad, as if he had lost his family all over again, as though someone had ripped a hole through him. He sat in silence for a while. "Did the children get away?" he asked eventually.

"Yes," said Kitty, "that's why we're here. They want us to tell them where they are." The very thought made Colossus angry. How could anyone think that they would be as vile as to hand innocent children over to people who wanted to hurt them?

Before he could really think about any of the information he'd just received, Kitty and Piotr heard the door open. They moved to the front of their cells to see what was happening. It was Kurt. They were pulling him in by the arms. He looked terrible. His feet and tail were dragging on the ground, leaving faint streaks of blood on the tile. He looked semi-conscious; his eyes were open, but unfocused. There were lacerations all over him, and what looked like electrical burns. The humans shoved him back into his cell and walked off.

"Kurt? Kurt?" Called Kitty when they had gone, a note of hysteria in her voice.

"Katzchen," came the hoarse whisper, "Don't worry, I'm alright. I want you and Piotr to promise me something, ja?"

"Okay," Kitty said, "What is it?"

"Don't do anything to make them angry unless it's absolutely necessary." He said.

There was silence. "Promise?" The voice was strained; he wasn't going to give up unless they gave him their words.

"Okay, Kurt. Promise," said Kitty quietly.

"I, also, Tovarisch," replied Colossus.

"Good. Now, try not to get into trouble until I wake up, ja? Though, with you two, that's probably impossible." The voice had a forced lightheartedness to it. He was still trying to be upbeat, optimistic, as always. Piotr listened to Kurt's breathing slow and sat down on his bed. Their stay here was not going to be pleasant. He knew it, and for the first time in a very long while, he was afraid.

Part XI

Welcome to Hell

Kurt lay on the cot in an uneasy sleep. His tail twitched in agitation, and he kept shifting, turning. "Nein, Nein…Bitte, Nein!" He muttered softly, flinching away from something that wasn't there. His tail twisted around his leg. He was reliving the worst day of his life.

They had taken him out of the room, down a hallway that had looked exactly like the one they had just come through, full of cells holding other mutants. Most were unconscious. A few looked up at him with dead eyes, their spirits broken. He wanted to stay, to comfort them; he tried to slow the guards down, make them stop. He pulled against them, twisting around and trying to make them lose their grip on him.

"Move, ya stinkin' mutie!" snarled one of them. The other kicked him hard in the stomach, and he doubled over. They kept pulling him onwards. He lost track of where they were going; everywhere was the same. They started passing empty cells. For the children, He thought. That made him angry, gave him strength. He stood up, walked. He wasn't going to let them drag him anymore. They moved through dozens of identical corridors, until they came to a set of black doors. The guards opened them, brought him inside, and chained him to a steel bed frame. The chains bit into his wrists and ankles. The next few hours would be Hell.

They weren't even trying to get information out of him. They were just beating him, whipping him, cutting him. They gave him electrical shocks that could have-should have- killed him. They didn't want anything, they were just punishing him. They laughed as they did it, joked. He didn't scream, or whimper, or plead. He just took it, over and over again. Physical pain was bearable. At least they weren't punishing the others. He thought of poor Scott, how he had died a captive, in pain, without hope. He didn't want that to happen to anyone else. He would do anything to prevent it.

When it was almost too much, when it got so bad that he thought he HAD to scream, he would pray softly in German. It gave him strength, increased his resolve. He could endure this. He would.

He didn't know how long he was there. Maybe a few hours; it seemed like an eternity. When they finally released him, he tried to stand, but couldn't. They dragged him back the way they had come.

On the way to his cell, they met some workers moving what looked like stretchers. The guards called cheerfully down the hall to them, and they replied in the same tone. Then one of the gurneys they were rolling in front of them fell over; its wheel had been broken and had jammed, causing the entire thing to topple onto the ground.

What Kurt saw next hurt him more than anything the torturers could possibly have done to him. When the stretcher fell over, the white sheet that had been covering the thing on top of it fell off. It was a scene from his worst nightmare.

Ororo now lay sprawled on the ground in front of him, dead. Her clear, blue, sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, her bloodstained costume half-on, half –off. The prospect of what they'd done to her made him feel physically ill. The look on her face was proud, defiant; like she had fought until the end. Kurt was sure she had. That didn't make it any better.

He forgot about the pain. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that he could barely move for exhaustion, didn't matter that he still couldn't think straight because of the electricity that had been running through his body that day. All that mattered was that Ororo was dead, and that she was just lying there, staring at nothing…

"Nein!" he yelled, and lunged forward violently. The guards weren't expecting him to try anything, so they weren't prepared. He threw them off and ran to her side, knelt next to her, even as tranquilizer darts hit him in the back. He felt the life draining from his limbs, felt the irresistible pull of darkness, but he denied it, rejected it for a few moments longer. He reached down with trembling fingertips and closed her eyes, then sank into oblivion, collapsing on top of her.

He barely remembered waking up, barely remembered being put back in his cell, or making Kitty and Piotr promise not to make the guards mad. All he really remembered was her eyes staring into space, and that look that told him to keep on fighting.