AUTHORS NOTE. Ohboy.

So. Lately I've been getting a lot of reminders about this story (or so it seems in my head… one or two in reality, but I haven't updated in ages so I figured it was worth diving back into it). I don't know what distracted me, but I am going to do my best to engage in this story now. This and another story that I have on a different account, but that, my friends, is a minor detail. This is a bit of filler before I jump into plot. :D

So… here we go! Enjoy!

Even though it was really late when Stryker barged into my apartment, after giving me my time to pack, he informed me that we would be flying to 'base'- wherever that was- right away. The plane wasn't even a bloody plane. It was a monster!

…Alright, that was a tad bit over exaggerated. But none the less, it was the largest damn plane that I had ever seen. None of the men had said anything, they all looked very professional… or like they were avoiding me completely. Either way, I didn't mind. I was in my baggy navy sweatpants and a white thermal. My jogging sneakers encased my feet and I couldn't be any more content with the lazy outfit that I was in. It was a lot more comfy than that dress I had been wearing.

The plane itself was some sort of military plane- a carrier or something like that? Maybe I should have paid more attention to my brothers when they would rant about being a soldier when they got older- and I closed my eyes as we took flight.

"Afraid of flying?"

I scrunched up my nose at the man with katanas, scoffing, "No. I get motion sickness." It was partially true. I just didn't ever like flying. He grinned,

"Sure, that's what they all say. Y'know, if you need someone to cling to, I've got a free arm. My other arm has to hold my swords. Do you want to know what I like about these swords?"

"Not likely," I said, "And no, I don't want to know."

The man wasn't listening though, he reopened his yap and started talking. I completely ignored him and got lost in my own head.

I had a great grandmother who lived in Michigan. Every other year for Christmas, my father and mother had us fly, all nine kids and themselves, from Oregon to her house. I usually got stuck with my two younger brothers, Timothy and Felix, and they would toss trail mix at the innocent people in front of us. Whenever one of the victims would turn, the little shits would point at me and look at the accusing person through their little boy eyelashes. I wasn't ever willing to dump my brothers into trouble, even if it meant me getting in trouble, so I would only look down and apologize.

Later, Quincy, my favorite older brother, would come over and slip me a piece of gum. It was the same way every trip and through all of that I would carry a bucket with me, because every trip at one point or another, I would up chuck my breakfast.

The trip always made me sick to my stomach, but it was worth it because each time we got to Grandma's house she would be waiting with a glass of water and a fresh plate of steaming snicker doodles. We stopped flying over when my great grandmother passed away when I was nine.

But that's besides the point.

My stomach twisted, and even after fourteen years of getting older, the plane still made me ill. Once we were airborne, I pulled my knees to my chest and yanked out my Cosmopolitan from my black purse that I had jammed water, trail mix, and my magazine into.

Breathing deeply, I tried to concentrate on the words on the page rather than the jumps that the plane seemed to be making. But not only was the katana man's voice like a little buzzing in my ear, but then the man with the tight face who was wearing a suit spoke.

"Can't you find anything less trashy to read?"

Looking up at him, I saw how his nose was upturned as he read the cover of my magazine. I flipped it shut and read over the cover. A woman in a green dress that only wrapped around one shoulder with brunette hair looked up at me and I read the print on the front.

'Why Older Women are in Higher Demand' Hm, I guess that can be seen as trashy. I didn't admit that out loud though, "Can't you find a less tacky tie to wear?"

His hand flew up to his neck where his tie was and he frowned. I grinned cheekily before putting my magazine away.

I cleared my throat and rubbed my temple as the plane jerked again, "So, you all know who I am. Who are you guys?"

"I'm Christopher Bradley. Chris is fine though."

To my surprise, the man with the round nose spoke up. He hadn't said a word during the whole ordeal.

"Yeah, Christopher does seem like a bit of a mouth full," I commented lightly.

"The name's John Wraith. No fancy little nick name. Just John," the man with the dark skin and hat piped in with a tiny tip of his hat. The motion was so tiny and played on that it was almost mockingly done.

There was a large chopping noise, like a snapping crocodile, that ran through my head as a bulldozer. I tilted my head toward the man with the fresh tattoo who was chewing on a protein bar with a wide open mouth.

"My name's Frederick Dukes," as he spoke little meteoroids spewed from his mouth and even as he sat several feet away I was grossed out, "Everyone calls me Fred."

I lifted my hand to feign wiping off my face with a tiny sneer on my lips. I hoped that it would fly right over his head, my little insult that is. Honestly, who wants a hefty, beefy man angry with you? Even with that in mind, I still poked fun at him without saying anything.

He didn't catch on after a few seconds, he only stared. So I ventured a question.

"That's new ink, yeah?"

I noticed right off the bat that Fred didn't really have many emotions. So far I've seen dull eyes- which I had mistaken for sad the other night.

"Yeah," he took another loud bite, "What of it?"

"Nothing really," I said, looking at the tattoo for a while. It was of a pinup girl. I didn't understand why someone would get a pinup girl tattoo. I personally always thought that tattoos were supposed to mean something; a tattoo is with you for life and it should never just be for show.

"It looks like your artist used a disposable needles. And they definitely used a liner needle for the whole tattoo. I think that's heavy metal based ink that they used. That would probably explain the reaction that your skin is having; your skin is rejecting the metals. It's more red then I've seen before, that's for sure," as I said this I scratched my cheek lazily as I remembered what I knew, "You probably should of waited until you found a reliable artist."

For some reason Fred took offense to what I said.

At that moment the plane gave a sickening dashing movement and I almost lost my stomach. I groaned softly and put my hand over my mouth for a moment until I was sure that I wasn't about to cover Fred in vomit. I looked expectantly at the man with the katanas as he snickered at my unease.

"I'm Wade. The guy with the tacky tie is Zero. And that wet cat over there," the katana man gestured to the man with the canines who was sitting turned away from everyone, "He's Victor Creed. You'll be wanting to stay away from him. He has… temper issues."

"Wade," John said in a warning tone.

Victor didn't turn around. He didn't have to. He flexed his hands dangerously and if I hadn't been watching it wouldn't have mattered. As his dingy fingernails grew out, sharp as ever, you could hear it. Like knifes sliding against each other, the nails sprung out.

"Home sweet home?" I muttered, plenty ironic.

Stryker chuckled and threw his arm around my shoulder as he led me inside the base. We had gone by several soldiers, all who didn't look toward us other than to send me a questioning look. I suspect that the team doesn't really get much female company.

I looked at Stryker's arm and then at him. I guess he didn't see my glare because he began to speak. Behind us were the other six guys, all that I had learned the names of.

What did I think of them?

Well, let me put it this way. My stay might be a little rocky and painful.

"It'll be your home as long as you stay here. And we plan on having you here for a very long time. So get comfortable," Stryker waved off some more soldiers and we walked though some metal doors.

Looks a bit like a prison entrance rather than a home doorway.

"Just don't get too comfy," Stryker added with a glance to the men.

I scrunched up my nose and pinched his hand, lifting his arm off of me, purposely very slow in order to get a point across, 'Don't think that we're buddy, buddy Mr. Stryker, because we aren't.'

"You don't have to worry about that. I'm not sure how comfortable you can really get…"

I trailed off as I took in the room around me. There was a television and two large couches and a couple of old leather reclining chairs. The walls and ceilings were a sheen silver and all of the doors that I could see were a dark black metal.

There were mini fridges uhm… 'strategically' placed around the room so that no matter where you were sitting, you could reach for the fridge. What was in the fridges? My best guess would have to be beer because cans were all over the floor, on the couch, and overflowing from the trashcans. Different colored wife beaters were scattered across the room, disposed of without a second thought and shoes sat in pairs around the room, all in different sizes, usually untied and turned over. Plates were staked on every table and cigarette butts were skewed all over. I spied a book or two, both of which were flipped open to random pages and folded over to indicate a reading place. There was a stack of cassettes near large speakers and on top of the pile was a can that looked as if it were about to fall off. I couldn't find any sort of clicker for the television. There was a darts board nailed to the wall and, sure enough, a mountain of darts were idly lounging on the floor.

That was only what seemed to be a recreation room. Looking around I saw an open door which lead to a half bathroom. The seat was completely up and the tiled floors looked like they hadn't been washed in ages. I didn't dare look at it any more once I saw a little roach scurry across the floor.

The kitchen, which was almost a part of the living room, was full of dishes, stacked so high that the stacks themselves might have been taller than me.

Then again, being taller than me isn't much since being five foot two isn't much.

The sink looked like it hadn't been used since the dawn of time and the cabinets were all open to reveal their empty insides and the fact that the men did not like to snack on pretzels, judging by the huge untouched bin of them.

Who doesn't like pretzels?

I stepped over a few things and then turned toward the men. Stryker looked around the room more and Zero sneered in disgust. I guessed he was a neat freak. It only made sense to me in my mind, clean cut suit, jelled back hair, the whole sha-bang.

Wade, who seemed to be the biggest smart-ass around this place, then asked, "What? Did you just realize that you aren't in Kansas anymore?"

I didn't say anything. I just looked around once more. I could hardly see the floor as paper and blankets and- what were thoset?- porn magazines laid there silently. I picked up a dirty magazine and raised an eye brow before tossing it aside with a blank face.

I looked down. I was standing on top of a old pizza box- So that's what was squishing under me- I stepped off. I picked it up off the ground. It started very breathily before it rumbled in my chest and then it jumped out of my mouth. I laughed.

"This is great, I feel like I just jumped into my house ten years ago."

Flipping open the pizza bow open I doubled over for a moment with delight, "Exactly like my brothers side of the house, right down to the nearly empty box of pizza with the half eaten slice and the forgotten jalapeño."

I recovered quickly, mashing my lips together to stop my silly grin. My brothers and I weren't exactly on speaking terms. Sometimes thinking about them would be a brass knuckled punch to the stomach. So I avoided thinking about them.

I didn't like seeming awkward so I continued to inspect the room. The team, besides Wade who always had something to say, was really quiet. I'm sure they were apprehensive. Their manly 'crib' was being invaded. Or maybe they were sexist pigs. Or maybe they doubted my powers.

I wouldn't be impressed with me if I was them. I was rude and bitchy and well, I was me.

I shifted on my feet, "…So where am I staying?"

After being dumped into my room, I moved around my bags and boxes that had yet to be unpacked, trying to seem busy to myself as I thought. There are seven if you include Stryker, but there isn't much to know about him since I'm sure he's a scheming old man. The least dangerous seems to be Chris. He was the first to introduce himself on the plane. Victor definitely seems to be the most dangerous.

I flipped my wrist to look at my watch. I had been walking in circles in my room for about an hour, and my stomach was empty and crying out for some chow.

My mouth was mint fresh with a hint of stomach acid. Yes, I had up chucked the tiny amount of food that I had in my stomach from the wedding when we touched the ground. Once we were off the plane, I quickly asked where the bathroom was. I only got half of my answer before I took off in a quick stride.

I exited my room, closing the door quietly behind me. The set up of the Evil Lair- which I had dubbed the area since I was convinced that it wasn't the Head Quarters of a Justice Force- was fairly simple.

There was what I called the 'Danger Zone' which was the recreational room, the kitchen, and that nasty bathroom. It's the Danger Zone because I wasn't sure if I could ever walk into that area without the fear of tripping on my face. Next there was the 'Livable Corridor', which is one of the two hallways that is connected to the Danger Zone. It's where all of the rooms are I suppose, along with a ton of other rooms that I have no idea of what is behind the door. Then there was the 'Unexplored Overland' which was the second hallway that I wasn't given an explanation for.

I padded down the Livable Corridor, counting the doors. There were sixteen doors not counting the door at the end of the hall. I came to the end of the Livable Corridor and leaned against cave mouth of the Danger Zone. I counted the six mutants, more than happy to see that Stryker was MIA.

Edging about the room, I idly decided that I would eventually have to clean up. No one wants to have to be cautious about walking in a living area bare foot. I especially didn't want to have to worry about whether or not I would step on old food. When I mention old food, I mean really old food. The kind of food that is molding over and wreaks of slow decay. I had chosen to keep my shoes on. Oh, and trust me when I say that was a good choice. Not that much longer after I began further looking over the common area, my foot squished.

Well, my foot didn't squish; the half eaten banana that my foot fell onto squished. Come on now, just think about it. If I hadn't been wearing my shoes, the brown mush would have seeped up from in between my toes and later I would have had to clean under my toe nails. It would have been just disgusting. Which is why I decided that, without a doubt, I would be cleaning the common area.

"I'm not a typical preppy little gal, but I can't deal with this," I muttered more to myself than anyone else, motioning sharply to my gross shoe. The thought of possibly having only socks on when it happened or nothing on my feet at all made me a bit squeamish. I gagged. If you can't tell, I don't like anything associated with my feet. Nothing at all… other than the occasional happenstance of clipping my nails, painting of the nails, or when I can somehow persuade a mildly attractive man- or several of them- to give me a foot massage. But look at me, I'm rambling now. I balanced on one foot to survey the damage. Scrunching my nose up, I leaned over and picked up a random pile of partially dirty napkins that according to the pattern on the tissue was from a pizza place. All of the banana eventually was off my shoe. I made sure that the trash ended up where is belonged. IN THE RUBBISH. Not the floor boys. I wanted to rant, but I chose not to. There was no need to seem like the OCD mad woman.

Not this soon anyway. You end up being a bit anal when it comes to organization if you have several strands of information attacking you at all angles if you don't have some sort of control. Control over the mind and how you intake that information. How I take in that sort of information through touch and through my extensions.

After cleaning up I took a seat on one of the couches. I was sitting next to Fred, as far as possible from him, and on his other side was John. I glanced at the both of them, but they didn't bother to acknowledge me as they sipped on some bottled beer. The thought of alcohol brought me back home to Dan. I wondered just how smashed he got, if he made a fool out of himself, and who he ended up screwing the hell out of. I pitied the poor soul who got stuck with him. And suddenly I was missing home and in need of a gin and tonic. But honestly, who knows guys who keep those things in their bachelor pad?

Or in this case, military base. Or whatever it was. 'Great,' I thought, 'Who knows how long it'll be until I can get my share of decent alcohol.' I leaned back further into the couch and winced. No one likes a lumpy rump-rest.

"Uncomfortable?"

I looked up, irritable once I realized who it was. Of course it was none other than Wade. He was standing in front of me, his overly beefy- muscle-y, whatever- arms crossed. Resisting an almost reflexive eye roll, I twisted around and fished into the cushions to find the source of my discomfort. I yanked out a toy in surprise. I blinked several times in horror.

"THERE'S MY YOYO!" Wade cried out enthusiastically. All right, so that bit about blinking in horror was another exaggeration, but that is a minor detail. In my hand was a collector item that all of my brothers had once avidly protected. Yes, a yoyo from a cereal box. The sleeveless mutant stepped forth, placing his legs leaning against my knees and reached for the yoyo expectantly.

"…" I scanned over his face once, "What do you want."

The ignorant asshole wedged my knees further between his legs, "Oh, nothing."

Narrowing my eyes, I lifted the yoyo up, "This wouldn't happen to be what your pestering me for, would it?" Before he could open up his troublesome trap again, I twisted my finger into the yarn and gave a flick of my wrist.

THWACK.

The yoyo beat right between his eyes and then tumbled down to the floor. Hell, it hadn't been part of the plan for the yarn to come off my finger. It also wasn't the plan to hit him in the face. Looking back on it, it was far more interesting that way. Fred was letting out a full laugh. Wade's eyebrow twitched and he clenched his fist. And then his fist made his way over his shoulder.

Over his shoulder and toward his lovely weapons. My first reaction was something along the lines of, 'Bloody hell, I'm going to die.' My second reaction was to lift a leg up and thrust my foot against his chest to move him away. Though my foot only met a full wall of muscle, it was enough to push him back a bit. That's when I made the best escape that I possibly could. Rolling over the arm of the couch and scratching my way to my feet was easy enough. There was no thought, because my third reaction was, 'Calm the not-so-little nut job down!'

"You know, more than likely Stryker would not be overly thrilled if I went on the first mission in slices. Or dead. Either or, you feel me?" I said as calmly as I could, my fingers locked in a knot behind my back. He watched me teeter back and forth on my feet, and I watched him lift his katanas out of the sheathes.

Review? Just let me know what I'm doing wrong, or even right, so I can cater to the needs of the consumers.