IT LIVES! Anyone who reviewed -- thanks much! and we're quite sorry about our surprise hiatus. (Blame curt.) ;-D Sorry if it's a bit choppy.

kmf's stuff: no, it was both of our faults. enjoy!

curt's crap: yeah. so...here goes.

-----y-o-u-'r-e---p-u-s-h-i-n-g---a-n-d---f-i-g-h-t-i-n-g---y-o-u-r---w-a-y-----

Chapter Eleven

As soon as the rivals spotted each other across the hill, the battle was engaged. Everything erupted into a furious flurry of motion, explosion.

Evan Daniels sprouted his spikes like a porcupine and rushed headlong into the incoherent fray, screaming a wordless battle cry. He had come into the Resistance as a bit of a rogue. A mutant out on his own. He had cut ties with his former affiliation, the X-Men, a while back. His own aunt ran Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters now. He had scoffed when he had heard about it. No one had ever said what happened to that uptight bastard Scott Summers, but Evan figured he got what he deserved. Then Auntie O had taken over after Xavier was killed. Nothing said on how that happened either. Figured. All in all, sometimes the X-Men were more secretive than underground factions that Evan had run with now and again. More or less though, after he had cut ties with the X-Men, he had stood on his own. Until the Resistance had come along. Now, here was a "family" that he could feel with. Underground, upstarts, devil-may-care. Leader was impressive -- a lot like Evan himself: hard-headed and brash. Yeah, the Resistance was where he belonged.

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Kimana was being herded away with the rest of what in her mind was termed "end-spectrums" -- the young and the old, as well as the sick and wounded.

"Marie! Marie!" Kimana had a bad feeling about this entire battle. They were two leads of two very different worlds going against one another. It would not end good. The question was who would fare better.

"What, Ki?" Marie asked, still encouraging the people to continue on behind Naomi.

"I want to help them. I've got a bad feeling about this, Marie."

"I --" Marie didn't want to tell her she couldn't, because Marie herself had full plans of turning straight back and heading out to the fight after everyone was to safety.

"I need you to watch me. Or Naomi or someone. 'Cos I can project myself. It'll come in handy, I think."

"Ki..." Marie said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't, honey. I need you to help me and Naomi and Jubilee out with the crowd. The children have taken a shine to you, doll."

"Yeah, but more so to you, Marie. And you're going to leave. I can see it in your eyes, Marie."

Marie bit her lip. Damned telepaths. She couldn't lie to someone as astute as Kimana.

Kimana sighed. "Fine, Marie. Just come back in one piece. I'll cover for you."

"Thank you so much, Kimana." Marie smiled and started to head back.

"Marie!" Kimana called after her. Marie whirled around. Kimana stood, people passing around her, straight blue-black hair half obscuring her face. Keep an eye on Stuart for me, if you can. And Remy. Don't let him get himself into trouble. And watch yourself. Luck.

Thanks, Marie thought back.

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It was chaos the minute the two armies clashed. John had lost sight of Remy ten minutes in, but he had spotted Marie as soon as she dove into the array. Gearson was taking a machine gun to any mutant who came within a foot of where he stood, Myra doing most of his dirty work. He was pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get to Gearson, but everytime he got close somebody jumped in his way.

Marie was back on the fucking field. He'd expected her to stay away, but he shouldn't have held his breath. She'd gotten a gun from somewhere, and wasn't wielding it too badly. Must be that gator-defence from her southern childhood, he mused, wry and darkly. He turned back to his goal though, toasting whoever the hell had been in his way.

He was going to get to Gearson, come hell or high flames.

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Adrenaline rushed through Evan's body. Perhaps that why he didn't feel it. He was lost within the rush of the battle, in the thick of the mortal army, spikes shooting from his arms and back. He was charging through to the other side, close to where that asshole Gearson and his little elite bodyguards were on the knoll, with their Uzis.

Evan had it all planned out: he'd shoot the bastard right through the centre of his forehead, a bone spine fired from his wrist.

What he didn't realise was that Gearson had him beat before he ever got the thought finished in his mind.

It was the sudden chill -- that massive shock to his system that rapid bloodloss will do -- that alerted him to the fact that he was suddenly in possession of a losing hand, as Remy might have said. He stood stock-still, stunned, and -- it all seemed to be in slow motion to him -- looked down. His chest was red, coating his favourite silver loose fishnet tank and olive-drab undershirt. He could see the holes the bullets had made. Six, seven... Then he was falling, the sensation and nausea competing with each other. He heard foreign exclamations as he was caught before hitting the ground, his back instead of hitting grass and dirt, meeting the solid brace of a leg. French. It was Remy who'd caught him. In a disconnected part of his brain, he realised that, but there was only one thought on his mind.

I'm dead. And I didn't tell Auntie O a goodbye.

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Something was wrong. That much he knew as he stood before Gearson. The man hadn't shot him yet, that was the first clue. Standing only a few feet from the man, he knew that it had been a choice, because Gearson was looking right at him.

Smirking, he lit his flame throwers and yelled, "You just gonna stand there while I kill you?"

"No, because soon you won't be able to. Myra!" Gearson yelled. Something blue and shimmering went up around them, just as the teleporter appeared before him. No time was left for him to react. Her fingers touched his temple and the ground beneath him seemed to disappear. It was so silent, he finally willed himself to look around. He was on the battlefield, but no one was there. Except Gearson and Myra.

"What's going on?" he asked, eyes narrowing dangerously as he attempted to flick his flame throwers on. To his surprise, they weren't there.

"My world, my rules, Johnny boy. No powers," Myra tsked. Realization hit him like a brick wall. Mind control. She had taken over his head and brought him into her own, into a world that she could control. All the time he had spent with Kimana, though, had taught him how to build up mental blocks and kick someone out of your head. He was already at work on it when Gearson spoke.

"Why don't we just end this here? I'll call off my army if you and your people agree to a few terms," he said.

"What kind of terms?" he really was curious, but that didn't stop him from fighting to build a wall up around his brain.

"You can all register and live your lives like normal people, without the public knowing who you are. Only, I'll need a few of you to... study, if you will. Just so we can better understand your kind. So we can try to make things better for you, as well as us," the man replied. Already, John could hear the noises of the battle, distant but there. He knew what 'study' meant. He wanted mutants to experiment on.

"No. No way am I gonna hand over a few of my own people just to satisfy your curiousity. Screw that," he growled. With those words, the last of his mental block fell into place and he could see the mutants fighting the humans again. Smirking, he threw one of the fireballs. It hit Gearson in the shoulder. As he lifted his hand to throw the second one, he noticed the force field fall away and Myra moving. Still, he threw it, just as she threw herself at a badly wounded Gearson. They disappeared before the fireball could hit them.

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"John!" he heard Remy yell. Turning to where the shout came from, he found that the human army was retreating, but someone was down. Someone important. Someone from his side. He rushed to the crowd of council members and pushed his way through. Remy was kneeling, a shaking Evan Daniels braced against him. Several bullet wounds riddled the young man's torso, painting his olive-drab shirt an ugly Indian red, staining the leather of Remy's duster and the denim of his jeans. Remy looked up into his leader's questioning eyes as John dropped down beside them, but the Cajun shook his head.

"He ain't gon' make it, mes amis," he announced softly, knowing Evan already knew the truth as well.

"Call -- call my Auntie...Auntie O," Evan told them, eyes searching John and Remy's, his voice weak. "She..."

"Who's your aunt, kid?" John asked, a comforting hand on his dying comrade's shoulder. Marie answered for him, Evan closing his eyes and grimacing in pain.

"Storm."

John just stared for a moment. The gravity of the situation stunned him. He hadn't forgotten the white-haired, hardened African woman, and quite frankly had no wish to ever encounter her and the X-Men ever again. "Shit," he spat softly before nodding to Evan: "We'll let her know, Ev, I promise. Just don't talk anymore, man; it'll only hurt worse."

The young man nodded, eyes squeezing shut tightly as he started coughing up blood. Finally, a moment later, he stilled. Brown eyes opened for one last view. They didn't close until Remy gently slid his hand over the dusky face.

(The lyric in the page break is from "Violence Fetish" by Disturbed.)