Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

14. FoH

By the time the plane landed in Salt Lake City, Creed's body had finally managed to get rid of all the drugs slugging thorugh his veins. Food and six hours of sleep had further improved his mood and he no longer felt on the verge of a berserker rage. So, even though he wasn't completely recovered, body and mind still asking for a decent hole to climb into and sleep, he moved in on the Friends of Humanity's headquarter with a fairly clear head. The fact he didn't have to think about Irbis just yet was another factor helping his clear thinking.

It was almost midnight when he evaded all the nifty alarm systems by entering through the top floor. Nobody ever considered forced entries from above. Well, most nobody. Apparently, Friends of Humanity were suspicious enough to have installed an alarm on the door that gave access to the terrace. Looking around for another entrance, his eyes noticed the fans of the air-renovation system. Had they been maniac enough to install alarms there too? A careful inspection awarded him a negative and he swiftly entered the system.

He didn't have much room inside the ducts, but he didn't plan on being there for long. Soon, he dropped down in the middle of a corridor. Now, which way to the big hush-hush secrets? He moved vigilantly on and then, as he was about to circumspectly turn a corner without being caught by the rotating cameras, he froze. Sniffing the air, he ascertained he hadn't been tricked. That was Irbis's scent. What on Earth?

"But I caused dis, Mister Creed! I have to help of..." The memory flooded his brain all of a sudden. "Explain me about dem… I don't ask to help again, but explain, please."

Of course. She hadn't said she wouldn't try to help, she had just said she wouldn't ask to help again. But... the card... Did she mean to contact the X-Men to come and get the ass-holes? Or... or what?! Taking a deep breath to once more clear his head, Creed waited until the eye of the camera was looking somewhere else then disappeared down the corridor.

Soon he found a waiting room where Irbis had been a long period of time. Curiously, there was also the smell of detergents and pharmacy. Paying closer attention, he found the scent of blood underneath it all. He frowned. Nobody had been killed, since the scent of death that would have hung in the air would've been unmistaking. And whoever had been hurt had had prompt medical assistance. It stood to logic that Irbis had tried to kill somebody but succeeded only in hurting her vic and being escorted out, for later disposal of. However, the scent of blood was stronger where she had sat – an armchair where her scent remained strong – which was also where the scent of pharmacy was stronger. So it was Irbis who had got hurt... but why would she be attacked and then given medical attention? Something didn't fit.

Deciding to leave the puzzle for later, Creed looked around him. The door with wooden panels over a metal core got his eye. The absence of a key hole promised a nice prize to those who dared – and managed to – cross it and he took a closer look. He could find a way around it, if he wanted; but he was rather put out by the materialisation of the run-away where he had least expected her and wasn't in the mood to waste time on subtleties. Studying the way the door was attached to the door frame, he realised it had metal bars entering the walls on all four sides. He wouldn't be kicking it in easily. Growling, he considered going around and entering through the window, however, it begged the question if the room even had any connection to an outside window. Such an easy entrance would make the bolts ridiculous, and since they had been cautious enough to predict a possible break in from above... He studied the walls. Taking a few steps away from the door, he scraped the white plaster with his claws. He was pleased to peel the thing and discover no metal core but wood panels and insulation material. It didn't take much to open a hole through it and discover the inside room had been panelled with metal, lead to be more precise. Fortunately, it was a thin sheet that Creed easily kicked in.

As expected, the room had no windows. The first thing he did was sniff the air methodically. He identified three different scents, men. One of them was vaguely familiar, although he couldn't place it. Then he went through the pictures on the walls. Graydon Creed, the founder, had ben awarded two pictures, whereas everyone else had only one. Creed studied their features for later reference. He'd need to connect them to a name and, ideally, to a scent. Finally, he sat at the desk and switched the computer on.

Naturally, the screen came alive with an immediate request for a password. Such a secure place would surely boast a secure network, which meant frequent password changes. Too frequent for memorising. Scanveging the desk didn't help much, but the locked drawer rewarded him with a bright pink post-it sporting a line of random characters. Perfect. He picked it up and smelt it. Now he knew who sat in that office most of the time.

kY4b4v22K1. The computer bipped loudly, warning the password was incorrect and please check if the the Caps Lock wasn't on. Creed frowned. Maybe the ass-hole wasn't such an ass afterall. The question was if the password was simply inverted; if a couple of the characters were purposively wrong, having to be left out; if it was inverted in groups of two or three; if it should be inserted with the Caps Lock on so as to invert the capital letters; if... If. If. If. How irritating!

He started with the obvious: 1K22v4b4Yk. Bip! Incorrect password.

Creed studied the numbers. What if the password had already been changed and this was obsolete? It had ten characters. It didn't seem too many, but it did seem odd that there were repeated numbers.

kY4bv2K1. Bip! Incorrect password.

kYb4v2K1. Bip! Incorrect password.

1K2vb4Yk. Bip! Incorrect password.

1K2v4bYk. Bip! Incorrect password.

Ky4B4V22k1. Bip! Incorrect password.

1k22V4B4yK. Bip! Bip!

And the network opened up for him. With a sigh of relief, he searched for the database software where their victims' names were listed. Soon, he was searching for Maria Irbis and bingo: there she was. It didn't have a picture, although there was an empty space for one, which was very good. He left the name as it was but changed the birthdate and state of origin. Then he swapped a few numbers from her driver's license and mixed up both the car make and the license plate. Finally, he changed the street name from Lily to Lotus and the door number from 5 to 15. He looked at the name again. Maybe he'd change it after all: Marty instead of Maria and Iris instead of Irbis.

That was it. Now he needed to find where Irbis was. For that, he decided to search the computer for a database with information on all the employees. It took him some good ten minutes, but he found it.

Every individual was associated with two different sets of identity and had two different emergency numbers linked. He guessed that each number identified a different procedure for disappearing into another identity, but didn't bother to look into it. Now, which employee should he pick as his informant?

Going through the list, emergency number 001 caught his eye. It was associated to a name without a second identity. Odd. He searched more names connected to emergency 001. There were a dozen names, and each had a letter in front of the 001. Curiouser and curiouser. He clicked one of the names – Jonathan Norman – and faced an address from another state. He clicked another – Henry Truman – and found an address for New York. Finally, a third one – James Birskin – had an address for Salt Lake City. Grinning, Creed checked the names and addresses for the entire dozen, actually jotting them down on the bright pink post-its. Those would be the current big bosses of the group. Of course they would change names and addresses after tonight, but who knows what precious information they would still warrant him.

Creed was about to leave when a thought struck him. Going back to the employee database, he searched for the most recent admissions. One had that day's date. Or the previous day's, since it was already past midnight. The name was Mary Olive. Such an inspired name! It had a picture of Irbis, though, looking thoroughly dejected; and little other information. Unfortunately, it had no emergency number or address. Creed deleted that record and left the building.

Irbis was wandering through a bleak dreamscape when she was shaken awake. Taking a deep breath and blinking hard, she was forced out of the bed by an arm. She didn't understand what was happening and, for a moment, thought Miles had been ordered to get rid of her. Suddenly very much aware of everything around her, she started wondering what had happened. Had they discovered she was the Irbis caught being nice to a false mutant? Or had they checked that her insinuations about Europe were false? Neverhteless, she didn't do anything that could be even vaguely construed as resistance. And it was just as well, because she had hardly decided she'd been discovered when Miles let go of her.

"Move!" And he picked up the sports bag he had brought with him.

So they hadn't discovered her yet. Then... The man didn't leave her time to think and once more grabbed her by the arm, nearly dragging her down the stairs and into the parking lot. Mister Creed! He must have attacked and they were relocating her. She obediently got in the car and buckled up.

"Where do we go now?"

Miles didn't look at her. No problem. Mister Creed had got her used to less civil behaviour than this. And trained her well, too. She didn't insist immediately.

After a few more minutes, though, she tried again. "Did dey find me?"

The man was driving, his lips tight, and she was aware he was both upset and nervous.

"I'm dead," she stated in a low voice.

The act was successful. The man huffed and puffed, then shook his head. "We're going to pick someone up, then we'll be gone. No traces."

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