Author's Notes: Well, reviews have kinda plummeted in the last two or three chapters, which is kinda discouraging. So...I won't post anymore chapters until I get four or five on this one. Or a mix between this and the previous chapters. It just makes me feel like I took a wrong turn somewhere and it's nice to know if I did or didn't. To those faithful reviewers (Windy!), thanks!
Disclaimer: Ultimate Spider-Man is not mine. Nor are any of its characters. That's Marvel's job. Any Original Characters and art you note, however, are all me. No. I'm not making money. Don't rub it in.
Chapter 21 - Tart
Sam drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself as his eyes roamed the area that contained him. It did little good. The laboratory was just too freaky. It held a blue tint in the dim lighting across its wide length, an air of suspense in its space-agey architecture. And while various holographic screens littered the steel walls like on the Tricarrier, it felt far from homely. There was a niche with a sink—an area for disinfecting or cutting. It led the Hispanic's gaze from the thick pipes along the ceiling to many cords across the otherwise pristine floor. Whatever; those sights were normal as well. The long line of beds, however—now those weren't so normal.
They hung from curved, steel supports that were attached to a thick beam of the same material that ran just below the eight-foot ceiling. They were surrounded by rubber bumpers and hydraulics at the top hinge, so Sam felt confident assuming they could slide across the beam like a hoist for the handicapped. It would explain how he could fade in one moment with four beds close to him then fade in another time and there's only one bed that's close.
He studied them, noticing two beds were occupied by figures covered in long, white sheets. The figures remained deathly still atop the thin mattresses, asleep. Yet he found himself envying them in a way. His hanging restraints from the meat room had only been exchanged for another kind. Yeah, his sore, cramped arms were no longer above his head, but stretched out from his sides was no better. What he wouldn't do to lie down for once…if only for a little bit.
"Boy, you must be desperate, coveting such a state," a smooth voice said. Clear amusement rung in its Southern drawl, and its following chuckle drew Sam's narrowed eyes to a man below. Dressed in rich leather, a smirk across his weasel face, he looked up with every amount of superiority. And boy did Sam hate it when he was on the receiving end of that look.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam snapped with a dry throat. "And what's with the Southern Bell accent?"
"Have you forgotten my face already? All well, you were half dead when we found you to begin with."
"Where are the others?"
Slowly, the figure raised a thick, groomed brow. "Now why would a fellah like you care? Didn't they kidnap you?"
"Not all of them are guilty of that," the hero grumbled, eyes returning to the figures he couldn't quite make out.
The leather-clad man followed his gaze and began walking towards one occupied bed. "Strange, ain't it, to think that these folks are some of the most powerful mutants on the planet?"
Sam's glare soured. "Is that what you do? Use your powers to track down other mutants for experimentations?"
"Ah, you remember I'm a mutant then?" The man chuckled then lifted a lock of red hair from the figure in bed. "You can call me Ghost," he continued as the thin strands fells through his fingers. "And yes, I do track mutants. And humans. Animals. Objects. For whatever purpose. So long as I'm paid, I don't care."
"Sounds like someone else I know," muttered the teen, a disgusted frown on his face.
"As for my accent—"
"I don't give a shit. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a mutant!"
Ghost flashed a creepy as hell smile—one that tensed Sam's outstretched limbs. He couldn't form a fist or curl his toes inside the steel shackles that swallowed his hands and feet like hungry snakes. He tried ignoring his sinking stomach and throbbing wrist when the older male meandered to the foot of the metal arch Sam's whole body spread inside. But he couldn't.
"Wh—what?" the Hispanic spat.
"Oh, there's room in the Doc's research for folks such as yourself as well."
"What Doc? You don't mean…Octavius.'
Ghost blinked at Sam's whisper. "Octava-who?"
"Hannigan!" A new, sharp, voiced echoed through the room. It was followed by a series of hasty clicks and a huff, which lead Sam's gaze to a woman with strict features and unflattering medical tunic. She glared with cold eyes below her straight-cut bangs as she stalked closer, and added "What have I told you about messing with my subjects?
"But I'm bored, Doc," whined Ghost like a small, Southern child.
The woman stopped before Ghost, flipping her long locks of blonde hair over her shoulder with one hand. "Then go spend your money."
"It's not as much fun without Ashley to bother."
"Well she's otherwise occupied. In essence, the group failed."
"As I predicted."
"Uh-huh." The woman lifted the figure in her arms, saying, "I have new plans for them…Since you're here, help me with this girl."
Ghost required no further explanation. And didn't complain, like it seemed he would. He hoisted the slender figure over his shoulders far easier than the Doc had then slid each of her hands and feet into shackles like Sam's. The Hispanic didn't need to see a face to know who it was; he already recognized the red scales across tanned skin. In a two piece uniform with no sleeves and little shorts, they clearly ran from her webbed hands, over her boney shoulders, down her long sides, across her toned stomach, and down to her webbed feet that flattened slightly like flippers. Sam thought he saw nubs along her protruding spine—like something was supposed to be there that wasn't. The sight passed too quickly, though.
"Was she easier to manage than the bird?" Ghost questioned, stepping back to eye Thera's body. Subconsciously, Sam found himself growling. "Do you fancy the little lady?" the man added with a chuckle.
Sam shook his head. "Nah. I just hate pigs. Unless they're on my plate."
"Afraid you're the one on the cutting block, my tart friend," countered Ghost before he followed the Doc to the niche from earlier. Their conversation sounded muffled over the sound of rushing water, so Sam brought his attention to the redhead that moaned gently beside him.
"Thera?" he called softly.
"S—Sam?" she whispered back. She sounded awful.
"Yeah, I'm here."
"I—I can't see…" Her orange eyes were wide, vacant. They didn't look clouded, though. Only glossy.
So Sam sighed lightly in relief and rested his head against the metal slab. "I think it's temporary," he said under his breath. "How do—"
The redhead sniffled. "I—I can't believe I'm here…I tried so hard. I—"
"Come on, Thera. Keep it together. We won't be here forever. We just"—he paused with a hick—"we just got to hang on long enough that—"
"That what?" interjected the Doc. Uh, when did she get so close? "If you're expecting a rescue, don't. My labs have been running for five years, and not one of them has been compromised."
A small smirk quirked up the corner of Sam's lips. "Well, I'm sure you haven't taken a SHIELD agent before, either."
"I—I don't think you should be goading her, Sam," Thera whispered from the side.
The blonde ignored her, looking less than impressed. "SHIELD? What a nuisance. I'd rather not bother with their kind, but seeing as how Ghost had already taken you"—she paused to send the sheepish brunette a pointed look—"I figured I'd give you a chance."
"A chance for what?" No, he didn't really want to know. This felt too much like the start of an unwanted reveal in a video game.
"Ghost thought you may have been a mutant as well, so I ran your blood."
"And that's supposed to mean something?" the Hispanic spat as the blonde glanced over a chart he hadn't noticed before.
"Yes," she answered. "Its results are what saved your life."
Sam dared swallow the dread and nausea, and asked through shaky breaths, "How? I'm not a mutant."
The Doc slowly glanced up from the report with a coy smile across her pretty face. "No," she said, soft, "you aren't. But your children will be."
"Uff da, I can't believe you did this, K…" Zeelan's accented whisper went unacknowledged in Solitary. While it was logical, it didn't mean she liked it. Or accepted it. Her cheeks puffed out with a breath. Then, she stepped closer to the glass wall she once thought she would never be outside of. "Oh, come on, K. Talk to me. Say…something."
"What do you want me to say?" Kevin snapped without glancing up from his slump against the cell's back wall.
"How about 'I'm glad you're okay'? That's always a nice start."
"You lied to me."
Silent, Z drew her jacket closer to her body. "Yeah…Sorry. But—"
The brother scoffed interjecting with his own Midwestern accent as he said, "You had a plan. Sure. You see how well that turned out."
"I got out of solitary. With Danny's help."
"Danny?"
"Come off it. He's Iron Fist, and he's helped me a lot."
"Oh, of course."
"What's the matter with you? I thought…" She frowned and placed a gentle hand against the cool glass. "I thought you would be relieved to see me."
"Really? To the person who left a fake note? I've been running across New Jersey looking for traces of a corpse thanks to that! I took that SHIELD kid because I knew they had captured you. And you"—his blue gaze rose and narrowed—"you've been playing house?"
"House arrest."
"I've been stressing over how scared you must have felt—what the group's next meal will be—how to finally escape The Trackers. And all this time you've had the chance to escape yourself."
"It may seem like I have freedom, but I don't, K."
"Sure…"
Zeelan glowered when her brother rolled his eyes. She knew, at heart, he was hurt. This was simply how he dealt with hurt—though the pain was usually directed at a punching bag and not his sister.
"Fury's gathering information on where the Trackers could've taken the others," the white-haired mutant said in an attempt to keep peace. "It could be any one of Collier's bases, or even an unknown one. So they're searching."
"You're working with Fury? Is that how you got out?"
"No"—Z returned K's glare—"I'm not giving SHIELD anything. Spider-Man and his team are different. Danny helped get me out of isolation. He…kept me sane while he and his friends helped clear my name. I haven't barreled out of here because I owe them for that."
"You don't owe SHIELD anything."
"They aren't SHIELD!"
Kevin lolled his head back with a scoff. Apparently, he was tired of looking at his sister. And, frankly, the novelty of seeing him had worn off with his attitude. Zeelan had expected at least a relieved smile, a grateful glint in his blue eyes—especially since he had been the one to give into SHIELD to see her. But no. His change since Enderlin had proven too great, and now…he was growing cynical about her, too.
"K," she called tenderly. He wouldn't look away from the wall and something sparked in Z, forcing her away from the glass enclosure. "Fine. If you want to wallow in hate, go ahead. But the brother I know and love wouldn't abandon his role as protector so easily. I won't apologize for staying here. I'm needed. It's my turn to protect someone else. So until you're ready to talk without being tart, I'll be focusing on that."
The teen didn't wait for a reply. She couldn't. And she knew there wasn't going to be one, either. Kevin always did better when he mulled things over in his mind. He'd been arrested just a few hours earlier. Maybe he needed the night to calm his emotions. Yeah. Then they could talk like siblings again. And questions could be answered. Hopefully.
The mutant sighed as the door hissed shut behind her. There were knots in her stomach that tightened as she strolled down the hall and even seeing that a guard hadn't been posted outside couldn't ease the stress. Great, Fury trusted she wouldn't break out. Boo, the reasons for that were sulking in solitary and fighting for life in the medical ward. Ugh!
'I need to focus on one thing,' Z thought, rounding a bend towards more halls. 'The others are in control of finding the group, so—so my head should be about practice. I gotta help Danny. I gotta…learn to call him fast? Get him to remember. Make him fight the poison. Call him with my spirit. Right; practice that. Call him. Call him. Call…'
"You again…"
Zeelan froze then blinked. When had she left the Tricarrier? And why…did Danny stand before her? He wore the same green and gold garb as when they last spoke. They weren't surrounded by the beautiful image of K'un-Lun, however, which only worried the mutant that much more. She was in the Dark Realm. With no guard against Swilla Iku's effects.
"D—Danny?" the white-haired teen asked lightly. "Do you still not remember who I am?"
"I do not understand why you keep calling me," the blonde answered, distant. His consciousness may not have been fully present, but at least he acted more open towards her, more like himself.
"Oh, why wouldn't I?" she countered with a little smile. "You have family waiting for you, and I'm the only way they can reach you."
"My family is dead," Danny noted under his breath. "Both my parents were killed by my father's business partner. Master Kung and the monks are my family now."
"You have others." A sense of pleading desperation crept into Z's words—in spite of the horror she wanted to express over his parents' murder. The blonde twitched at them, seeming to note her honesty.
"What others could there be?"
"Your team. Spider-Man. White Tiger. Power Man. Even, Nova would be concerned if he knew, I'm sure. I don't know their names, but you do. You're close to them. And they love you. You can't turn your back on them."
"My…hero team."
"Yes."
Danny fell silent. Like in the garden, his eyes remained cold with thought, his head tilted down. Good. Hopefully, more memories returned. Tick. Tick. Was there even sound in the void? No. But Zeelan needed something to concentrate on so her mind would ignore the slight prickling on her skin. If she panicked, Swilla Iku would sense her more—Doctor Strange had said so.
"Fortune cookie," Danny suddenly mumbled.
"What now?" Zeelan replied.
"Peter…he calls me Fortune Cookie. I don't mind it."
"Who's Peter then?"
The blonde hesitated. "My…brother. He fights a lot with Sam. Those two always have words for each other. But it's healthy…sometimes."
"Do you mean Nova and Spider-Man?" Zeelan's brows rose when a light smile crossed Danny's face.
He didn't look up, but continued by saying, "Ava scolds them a lot—like a true big sister. And…I usually stand by my best friend, Luke."
"Power Man."
"I think… I miss them."
"Of course you do!" Stepping closer, Zeelan reached—and this time grasped—Danny's firm arm. His eyes snapped to her face, their natural life easing back with each passing second. She grinned in relief when he glanced at her hand then back at her face with a new kind of recognition.
But it was cut short. A masculine voice echoed in her ears so loud she couldn't hear Danny's next words. The force plucked her from the Dark Realm, shaking her astral form like a cocktail, until her consciousness landed in her body. Bright lights radiated ahead of her and she groaned at a tender pain in her face.
"Miss Weir"—Coulson leaned over her—"Are you alright?"
"Why am I on the floor?" Z questioned to the middle-age man surrounded by a halo of white.
"I was walking down the hall and passed you," he answered as she touched her stinging nose. "You looked…possessed, honestly—I'll say it. There was even drool. And when I called out to you, you sorta grunted then ran into a wall. What were you doing?"
A twitch settled in the mutant's eye. "I was talking to Danny."
"Without Strange?"
"Yes, without Strange. Obviously. And I was making a breakthrough!"
"Oh…so I take it you didn't want to wake up."
"You think?"
"Sheesh." The agent grimaced, helping the teen sit up. "You don't have to be so tart about it."
Zeelan glanced at him then face-palmed.
Author's Notes: The climax is brewing, but until reviews are left...Well. :P