Medusa snaked through the warehouse, between crates, ruffling up dust. It was empty, and dark, her black eyes easily making her way through the dark. She came to the entrance of the truck opening, and looked for a door in the floor, and couldn't find any.
"They'd better not have sent me in here for nothing," she hissed to herself, putting her hands on what would have been her hips if she weren't a snake. She looked around the large, open room. The walls were lined with large crates, five or six high, with other crates stacked in a haphazard "If I was going to have a secret entrance on a warehouse floor, where would I put it?" kind of way. She snapped her fingers, "Under a crate!"
She darted to the stack of crates nearest her, wrapped her body around the bottom one, and nudged it as gently as she could along the floor. It made a scraping noise, and she stopped, listening. When she heard nothing, she began to move the crate stack again. Underneath it was nothing but floor. She moved another one, and it too, was nothing but floor.
"This is getting annoying," she muttered. There was one more stack in the middle of the floor, and moving it revealed...more floor.
"Nnnn!" She looked around in annoyance, and saw, along the wall, one stack of crates that was perfectly stacked. Their corners matched up, their sides matched up. She slithered over it, and saw it had already been moved, revealing a trap door.
She darted over to the open window, and gave the signal. In a few moments, the other three were in the warehouse with her.
"Good girl," the Phoenix stroked Medusa's shoulder.
"Not bad, little sis," Aries said. "Time to open it and see what's inside." The ram bent down, took hold of the ring with his large hands, and heaved. The door opened slowly, so that Arcos came over and got one side of it to help. With the two of them together, they pried it open, the air compressing hinges hissing as they did.
Medusa covered her nose. "That smells awful."
"Like some sort of chemical," Phoenix added.
They all looked at each other, and then at the open trap door.
"I'll go in first," Arcos said, "Aries, you're after me. Then Medusa, then Mama can bring up the rear."
Each of them nodded, and they descended into the dimly lit room. The stairs ended at a long hallway. There was a soft, faintly pink light in at the end of it. Walking down gently, they noticed that the floor was the same strange metal they had come across in the T.C.R.I. building. Staying near the wall, they worked their way to the doorway, and peeked in. There were no robot-riding brains or spaceship-riding brains, but only one lone human standing at the other end of the room. He was wearing khaki pants, and a brown wool sports coat. His white hair peeked through the bottom of a fedora.
"Turn around real slow, buddy," Arcos said, as the three of them entered the room.
The man did as he was told, and all four of them started with surprise.
"You're Jack Kurtzman!" Aries exclaimed.
He held a digital camera in his hand. "You're the Children of the Phoenix."
"You know who we are?" Arcos asked. All them still had their weapons drawn, pointing at him.
"Yes," he said. "Lots of people know who you are." He then turned his eyes to their mother. "You must be the Phoenix herself."
"Yes," she drawled out slowly.
"You're difficult to get a clear photograph of," he admitted.
She raised her eyebrows in doubt. "I am, eh?"
"You are good at staying the shadows," he continued. "Most of my photos of you are from...before."
"Before what?" she asked.
"Before you were kidnapped by the Kraang."
Phoenix almost dropped her slingshot. "You know that?"
"I know lots of things. I know you are Phoebe Laferrier, 'one of the most watched up-and-coming poets in America'," he said the last part with his reporter voice, "and before that, you were Phoebe Trice, one of the star gymnasts for your University, and one of the heirs to Trice Industries . I know you were kidnapped by the Kraang, and you were experimented on. And I know you go around the city, doctoring up mutants and the homeless."
"How do you know this?" she asked again, in a whisper.
Arcos stepped in front of his mother protectively, "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I'm researching the Kraang," he said simply. "But I am surprised to see you here."
"Why?" Medusa slithered forward, so that she was in the front of the line, her body undulating dangerously.
"I'm not the enemy, Medusa," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm trying to do the same thing as you, stop the Kraang."
"How are you trying to stop the Kraang?" Aries said, swinging his ax lightly. "You gonna blind them with the flash on your camera?"
"How do you know about us?" the Phoenix asked, her slingshot still drawn.
He smiled. "Through my research. You," he nodded toward her, "are known by lot so mutants, many who've never met you. Mutants don't have a lot of doctors among them." He then motioned to the rest of them, "The Children of the Phoenix are closely allied with The Grey Cat gang."
The last sentence gave Phoenix a twitch.
He nodded toward Aries' ax. "I'm on your side."
"How can we believe what you say?" Aries asked, taking a step forward.
"I have a gun in my waist band," he said, putting both hands in the air. "You can check if you want."
Medusa was on him in an instant, lifting his sports jacket. She then patted him down, her little hands quickly flying over his body, and then turned to the others. "That's all he has."
They put their weapons away, and looked around the room. It was filled with what looked like giant graduated cylinders. Inside each one was something that looked like a mix of animal and human that had gone wrong, their bodies a warped mismatch of parts.
"What is this place?" Arcos asked.
"It's a storage facility," Kertmzan explained. "This is one of the places where they keep their failed experiments to study."
The Phoenix walked up to one of the beakers, it was about four feet tall, and filled with a pale green liquid. In it floated what looked like a cross between a llama and a person. All four of its legs were that of the llama, it's head was human shaped, but had the llama's nose, mouth, and eyelids. It's torso was warped, some of it llama, some of it human, like a jigsaw puzzle poorly put together. She could tell from its naked body that it was a girl. She touched glass gently. "The poor creatures," she said. "This must be what happened to Aetos."
"Aetos?" Kurtzman asked.
Phoenix didn't answer him.
"Why are the Kraang doing experiments like this?" asked Medusa.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But I am going to find out."
"How did you find out about this place?" Phoenix turned away from the jars and looked at him hard.
"My research lead me here," he said.
"What research?" Arcos came to stand by his mother, almost twice her height and more than twice her girth.
"I've been researching the Kraang," he put his camera in his coat pocket. "They've been around for thousands of years. They are doing something with our genetics," he motioned to the jars around them. "With the genetics of every kind of living thing."
"How are you conducting this research?" Phoenix asked, "to know about us. And so much about the Kraang?"
"The Kraang are intimately connected to the mutant population. It is the mutagen that makes them," he motioned to them in the room. "All of you."
"We already know that," Medusa said with a slight hiss, her body continuously undulating around in circles about him. "She asked you how are you conducting your research."
"By observation," he looked surprised that they didn't know that.
"You've observed the Kraang changing people in the mutants?" Aries asked. "You've observed us?"
"Not directly..." his voice trailed off. "I have observed the Kraang transporting mutagen from one location to another. And I've gathered enough information to know the mutagen transforms those who touch it."
"Then how do you know about us?" Aries came over to his sister, towering over Kurtzman.
"I've seen you in action," he gestured to Arcos and Phoenix, to include them. "You're all very impressive."
"What else do you know about us?" Aries asked.
"Enough about that, we talk about it later. Tell us about-" Arcos stopped talking abruptly as voices drifted down the hallway.
All five of them faced the doorway, drawing out their weapons. Please don't let it be those turtles, Phoenix thought. There is no way we'll be able to get out of this room if it is them.
A man in a business suit followed by two robot-riding brains came in the room, guns drawn. The sight of both the black business suit and the Kraang, sitting with it's eyes closed in the belly of the robot, still brought her near to panic. She drew back her slingshot and began firing.
There were projectiles everywhere. The 'theeewwww" of the lasers, blazing a sickening pink, the bang of Kurtzman's handgun, the "thwap" of her slingshot, the crack of Medusa's whip, all filled the air with noise, bouncing off the glass containers. One of the projectiles burst open a container, and the chemical goo that was holding the body inside gushed out onto the ground.
Aries swing his battleaxe, slicing one of the robots, right at the Kraang, in half. Both the businessman and the other robot turned to him, giving the others an opening to fire upon them. Medusa tied one's arms to its side with her whip, and Arcos struck it over the head, so that the entire thing collapsed in on itself. Kurtzman and Phoenix shot at the businessman, the gun perforating the droid beneath, and Phoenix pelting the Kraang in it's torso.
"Break open every one of these containers," Phoenix ordered, turning her slingshot to the jars. Her children followed suit, with Kurtzman looking at her like she was crazy.
"What are you doing?" he cried.
"Making sure none of these bodies is desecrated any more than they already have been," she spat out.
As the last of the jars was shattered, Kurtzman asked, "How is this going to prevent that?"
"It isn't," she answered. "This is." She took a lighter out of small medicine bag that she carried with her in case she had to sterilize medical instruments when they were out fighting. Lighting it, she put it to one of the bodies on the floor, and it burst into flame. "Out!" she ordered.
Everyone complied.
From across the street, in the alley, the five of them watched as the warehouse caught fire. After a few minutes, they heard fire sirens in the distance.
"Time for us to go," Arcos said.
Phoenix looked at Kurtzman. "You need a ride home?" she asked.
He shook his head, "No, but thanks." He took a business card out of his pocket. "Here." He wrote his address on the back, and Phoenix took it. "Call or come by if you ever need anything. I might have something that will help you sometime."
"Thank you," Phoenix said, as they retreated farther into the alley. "We just might."
OoOoOo
The next night, Phoebe went out alone to clinic, much to her children's chagrin. "I can take care of myself," she assured them. "I am not a china teacup."
"What about the last time you were attacked, when we weren't with you?"
"I was handling that just fine, wasn't I?" They had to reluctantly agree. "Besides, this is not a debate. I am going out, you three go play superheroes. I don't feel like being a superhero tonight"
She ended up in a block of abandoned apartment buildings, sitting on the steps of one of them, waiting for something to happen. It was chilly, she was wearing a sweater, and occasionally rubbed her arms and stomped her feet for warmth.
The murder of crows found her, and had more emotional complaints than any physical ailments. She listened to them, nodding, and giving advice when she could. She was quite sure they wouldn't heed it, so healing their heads wasn't going to work with her amateur psychotherapy skills.
After she'd waited for about half the night, she took Kurtzman's card out of her pocket. He wasn't too terribly far from where she was, and she had more questions for him than the crows had had complaints for her.
She got his apartment by jumping rooftops, but when she went down to street level, she went into the apartment building by the front door. Once inside, she felt awkwardly out of place, as if she didn't belong here, in the stairway of an apartment, clean and neat, with people living in the all spaces, probably all clean and neat. She got to his door, and knocked on it, feeling very silly. She didn't even knock on her children's doors to their bedrooms. When was the last time I knocked on a door? she wondered.
The door opened to reveal a tired looking and disheveled Kurtzman. He looked surprised, and took a step back. "The Phoenix," he said, almost confused.
"You said to come by, that you might information we could use," she reminded him.
He moved out of the doorway, and motioned for her to come in. "Of course," he said. "I just wasn't expecting you so soon."
"It seems you don't expect very much of us at all, Mr. Kurtzman," she said with a smile.
"Uh, no!" He shook his head, "that isn't what I meant."
She smiled sweetly, "I know," she closed the door behind her with a soft click. "I came for some information."
"Are your children not here?"
"No, they are out doing whatever it is they are doing," she replied. "They may be my children, but they are not children anymore."
Kurtzman nodded, and motioned for her to sit down on the couch. "How can I help you then, Phoenix?"
"I want to know how you know about us," she said.
"I told you, in my resear-"
"No," she cut him off firmly but gently. "I mean, I want to know how you really know about us. How did you get your information?"
He nodded, understanding. "When people say that they've been attacked by giant animal men, it isn't hard to get information on them."
"The people, or the giant animal men?"
"Both," Kurtzman smiled. "And when some lady goes around healing animal men and homeless people and then disappears into the night, it isn't too hard to get information either."
"You said I was hard to get a photograph of," she remembered, "does that mean you have photos of us?"
He stood up and went to the filing cabinet. He took out a file, and handed it to her. The tab said, "Children of the Phoenix" on it. "I'm an investigative journalist," he said, "I have a lot of connections." He sat down next to her on the other side of the couch. "When I hear of something odd, I go and investigate it. I heard of these three animal people that I didn't recognize the description of, and went out to investigate."
Phoenix looked at several photos of her three children fighting their 'bad guys', and a few of them with the three standing about, as if on watch.
"I followed them, to see who they were, what they were up to," Kurtzman continued. "Once I figured out they were...the good guys..." Phoenix smiled at this, "I didn't worry about them so much,and concentrated on other mutants."
"You've tracked other mutants, too?" This was getting very creepy to her.
"You of all people should know yours aren't the only mutants in the city," he said. "And I like to call it investigating, not tracking."
Phoenix went through the file slowly, finding a few photos of her, mainly her arms sticking out of the shadows with her slingshot in hand, or a fuzzy and indistinct figure in the shadows.
"It took me a little longer to figure out you," he told her, "and to make the connection that the same Phoenix who was helping people was the mother of these three mutants." He shook his head. "It didn't seem a likely match: a doctor one day and a vigilante the next."
"I'm not a doctor," she said. "I don't even have any medical training."
"Could have fooled me," he replied. "And a whole bunch of mutants out there."
"You've talked to these other mutants that you've tracked down?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "It isn't that hard."
"It's not?" She had never seen, heard, or spoken of a mutant until her encounter with the Kraang.
"Most mutants engage in some sort of criminal activity," he began.
"Most of them aren't criminals!" she protested. "They are doing the best they can with what they have."
"I didn't say they were criminals," he interjected.
"And they have nothing!" she continued.
"I said they engage in criminal activity." She glared at him, and he looked back at her. "I know that they have to engage in criminal activity in order to survive." He smiled, "Dumpster diving is illegal, you know?"
"It's called shopping to a mutant," she said defiantly.
"The point is, where criminal activity happens, there are criminals, and where there are criminals, there is information. Money talks."
"You pay people to tell you about mutants?"
"I...encourage people with money and things," he said.
"And you talk about mutants being criminals," she muttered, looking back down at the file on her lap. She caught sight of a newspaper clipping peeking out, and slid it out from under the stack of other papers. It was an obituary, "In Memorium" at the top, "Phoebe Marie (Trice) Laferrier". She rummaged through the papers in her lap, and found clippings of her childhood gymnastic days, when her father had hoped she'd be on the Olympic Team, of her university days winning her medals. There was a clipping from a sports news scandal rag about how her father, the business tycoon of Trice Industries had cut her off financially for marrying against his wishes, a nobody and a black man, with her wedding photo. There were the birth announcements of both of her children, and then-
She gasped. It was a recent photo of her children, Elisabetta and Jacque, grown up. It was a wedding photo, her daughter in a beautiful white dress, set of beautifully against her milk chocolate skin. Her son, looking so much like his father, stood next to Stephane, his hair white, all of them as beautiful as ever.
She couldn't keep from tearing, so matter how many deep breaths she took. "When was this taken?" she whispered.
"Last September," he answered. "A little more than a year ago."
"They don't look like me at all," her voice was still just an aspiration, she couldn't make the sound work.
"They have your smile," Kurtzman said, taking the photo from her.
She looked up at him, and the tears overflowed from her eyelids. She sniffed, and wiped her face with her hands. "Are they happy?" she asked. "Did they grow up happy?"
"Yes," he said. "They're very happy."
She nodded, and took another deep breath. She wasn't sure if that made her feel good or not. "How did you figure out that I was me?" she asked very quietly, trying to change the subject.
"Process of elimination," he said. "Your hair threw me off for a long time until I met a homeless man who has known you for almost 15 years. He said your hair was much darker, and much redder when you were younger. After that, it was easy to find a Phoebe who had disappeared about the time you showed up helping people, who had dark red hair. There aren't that many Phoebes out there, and there are even fewer with auburn hair. It helped that your picture was plastered all over the internet."
"My picture is plastered all over the internet?" she didn't like the sound of that.
"All the newspaper clippings are digitized now. You were in the local papers a lot."
"What do you plan on doing with all this information, Mr. Kurtzman?" She closed the file on her lap and handed it back to him.
"Help how I can," he said. "Like I am now."
"You haven't helped us in our fight against the Kraang," she told him. "You've just satiated my curiosity."
"I know you freed one of the two scientists that have escaped from the Kraang," he said. "I can tell you where one of their detention centers is."
"Now that, Mr, Kurtzman, is information that can help."