So! i expected to write a typical rescue scene. a plan, a precise execution of the job, romeo saves his juliet... or does he?
Living the X-Men Life
Remy was feeling very good about himself as he revealed himself to three pairs of ears. Despite the creaking in his knees and the tension in his calf and thigh muscles, not to mention his numbed backside, he felt from head to toe every inch the marvellously devious Gambit. The last time he felt this good was when Rogue didn't throw him out of the boxcar and called him crazy.
Oh. Rogue. Hang in there, Chéri, wherever the hell 'there' is.
That lumpy sentiment was weighing down his chest again, so he took a deep breath and discharged all heartfelt emotions.
"Ororo, take the controls." growled Wolverine.
She folded her arms and smiled. Remy felt his grin getting bigger.
Logan threw his hands in the air for a moment of irritation. The plane wobbled and threw Remy off-balance while Piotr un-metallised and clung onto a seat.
Remy experienced an undignified landing on his arse, which barely felt anything.
"Ah would put this bird on autopilot and beat the livin' crap outta you," Logan continued. "But Ah suppose that'll do for now. And wherever you squeezed yourself in, Ah'm sure you got some good cramps in places you never knew."
Remy stood back up and stretched backwards, creating a gratifying series of popping noises along his spine. To rub it in, he gave a satisfied sigh. "Ahhh..." He vigorously popped his neck as well. "Mmmph... You're right. Ah feel terrible."
"Where were you hiding?" asked Ororo, concern lacing her lightly amused, melodious voice.
"In a place. On the plane."
Piotr just smiled.
A sudden cruel idea came to Remy. He rubbed the numbness out of his butt casually. "You know, a certain Russian recruit – Ah won't name him – had the same idea."
"Eh?" The unnamed Russian stared Remy down from his full height, not menacingly but in alarm.
Logan snorted.
Ororo regarded the two men like boys with their hands in the cookie jar. "Why didn't you then?"
"Won't look nice on his record." Remy shrugged out of his trench coat. Meanwhile my record is probably black with little white marks. "Blame me for bein' here."
Ororo turned to Logan. The man drummed his fingers on the control handles for a couple more seconds.
"Alright, bub." he grunted. "You've earned a space on this mission. Grab a chair."
Remy settled himself in one of the cushy seats and dumped his coat on the other. After wedging himself in a box two sizes too small, he was more than comfortable. "You got a plan?"
"It's nighttime when we get there." Ororo replied. "I'll create a sandstorm and you three will land the Jet in the mountains."
Remy toyed with the tuft on his chin. "Sandstorm. Every guard will move inside. You, uh, doubling up security for 'em?"
"I'll calm it as soon as you land. As the soldiers come pouring out, you sneak in."
"There'll be confusion. People movin' everywhere." added Wolverine. "Not t'mention slackin'. Nothin' lah'ke a minor natural disaster t'put a soldier in a lazy state o'mind. And if enough sand moves around, more soldiers inside will get moved out t'shovel it off the roads."
"Then what?"
Logan spared him a brief glance of impatience. "We go in, get her and get out."
"You ain't got no plan for that part?"
For an answer, Piotr handed him a large blueprint map. The entire Area 51 facility. Clearly labelled in small white prints were the different halls, corridors, rooms, laboratories, offices and facilitation cells. The functions of the latter were obvious. He peered at the legend.
"Great." Remy folded the map like three week old newspaper. "2000 cells."
"East cells for fresh meat. The bigger the number on the door, the fresher the meat." Logan said. "West for old timers that survive whatever experiments Trask put 'em through. South is the dorm, lounge, canteen. North is for paperwork, weapons storage, security rooms."
Remy took up the map again. "You left out the heart o'the place."
"Hopefully we won't find Rogue in there." Ororo turned to regard him, this time with a distraught expression.
Remy clenched his jaw shut and forced his attention on the white printing. The rest of the journey was spent in silent memorizing.
...............................................................................
She gradually blinked her eyes open, the images transmitting into her brain barely registering. Her curled body was twitching uncontrollably and her hands were clenched. She was shivering.
What was minutes felt like hours spent in a refrigerator. Finally, her blood managed to warm some life into her fingers and she flexed them, running them over her arms stiffly.
Something pulled against her skin. Something her fingers bumped into. Something soft and rough and spongy. She strained her neck to look at it.
A surgical bandage was strapped to her upper arm with a dry gauze attached. Medication cream wafted from it. Now why would she need a bandage? And why was there a plaster on her wrist?
She pushed herself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it. Her head spun and her vision swirled in nauseating directions. Finally she made the acquaintance of the cushioned floor after bouncing off the edge of the bed. She groaned and held her head as stars joined the many other colours before her eyes.
"Sh...sss...astrong...nnn..."
The nasal voice sounded distant to her ears, which felt like they were stuffed with cotton fluff. She swallowed. The 'pop' was a relief.
"A strong one, yeah. Says here she kept shoving and kicking off soldiers until they had to sedate her, twice."
"Looks real nice in the shorts though."
"Her white skin freaks me out."
"It, Jim, it."
The 'it' had enough brain power in her to comprehend her surroundings. When the world stabilised under her, she lifted her head. A white room, cushioned walls and floor and ceiling (as if she were a mental patient) and a hanging bunk bed with its edges blunt. Even the door was cushioned except for a transparent slot above the handle. Peering through the slot were two pairs of eyes, the faces covered by surgical masks and hairnets. She felt like an animal in a zoo. A very freezing cushiony zoo.
"Uhhh..." she muttered.
One pair of eyes turned to the other. "Well what's beneath that shirt says it's a she."
"Ha!" The pair of eyes that remained on her examined her closer. She could see they were brown. "Hmmm. It's cold." He shooed his colleague away and fiddled with something beside the door. "Raising facilitation cell number 091 temperature by two degrees..."
"I think they're Bs." The other pair of eyes returned to the peering slot. She noted their sky-blue irises.
"We've got all her measurements down. They're Cs. The uniform's meant to cover her up. Now could you take notes on her behavioural anomalies? Do your job!"
Were they – Are they talkin' 'bout mah' breasts? Rogue heaved herself to sit up and flip the bird at Blue-Eyes.
Blue-Eyes eyebrows jumped up. He turned to his notepad. "Subject responds to anatomy discussion by gesturing rudely."
"You didn't really write that, right?"
Blue-Eyes clicked his tongue. "Tch. No! Look, unlike the rest, the only thing freaky thing about her is her skin. Another freaky thing is what she's like in bed."
"How does that happen, Einstein?"
"Heh, Einstein would probably be very pissed with us, Richie. We'll have to ask that boyfriend of hers what she's like under the sheets. If we ever catch him."
"Slippery bastard that." Brown-Eyes eyeballed her very warily and pulled Blue-Eyes away from the slot.
Remy. She mouthed his name for her lack of voice. Remy, where are you?
A cold fear hit her like a jolt to her gut. Where was she? What have they done to her? What else are they gonna do to her?
She jerked her attention to her arm. The plaster on her wrist meant it had been pierced - for her blood sample maybe? If... Then... Why would they need to wrap her arm in a bandage like a war wound? The skin underneath felt prickly now. And itchy.
She picked at the edge of the bandage and peeked beneath. The bandage was clinging tight to her. She picked at the tapes that held it and managed to peel back a millimeter worth of sticky.
The pain that erupted from tearing open flesh from gauze brought her voice back in a howling scream. She let go and hissed, biting her tongue down. She clutched at the wound and gingerly patted the bandage back into place. She smoothened the gauze down as if her shaking fingers could restore skin where it was missing.
Blinking back tears, Rogue bared her teeth and got onto her feet. She wobbled over to the slot and clung onto the cushions for support. Her fingertips' skin pinched: her nails had recently been clipped shorter.
.............................................................................
Just as Storm promised, her weather predictions emptied the facility of two thirds of its military party. While she kept a weather eye out for any exterior alarm, the three men snuck inside, though it was more of a squeeze for Piotr. Remy crawled forward first and made adjustments to the air vents that led to the security control room.
Piotr quietly crashed into the room and took the two guards on duty by sizable surprise. Sleeping soundly because of his fists, he sat them back in their chairs, cleaned up their coffee spillage and began working on the security cameras. He flipped through screen after screen of each individual facilitation cell until he found one with a white-streaked redhead in it.
He blinked. He rubbed his eyes with two fingers. He stared at her again and slowly pressed the intercom button on the communicator in his ear."Uh, Wolverine. Number 091. But –"
"091, copy." came the slightly static reply. "Good. Block us out when we come runnin' through."
"Block out, copy. But Wolverine..."
"But what, bub?"
"You might not like what you see when you get there."
"Whatthehell are you – Gambit, shove 'em in the locker."
Wolverine gave one groaning soldier a kick in the teeth and the idiot's head lolled about, while keeping his own communicator on talk mode. Gambit was opening a second locker to store away the last three limp bodies.
"Shoved." Gambit muttered and glanced at the security cameras on the ceiling. They weren't the lively spinning tops they usually were, which signified that Piotr had done a good shut-down job.
Wolverine gestured him to keep moving.
They sped around a couple of corners until they heard a yelling.
"Oh shit! OH SHIT! JIM!"
In an unspoken signal, both men halted in their tracks and pressed themselves against the same edge of the wall. Remy shuddered inwardly at their unintentional unison. He stole a glance opposite him. Facilitation cell 087. They were close to Rogue, now. So very close...
A pitter-patter of footsteps grew louder and louder until the panting of an unfit man could be heard.
"Get Rogue." Wolverine rumbled into his ear then jumped out before Gambit could have.
Gambit came around a split second later to see that Wolverine had a thick hand around a man's mouth. The victim was flailing his arms in sheer panic as Wolverine slowly, but surely, stopping his oxygen intake. Gambit passed them in a blink.
He kept his eyes on the doors until he found his 091. He kicked a stungun across the polished floor as he stopped abruptly in his sprint. Although he would never have missed her, since it was the only facilitation cell with its door hanging ajar.
DUN DUN DUN!
=D