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Chapter 35: The Escape

I've been lying here on this metal platform for 45 minutes and 27 seconds…28…29...30…Counting the seconds, minutes and hours until it's time. Time to escape. And with each second that passes I inhale and exhale, my palm extended above my head, willing my powers to strengthen, to return to me before it's time to make our escape. So far, I haven't gotten very far on that score.

The first 20 minutes were excruciating. I could hardly concentrate thanks to my nerves being all out of sorts about the escape, but eventually, I managed to produce a small blast (more like a puff) of energy out of the palm of my hand. Another ten minutes went by and I found that not only could I manage to hit the ceiling with these blasts but I could also become intangible once again, though only for a short while. The real challenge here is trying to turn invisible. This is a skill I acquired not too long ago, but it's one that I rarely had a problem with. In fact, turning intangible always proved to be more difficult for me! But now for some reason (now that we may well be relying on it) I can't seem to get it down. I close my eyes and concentrate, squeezing my eyes shut and evening my breathing. 48 minutes, 12 seconds…13 seconds…14 seconds…I feel a tingling in my stomach that travels down my arm and extends to my fingers. I focus on that feeling for a few more moments, almost forgetting to breathe.

When I reopen my eyes, my hand flickers and for a millisecond it actually disappears…only to reappear once again. Damn! What number was I on? 49 minutes, 36—no, 35 seconds?

I don't know.

Frustrated with myself, I sit up and cast an energy blast at the glass, but the most it does is dissipate in what I can only describe as a small puff of purple sparkles. Real intimidating. The entrance to the cell block opens just as I was attacking the door of my cell and a man steps into the hall and, using what looks like a nightstick, bangs on the glass, shouting, "Knock it off in there!"

I glare back, practicing my glowy-glowy eye trick and the startled look on the man's face is enough to let me know at least something still works! The man quickly hurries on and with him, a whole squad of men appear. Upon further inspection, I find the squadron to be dragging something hurriedly along with them. Correction. They're dragging someone. And none other than a badly tattered and thankfully subdued Victor Creed. I guess they got him after all.

I watch as the squad of Black Suits shuffle hurriedly to the cell directly (conveniently) across from mine. They appear to be in an almost panicked state, breathing heavily and nearly dropping Creed's massive body as they struggled to dump him in the cell as quickly as possible. One woman fumbles as she fights to get the cell door open and drops her activation identification card in the process. "Damn it, Elsa! He could wake up any second!" One man yells, the pitch of his voice rising a few octaves at the idea. Once Elsa finally does manage to get the door open, they waste no time in securing Creed to the floor (not unlike how they had Glenn tethered by his wrists and ankles) with some tough looking shackles that take two people to bolt to the floor.

It's almost comical to see just how fast they high tail it out of there!

One guy let out the girliest shriek when Creed gave grunt in his sleep and a few of the guards tripped over one another just trying to get out of the cell. It seems Creed's made quite the reputation for himself here. I wonder how they managed to take him down? Judging by the tattered and bloodied state of his clothes (or what's left of them) I'd say it took just about everything imaginable. After the Black Suits have gone, I move toward the glass window, peering out to the side where Warwick's cell is and meet his eye. He doesn't say anything and I'm not entirely sure what I should do. Should I say something? It doesn't look like it'll waking up anytime soon. If I had to make a guess, I'd say he's been heavily sedated.

…

Guess I'll just have to wait, then.

Now where was I? I guess I can say about ten minutes have gone by so…

1 hour, 1 minute and 1 second…2 seconds…3 seconds…4 seconds...

It's been 1 hour and 25 minutes, 57 seconds and counting and I have yet to remain invisible for more than 10 minutes. I can, however, remain intangible for a considerable amount of time and my energy blasts are becoming more powerful. After a while, I stop attempting to become invisible and just start counting. And after about 7 minutes of this I can feel myself starting to drift off. When was the last time I've gotten any real sleep? I've almost crossed the threshold into sleep when a loud groan followed by the rattling of heavy chains jolts me out of my daze, nearly causing me to fall of the platform. I sit up, rubbing my tired eyes, and see that Creed is starting to wake up. I watch apprehensively as Creed takes in the situation, testing the strength of the chains and taking in the details of the cell with one calculative glance. It doesn't take long for those farrel eyes to lock on me and I glare back unfalteringly. We size each other up a moment in unspoken communication. I don't trust you, my glare says. But I can't get out of here without you.

"Take a good long look, frail," Creed rumbles, breaking the tense silence but not his intense stare. "This is the last time you'll see me in chains."

I make no reply, leaning forward casually with my elbows resting on my knees as I say offhandedly, "I heard you were talking to a friend of mine earlier. Something about an escape?"

The chuckle Sabretooth gives echoes throughout the cell block and I hear a few whispers follow down the cell block in a sort of ripple effect. "Ah, you should've heard 'im, frail!" He croons, sitting back languidly against the wall, stretching out his long legs with the crack of his neck. "The way he threatened me—" He says, shaking his head as though genuinely amused.

"He said," I interrupt loudly. "That you could get us through the woods."

Creed eyes me but makes no verbal reply.

"Well?" I say in frustration. "Can you or can't you?"

"I can get you through." He says, putting the slightest of emphasis on "you."

Busted. I stare at him for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain the situation to him, and as I do so, I begin to weigh my options of escape. Can I make it on my own (with the kids of course) without him? Should I even trust him? The only reason Azazel does is because he thinks that I do.

And I don't.

I finally stand up and begin pacing, saying in a firm voice, "Okay listen, I know you only agreed to take me through the woods, but there are kids here that need to get out. Two of them. You don't have to do anything more than you agreed. Just let me worry about them and—"

"No."

"What?" I say, pulling up short of my pacing to meet his eye.

"I said no."

"Azazel said we could do it." I say evenly, crossing my arms.

"Did he?" Creed snorts in derision. "That red fool knows damn well you can't."

"We're taking them." I retort forcefully, my violet eyes burning with anger. " And I'm not leaving without them." There's a loud clang and I jump back about a foot when Creed suddenly leaps to his feet, causing the chains at his wrists and ankles to shudder violently. One of the bolts appears to loosen from the strain and a few cracks appear in the floor surrounding it, telling me just how easy it would be for Creed to break free of them. Someone ought to get that checked out…

Attempting to regain my cool, I square my feet and cross my arms and exchange an intense glare between myself and Creed. This lasts quite a while, neither of us breaking our stare and I fear a moment that Creed won't. Then finally, Creed speaks in a low voice, saying slowly, articulately, "The second I'm out of here, we're gone. With or without them. Even if I have to drag you out by the hair."

"I'd like to see you try." I say, for lack of a better comeback, turning away to resume lounging on my cot, feeling quite pleased with myself. We just might get away with this. "How much time do we have, anyway?"

Creed takes his time answering, settling back down on the floor lazily as he says, "You'll know when the time comes. And you and the runts'd better be ready when it does."

"We will be." I say, reaching behind my head to rest my head on my arm while I practice throwing more energy blasts toward the ceiling.

1 hour, 51 minutes and 6 seconds…7 seconds…

8 seconds…

" 'We're going to save them.' " Donovan thought to himself as he sat near the window, staring out at the snow just beyond. " 'This is—going to work.' "

"Are you ready?" The Professor asked as Hank strapped on a small box-like device on the inside of his jacket. It was so small it hid easily in the coating of his fur. The virus that would supposedly wipe out the entire Islands' security systems.

According to the plan, Beast will go in, allowing himself to be captured.

Once there, he will find Glenn and Liz and the other prisoners and formulate an escape plan from within. Then, when he has enough people on his side, Beast will implant the virus in their computer systems. While the systems are down, Donovan and the others will launch their own attack, acting as reinforcements and getting anyone they can out while creating a diversion and doing as much damage as possible. Sounds like a solid enough plan, but there is so much that can go wrong in Donovans' eyes.

Their entire plan relies on Beasts ability to not only get into the island and rally the troops from within, but also on the belief that he can find Stryker's main computer systems and implant the virus—assuming that it even works. These are just a few of the many concerns that Donovan has voiced many times.

"How are you going to find their systems again?" Donovan asked innocently, ignoring the glare he received from Jubilee who was starting to get annoyed with his questions. "I told you," Beast said, sounding just as annoyed. "Once inside I'll hack into their soft ware with this baby," He says, holding up a second device that looks like a mini-computer in his paw). "They're bound to have some high tech locks at the entrances so I should be able to use this to find out where their main computer systems are. While the other prisoners are rioting, I'll sneak inside, plant the virus, and get out."

"What if you can't find their main systems through their soft ware?"

"I have my ways." Beast replied mysteriously, tossing Donovan a smirk, the first sign of friendliness Beast has shown him since his arrival. To be honest, Beast never really had a problem with Donovan. He even kind of liked him. He was assertive but not an overbearing twit, and he rarely complained despite having every reason to.

That warranted some respect.

The true reason for Beasts' irritability toward Donovan was the anger that had been growing within him since his transformation. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he may never get the chance to walk freely in daylight ever again—at least not without fear of persecution.

It was a lot to deal with.

His only distraction from this awful truth has been knowledge. Hank never realized how much he had missed out when it came to reading! He'd read plenty of books about engineering, biology, biomechanics and the works…but he'd never picked up such literary wonders like that of Shakespeare's Macbeth or literary masterpieces like those from Dickens or Dostoyevsky. But now he had all the time in the world to read them and he found the lulling rhythm of the classics to soothe his frustrations and anger. It made him feel more human.

In a way, it tamed the Beast.

…No pun intended.

As they prepared for flight, Donovan couldn't help but feel wrong about this plan.

Truth be told, it wasn't so much that he was afraid, but he was sort of jealous. He was restless and itching to try out his new powers. He wanted to be part of the action with Beast and more than anything he wanted to help Beast find the others. He had to know for himself if they were alright. But he had to stick to the plan.

That's all he could do.

Right?

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