Jasmine shuffled forward as fast as she could, leaning on Cassandra with an arm around her shoulders for support, but every movement resulted in a sharp jolt through her left leg. The pounding in her head only worsened with each step. Lavender wisps faded away into the night air as they made their way toward the door to Xavier's school.
It was the last place on Earth that Cassandra wanted to be, but their current circumstances didn't allow for much choice in the matter. Still a handful of feet from the entrance, the door swung open, revealing the concerned appearance of Logan. As he stepped out, Scott arrived at the door with Storm at his side. "What are her injuries?" Storm questioned, as she hurried out.
"Four inch laceration to the left calf and shin, looks deep," Cassandra replied through a clenched jaw.
Storm nodded. "Take her downstairs. I'll meet you there."
"Downstairs?" Jasmine asked, looking at Cassandra.
"The infirmary is on the lower level," Cassandra answered. "Hold on."
Once again the scenery changed in a flash of purple. This time, bright light flooded in as they arrived at their next location, cast down harshly on their unadjusted eyes by the fluorescents in the ceiling. Cassandra didn't waste time in walking ahead, helping Jasmine along with her. However, Jasmine was more than a little hesitant. Her eyes scanned over every inch of each room and hallway. And it was to be expected, her caution and fear.
After all, if her brother was in fact taken on the grounds of being a mutant, everyone in the building would have the exact same apprehension. Maybe even more so. Still, Jasmine went with Cassandra to the infirmary. Cassandra helped her onto one of the tables, avoiding eye contact with the bed nearest the door—one of the last places she saw John. Even after all this time, she still didn't know when he'd left or where he'd gone, if he'd made a full recovery or ran into other complications.
A large part of her never wanted to know. It was better that way, she knew too well. She had too many loose ends blowing freely, violently in the wind already, tossed about like rag dolls in the turbulent storm her life had become. So, she'd ignored every urge to ask and every ebb of curiosity threatening to change her mind. Jasmine readjusted her position on the table with a hiss. "I've heard about this place. Not this part, just the school," she said. "My parents couldn't afford it."
"Neither could mine," Cassandra lifted her shoulder in a small shrug.
Jasmine's brows knitted curiously. "Do you work here, then?"
"No, my...my parents died when I was a kid, and I had no one but my brothers, so the Professor took me in. Charity case."
"And your brothers?"
"Foster care."
Faint footsteps and the familiar whirring of Charles' chair was enough to turn Cassandra's head, just before Storm walked into the room, Charles a second behind. Storm walked straight to a set of drawers near the end of the table to retrieve supplies and Cassandra stepped aside to allow for her to work. "This is Storm, the closest thing to a doctor we have around here," Cassandra told Jasmine, pulling herself up onto the table opposite hers. "The man in the wheelchair is Professor Charles Xavier."
Storm moved toward Jasmine's side of the silver table with a first aid kit pouch, a gauze pad, and some medical wrap. She gave a smile as she looked up at Jasmine. "We're going to take good care of you."
"What does it cost?" Jasmine asked, eyes narrowed skeptically.
As Storm began cleaning the wound, Charles answered, "Absolutely nothing. We'll make sure you're in good health and give you a room, if you need a place to stay. We understand the nature of your situation and we're more than happy to help."
Cassandra folded her arms over her chest. "I brought her here for protection," she said, hiding the bubble of disdain threatening to pop in the center of her chest as she looked to Charles. "Her brother was kidnapped. I need her safe while I figure out what's going on."
"Do you know who took him?" Charles asked.
"Men in uniform with no identification," she replied.
A rueful expression settled upon his features. It was becoming increasingly common. More and more cases of abductions, disappearances, rescue missions for the sake of those taken by top secret government agencies. Some even by more private groups. When Cassandra was a child, it was the thing of campfire stories. The rarity of it all left it somewhat shrouded in myth and conspiracy. Now, as an adult, it was far too common to cause fear.
Now, it had a feeling of normalcy. This was something people did to mutants, just another stone thrown that mutants would have to dodge to survive this life. And she wasn't sure just what was sadder—the normalcy, or the act itself. "You have a plan?" Logan's voice sounded from behind and Cassandra twisted quickly to glance over her shoulder, eyes searching for him.
When they landed on his frame, he was standing by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed similarly to hers. Instinctively, she slid off the table and moved around the end of it, passing Charles' chair to walk toward Logan. "I figure if anyone knows what's happening, Mystique is the one to ask," she answered, coming to stand three feet from his position.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "After how well that went last time?"
"Last time, there was a lot I didn't know. Now I know what to expect," Cassandra said. She shifted her stance to better see both parties, keeping an eye on Jasmine as Storm began stitching. "Magneto likes me for some reason—I can use that. He owes me a favor anyway."
"If Victor's there-"
"I'll blow his goddamn head off."
Cassandra's eyes met Logan's and the steel that hardened the innocent shade of blue swirling her pupils pierced through his chest. It wasn't many decades ago that Logan himself had held that same aggressive desire, that blood lust centered on Victor Creed for the cruelty of his crimes. The man was truly a menace to the whole of society. Though he knew Victor carried the same healing factor in his DNA as him, Logan wondered how plausible it would be to let her do such a thing.
To let her kill him. Could she do it in any way that truly mattered? Would he not just heal and return to cause more mayhem and bloodshed? It was not the most gruesome thing he'd pondered, but it was certainly near the top of the list. Even still, a part of him felt vindicated by the idea, urging him to allow his own daughter to exact revenge on his brother. However, the more rational majority of his thoughts collectively fought against the notion.
So much so that he gave a firm shake of his head. "Don't bother, kid. He'll heal," he told her, allowing his arms to fall at his sides as he stood off the wall. "Get the answers you need and get out. Understand? If he's there, you leave."
Inwardly, Cassandra had no intention of keeping to those terms. Despite it, she nodded, sighing heavily. "Yeah, I got it. Just keep her down here until I get back. We don't need another raid on the school."
She stepped toward the door, but was promptly stopped by a tug, fingers wrapped around her upper arm. Logan held her back, edged closer as he lowered his voice. "Be careful, Cassandra. Please."
Cassandra could feel her anger and frustration softening, the heaviness of her emotions lightening to give her shoulders a break they'd begged and pleaded for for months, looking up at the sincerity coloring his features. She nodded once more, genuinely this time. "I will," she replied.
Only then did he let go, retracting his hand to hang at his side. Though the fire in the hearth of her stomach still burned, her heart was in a different place, her head all but on another planet completely. The lack of synchrony left her feeling disjointed as she took another step forward before becoming enveloped in lavender smoke and purple electricity. It lingered in the air after her, the energy sizzling as it faded into the air like pop rocks.
When she reappeared, she stood within the walls of Magneto's study, the closed door at her back a foot behind. There was no use for subtlety this time. This time, she had no qualms about facing the adversaries that may or may not be present at the time of her visit. It didn't matter. Her emotions were just unaligned enough to shake loose the morals necessary to hinder her from defending herself—or, even further, initiating an altercation.
Her life had become a storm, but it was a breeding ground for this kind of apathy. Violence was no longer quite the deterrent. Neither were the opinions of those who knew her whereabouts. But, when the smoke cleared, what she saw was not what she expected. Magneto sat in the chair behind his desk, fingers holding open a manila file folder, with his crimson helmet resting on the glass tabletop to his right.
However, that was not what surprised Cassandra. A woman stood at his side, her arm draped along the back of his chair, gloved fist resting against her hip as red fabric covered her shoulders. The sight stirred something within her that bled straight into her veins. She could feel a jitter in her muscles as she took slow steps forward. And, finally, Magneto's eyes lifted to meet hers. They moved in a straight line, his features left unmoved by her appearance.
"I would say I'm surprised to see you again—however, your return is far too predictable," he closed the file folder and placed it on the desk in front of him, his mouth pulled up ever so slightly at the corner. "You've made quite the headline, child."
"I'm not here to talk about the news. I need information. Some things never change, do they, Wanda?" Cassandra looked pointedly to the woman beside him as she came to stand before the desk.
Wanda only smirked. "Not by the look of it. You're practically the same all these years older."
"So are you. Although, your suit went through a few changes, huh?"
"Like it?" Wanda pulled at the cape hanging from her shoulders, letting it fall with gravity in a gesture. The leather-like material was deeply colored, tracing the shape of her hips and inner thighs, cradling the swell of her breasts. But the rest of her skin was covered in a lighter red, from her wrists beneath the gloves all the way to her ankles inside a pair of boots. "It's more aerodynamic."
That's one word for it. "It suits you. Red's always been your color," Cassandra remarked. Her eyes remained steady where they focused on Wanda's despite an urge creeping up in the back of her throat, a shudder of her spine begging to slip lower. A quick glance. An appreciative peek.
"And patience is a virtue I'm no longer inclined to hold," Magneto spoke up, his uninterested tone punctuating every word. "What is it you want?"
"A mutant was taken, fairly recently, by unmarked uniforms. I need to know who they were and why they took him," Cassandra sighed, gaze moving to Magneto's features with her own form of disinterest.
He sat back, eyes narrowing slightly. "And why would I volunteer such information to you?"
"Because I was the one that hung my ass out to dry trying to save lives while you sat on yours in this pathetic excuse for a top secret retirement community," she spoke firmly. "I kept you and Mystique out of the press even after you nearly killed my brother and left John for dead. I also didn't come back and kill you for associating with Victor Creed. The way I see it, you owe me. Tell me what you know."
The corner of Magneto's mouth upturned as the rest of his features relaxed. Then, he slid the file folder atop the table toward Cassandra. "Then, by all means. Help yourself. I have a feeling you'll enjoy this one."
His sudden smugness was alarming, confusing, and intriguing all at once. She couldn't help but reach out and pluck the file from the desk despite the sinking of her stomach. "Why is that?" she questioned.
Internally hesitant, she thumbed open the folder. Inside were photos. This time, they were pictures of locations, living people—there were no deceased in the stack, as far as she could tell. It eased her nerves enough to truly focus on what she was looking at. The first photo showed the front of a building, with a nice car parked by the entrance and men in suits walking toward the door.
With their backs to the photographer, she couldn't quite tell just who they were. She could tell three out of the four were bodyguards and security, based on their all-black, matching attire. However, the fourth man wore a starkly grey suit that set him aside from all the others. Letters on the front of the building spelled out TRASK, letters beneath the word too small to read at this distance, and it clicked.
"It involves our favorite person," Magneto answered, as the taste on Cassandra's tongue turned bitter.
She looked up from the photo. "Stark is in bed with Trask? Isn't Trask dead?"
"Yes. The company was bought out, however, and is now only a subsidiary of Stark Industries," he explained, further leaning back into his chair as he rested his hands atop the desk, fingers touching. "There's not much information on what exactly Trask is used for available to the public. So, we had to get creative."
"What did you find out?" Cassandra asked. Her eyes flicked back down to the photo, and she nudged it aside to better look at the rest. There were more pictures of Tony Stark arriving at and departing from the Trask Industries building. Beneath them, pictures of a different breed resided.
The lighting was undesirable for whatever camera was used, thus making it difficult to truly see the entire area, but the first scene change was clearly in a kind of warehouse or storage-like room. There was a loading dock, the bay door open with the back of a large van visible. In center focus, men in unrecognizable uniforms carried bodies. A man on either side, someone presumably unconscious hung between them, their feet dragging on the concrete flooring.
There were three unconscious people, creating a line toward somewhere past the camera, all the way from the open van. The terrible photo quality did nothing to blur the gruesome reality, the damming implication of a scene such as this depicted. Cassandra found herself gripping the manila a little tighter, heat gentle in her palms as it began to gather at the sight.
Magneto exhaled. "Stark is kidnapping and holding mutants in the sublevels of this building. We don't know exactly how many he has. But he's conducting research, studying these mutants for the sake of his technology. There are plans for more Sentinels—upgraded, fully weaponized Sentinels. The likes of which we've only seen in our worst nightmares."
Cassandra stared at him as he spoke the last sentence, something thick stuck to the back of her throat. She knew there was a huge probability of Stark simply shifting a few things around and continuing the Sentinel production. However, it never crossed her mind that he could scrap them and make an even deadlier model instead. Suddenly her mind was racing, combing back through everything she'd ever said in his presence.
What mutants had she told him existed? Did she mention locations? How many details had she unintentionally given him? Could any of it be used to hurt the people she knew? It soured her stomach, swirling it slowly like a glass of wine, and the angles of her cheeks paled. "What's your plan?"
"Plan?" Magneto raised a brow.
"You must have some intention to stop this."
"This building is fortified with mutant sensing technology. The lower levels even more so. We nearly lost Mystique in simply taking these photographs," Magneto said. "The cameras scan for changes in body temperature and detect mutants, such as shape shifters. Armed guards, frequent patrols, inhibitor collars, heat and motion sensing alarms, and not to mention every locked door requires retinal and fingerprint authorization. It's a fortress."
The folder snapped shut in Cassandra's hands. "You're just going to let him do this? If he's making even worse Sentinels, someone has to stop him—and the experimentation? He tried to pay us at the school to participate. He can't keep getting away with this, Erik."
"What do you propose, then?" another female voice echoed out into the room, followed by a brief thud.
As Cassandra turned to look in a startle, her eyes landed on Mystique's yellow irises. Her blue skin was darker than usual beneath the dim lighting of Magneto's study. She took steps toward them all at the desk, veering left to pass Cassandra, though her eyes never left hers. "I need building specs," Cassandra told her, blinking away the surprise. "Give me the details and I'll find a solution."
"And how do we get those?" Mystique tilted her head, standing near the desk now, and something within Cassandra deflated.
Of course they wouldn't have blueprints. If Mystique was nearly caught, how could she have gotten something so important? Something like that would be locked away where people like her couldn't touch it. It was clear that Tony had thought of just about everything when installing the security upgrades to the building. But there had to be an ability he missed. A mutation he hadn't thought of as useful or dangerous, something they could use.
"Give me twenty-four hours," Cassandra squared her shoulders. Then, she looked to Magneto. "If I find a way in and come up with a cohesive plan, will you help me put an end to this piece of shit's operation?"
His mouth curved in a closed smile. "With pleasure, child."
"I'd start with a visit to Stark headquarters. You'll likely find what you're looking for there," Wanda suggested.
"I doubt Tony's going to let me past the front desk," Cassandra shook her head.
Then, Mystique spoke up, her voice contorting halfway through the words as her skin shifted to hold the likeness of Tony Stark himself. "Something tells me he'll make an exception."
For the first time Cassandra could remember, the sight of him made her smile—but there was something devilish in it, bitter mischief swelling in her chest at the idea of such a con, and it turned the expression into a kind of hellish smirk. The confidence that threatened to empower her beyond her means allowed vindication to swirl through the mixture of emotions in her gut.
She had far too many slights. Too many grudges. To be handed this opportunity was like offering a four course meal to a starving child, and righteous vengeance looked a lot like gluttony. In truth, there wasn't a way out of this situation from the moment she looked Jasmine in the eye, but now—how could she refuse? "I'll be in touch," Cassandra gave a nod, and Mystique nodded in return as her skin molted to shed the appearance of Stark in favor of the blue skin lurking beneath.
Cassandra took two steps back from the desk before being enveloped in smoke, teleporting out of Magneto's study. When she reappeared within the confines of the infirmary, Jasmine sat leaning against the wall atop her table, injured leg propped up as a faint red tinged the white bandaging wrapped around it. Logan sat on the table across from her, palms pressed down against the silver to brace himself on the edge at either knee.
Her arrival drew Jasmine's eyes and, therefore, Logan's. He'd twisted to look behind him only a moment before sliding off the table to stand. "How'd it go?" he questioned, stepping around the end of the table to approach Cassandra.
"Fine. I might know what happened to Michael—and where he's at," she said. The mention of his name caused Jasmine to sit up a little straighter, listen a little closer as hope sparked against her rib cage. "It's going to take every last one of us to get to him."
Logan nodded once. "Team meeting."
"We'll be back, okay? I'll fill you in when I know more," Cassandra momentarily leaned around Logan to speak to Jasmine.
"Okay."
Though Jasmine nodded quickly, she looked disappointed. But Cassandra couldn't blame her. When it was her own brother in jeopardy, Cassandra was able to spearhead the operation and do whatever needed to be done to find resolution. However, Jasmine could only sit and wait as others did it for her, waiting through excruciating silence for any morsel of information given. Anything to let her know her brother was alright somewhere.
Cassandra's fingers encircled Logan's wrist and she took them both to the ground level of the mansion. They appeared just inside the door to Charles' office. To their surprise, Scott and Storm were already there with Charles. Although, it only made it easier to call the others in. "We need to talk," Logan spoke first as he glanced at those already in the room. "All of us."
'They're on their way," Charles replied, reserved where he sat behind the desk.
Scott turned to better face Cassandra where he stood near the window, allowing his arms to fall to his sides as his features smoothed. "Current circumstances aside, it's good to see you," he told her.
"You, too," Cassandra agreed, though a bit hesitant. "Sorry I haven't returned your calls. I've been pretty busy."
Scott gave a small shake of his head. "I understand-"
The door burst open and a group filed into the room, with Bobby, Warren, and Kitty at the forefront. Cassandra stepped aside, moving closer to the window to allow them all entrance. Lori, Peter, Kurt, Rogue, Hank, Blink, and Jubilee followed inside before the door was finally closed behind everyone. "What's going on?" Bobby asked, looking from Charles to Cassandra.
His features flattened, eyes rounding at the edges, as he truly realized just who he was looking at. Guilt was a cold slap across the cheek, and Cassandra found herself shifting her eyes away to avoid letting the look on his face settle in too deep. "I was called tonight by a girl I'd never met—my old neighbor had my number. She's a mutant. She says her brother was abducted by men and taken god knows where, but she was injured, so she's currently downstairs," she was quick to catch everyone up to speed, glancing around. "Magneto has photo evidence that Stark is kidnapping and experimenting on mutants, and he's using one of the old Trask buildings to do it."
"Holy shit," Kitty was taken aback, as were the others.
"Tony bought Trask?" Rogue questioned in shock.
Cassandra nodded. "He's made significant upgrades to the building—the kind that can easily detect any one of us. I have a feeling that was really what his visit was about."
"That son of a bitch," Scott's jaw clenched. "He wanted to size us up, get a look at our faces. If he has access to Trask's servers and he's partnering with the military sects that performed the original experiments, he has just about all of us on file."
"Especially after New York," Bobby added.
His words garnered grim nods from some of the others. Though, they weren't needed for every face in the room to sink with fear, anger, and adrenaline-inducing alarm. "Here's the catch—I'm going to Stark Tower tomorrow and Mystique is going to get me access to the information I need. From there, I'll come up with a plan to get through security at the Trask building," Cassandra continued. "But even with Magneto's help, it's going to take a helluva lot more variety to make this work. I know what I'm asking. And none of you are obligated-"
"You think we're gonna let you do this alone with Magneto?" Bobby interrupted her with an eyebrow raised in genuine confusion and mild offense at the insinuation.
Kitty spoke up, echoing the sentiment, "There's no way we're not going in with you. Those people he's holding in there need our help—and you could become one of them if you do it alone."
"I think it's safe to say we're all in," Warren stated, loosely crossing his arms over his chest.
"All of us," Lori emphasized. The sound of her voice drew Cassandra's eyes, and her features sunk. Not you. Anyone but you. But how was she to keep her at home? Cassandra knew that Lori wasn't going to budge—not on something this important—although, that knowledge didn't block a shooting pain from briefly stabbing at the left side of her chest.
"Get the intel we'll need," Scott said, giving Cassandra reason to finally look away, turning her eyes up to the crimson shades covering his charged gaze. "Then we'll come up with a plan. Together."
Despite the mixture of contradictions in her chest, she nodded. "Together."