A chill settled into the air as night fell over McLean, Virginia. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse—there were things much more sinister out to play. The night shift at Trask Industries' laboratory was far less eventful than the daytime shifts. Usually, the sun setting was a sign that scientists and workers were due to go home, but there were a small few doctors who preferred to work later.
They conducted their tests and continued their research long after the dust had settled across the rest of the building. Tonight, there were only two scientists and a lone lab tech to give the security guards something to look after as they made their periodical rounds. Each sublevel of the building had its own purpose—and each floor held any necessary sub divisions under the level's title umbrella. It was a candy store to engineers, biologists, and anyone with credentials suckered into a high-paying contract of secrecy.
The first sublevel was simple and inconspicuous. A scientific floor focused on medicinal advances like surgical instruments and low-cost medications. Sublevel two was primarily for robotics. Level three turned a blind eye to harsh animal testing. The farther into the cold, dark Earth a person went, the closer to hell they became. At the very bottom was arguably the worst secret of all. Sublevel six was rotten, the humid stench of mold bleeding through the vents toward the surface, cut to pieces and dispersed among the upper levels.
But the employees above were blissfully unaware of the toxin in the air. The poison that had the power to destroy them all if ingested properly. There were so many people tied to the company that didn't sign up for the atrocities, that were innocent to their core—still, even if the wound didn't cause itself, it must go through the pain of cleansing before it can be healed. At least, that was how she rationalized the negative side to the grand plan, how she attempted to calm the tremble of her hands.
Did they tremble with guilt? Were they shaking in anticipation as heat swelled beneath the skin? Cassandra wasn't sure, biting the inside of her cheek, as her boots kissed the tile floor. It reflected an image of her, a black outline in the shine from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. "Remind me why we're taking the scenic route," Wanda spoke quietly at Cassandra's side.
"If you did your job right, no one's getting in or out," Cassandra began to explain, as they rounded a corner. "I want to know what else is happening down here."
"You could've had one of the other teams do that."
"And miss out on all this quality time?"
She glanced to the right as the corner of her mouth tugged up, her sarcasm drawing Wanda's eyes in a lighthearted roll toward her face. "We haven't spent this much time alone together in a while," Wanda noted. There was an insinuation, a kind of coy inflection in her words that pooled in Cassandra's stomach.
"Well...last time we hung out, people died," Cassandra gave Wanda a knowing look, a small reminder that caused Wanda to sigh.
"It would've worked, too," Wanda mused faux irritation thin enough to breath holes. "If it weren't for you meddling X-Men."
With a shake of her head, Cassandra turned her eyes back to the hall ahead, holding back a snicker. Wanda's lips upturned at the subtle admission before leaning close to a window, cupping her hands to peer into the dark room behind it. The lettering on the doors indicated their designation. None had been worthy of a thorough examination—but Cassandra didn't want to miss the room possibly looming somewhere on sublevel five.
Then, she heard it. The jingling, clanking of metal, the shrieks of a shoe's sole against the clean and polished tile. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through her if anything for the sake of suddenness. Only one deep breath entered her lungs before the visage of a man appeared at the end of the hall, coming from the corner neither woman was aware of. Then, a second, a third—a small group of them, donned in dark pants and a buttoned shirt, unreadable badges pinned to their chests directly above the guns holstered at their hips.
Immediately, the men began to stir. Their faces shifted, eyes widening before narrowing threateningly, their hands darting for their weapons. They shouted for the women to stop, put their hands up. Show they weren't threats themselves and submit. However, Wanda did not have a submissive bone in her body. Instead, she laughed as she lifted her hands reflexively, "Finally."
Cassandra exhaled heavily and pushed down against the tile, jolting into a run toward the men like a bowling ball hurled toward pins. Index fingers contracted, piercingly sharp pops bouncing off the walls as bullets launched into the air. It was then that Cassandra dropped, her left hip hitting the floor, the tile carrying her body forward in a rush at the guards' shoes. The bullets missed her, instead darting further down the hall only to be absorbed by the translucent crimson in front of Wanda.
As Cassandra turned onto her stomach, boot digging into the flooring to slow her finally, she used the momentum to thrust her other heel at the knees of the nearest guard. With a small cry, his knee buckled and hit the tile. Both feet on the ground now, Cassandra wrapped her fingers around the barrel of his pistol. The slide released with the right pressure and pulled free from the weapon. It was with one swift movement, before thrusting the freed piece backward into the man's eye.
The remainder of his gun clattered to the floor amongst the nauseatingly loud sound of indoor gunfire as Cassandra leapt to her full height and darted forward. She hopped up, wrapping around the next guard's upper torso from behind. Her hand grabbed at the gun he aimed for Wanda's shield as she circled him. Legs wrapped around his neck and shoulders, the momentum and weight drew him backward until he crashed against the floor.
His head bounced against the tile and Cassandra turned his gun in her hand and swung, the butt of the weapon landing hard against the right temple of another guard. The briefest flash of red preceding a hard thud caught Cassandra's attention. Her eyes shot to the left, twisting on her feet as her chest heaved. Wanda stood over the final guard with a look of disgust directed down at his body. "Guns. How original," she rolled her eyes and stepped over him.
Cassandra tossed away the gun in her hand, the device clattering against the tile with an unholy echo. "You could've helped."
"I like watching you work."
Wanda passed her with a mischievous smirk. Though Cassandra couldn't deny the gentle fluttering in her chest, the breath caught in her throat, there were much more important things to focus on. She chose to shake any other thoughts from her head as she followed after Wanda, continuing down the hall. They walked a little more quickly now. If there were these guards, there may be more, and they didn't have time to waste on such exploits—no matter how much Wanda would enjoy it.
It was only just around the corner at the end of the hallway. There, on the wall, silvering lettering snapping its fingers to stop Cassandra's feet, boot inches from a step too far. Weapon XII. Her stomach tumbled to her toes like a ball of ice and snow, packing tighter by the inch. "Wanda," her voice quivered, causing Wanda to stop walking if only to make sure she hadn't been injured in the seconds she'd taken her eyes off her. Though she wasn't physically harmed, it felt like rebar had pierced her chest bone and sunk its rust directly into her spine.
She could feel it twisting, beginning to pinch as her fingers encircled the door handle. Instinctively, Wanda held up a hand, translucent crimson illuminating her gloved fingers momentarily. The silver handle let out a sharp beep! as the top two inches flashed green and Cassandra didn't wait for a response. Instead, she pushed through the door into the darkened room and reached up a hand, clapping it against the smooth surface of the wall to the right.
"What is weapon twelve?" Wanda questioned, eyeing the letters on the wall as she stepped up behind Cassandra, poised to follow her inside.
But Cassandra's throat was too tight. She attempted to swallow it down—but, there it was. Her fingers touched the switch and the lights flicked on. Harsh white shined down on their heads and, almost immediately, pressure built behind her eyes. Blinking, she cleared her throat. "My dad was weapon ex."
"That pig that beat your mother?"
"Logan."
Even as her eyes still adjusted, Wanda looked straight at Cassandra, features contorted in genuine bewilderment. "How long have you known this?"
It took only a few seconds for their eyes to fully accept the fluorescent beams. Before they'd fully adjusted, Cassandra was taking in the room, squinting hard as she took steps further into the room. The area looked to be a small laboratory. Tables in the center held equipment and various gadgets. Refrigerators and cabinets lined the far wall, along with shelves stacked with closed boxes labeled by year. That was where she went first.
Her feet moved almost immediately, marching toward the far wall as adrenaline and terror swirled within her veins. "Later," Cassandra verbally waved away the question, frustration coming out in place of the fear moving quickly through her ribs. "Help me dig through this shit—I need to know who this is."
With a small sigh, Wanda stayed back, instead eyeing the paperwork left out on the surfaces in the center. Perhaps the lab notes could provide some helpful information? It was easier than what Cassandra was attempting. She reached up to grab the first box she came to and pulled it toward her, propping it against her chest to free her hands, before prying the lid off. Just a quick sweep of her gaze revealed the years went back to at least the late nineties. The thought of Trask Industries personally funding another Wolverine-esque project was nauseating.
Though, she was far too desperate for answers to be repulsed out of the room. Fingers gripped the first file folder within the confines of the box and tugged it free, and her eyes raced over the black lettering smattering the first page inside. There was nothing useful. Descriptions were vague, no name to be found. With a huff, Cassandra lifted the paper to find the next one. It was then that every muscle in her body tensed. A photo was clipped to the second page, the coloring and angling similar to a kind of mugshot, but the masculine face captured was worn beneath the gruff of thick stubble that followed the lower jaw.
The eyes were set, lips thin, with thick brows that lowered in disinterest. However, it wasn't the general appearance of the man's face that caught her attention—it was his eyes. The same hazel she'd seen so many times before. It felt like it reached from the page and wrapped its fingers around her throat, squeezing harder the longer she stared. But the longer she stared, the harder she struggled to breathe, and the more the image of someone else materialized behind her eyelids.
The image flashed as she blinked, alternating her vision with the two appearances. After a second, they started to blur together. She moved her eyes to the words beside the picture and her gut twisted. There it was. His mother was listed as unknown, but his father was written in plain English. Her hand lurched, snapping the file closed, as she exhaled a deep but trembling breath. "Wanda, tell me you found something," Cassandra's voice was risen with concern, the fear and anxiety threatening to meld into panic now.
Wanda shook her head. "Just test results and related notes."
A sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper escaped Cassandra. It drew Wanda's eyes, head turning quickly toward her, and she stared in confusion as Cassandra began scanning the fronts of all other boxes. She'd stepped back to get a better view, taking note of which direction the years were counting, and she followed them all the way to the current year at the bottom of the shelf with the file tucked beneath her arm.
She pulled the box from the shelf as she crouched and yanked its lid off, tossing it aside. There were many folders inside this box. It appeared fairly new. The newest folder was dated for this month, and she knew that would be her best bet for information. So, she reached in and pulled it from the box, pushing away the box on the shelf before nudging the new file open atop her knees. Inside was only one page of printed paper and a few notecards with handwritten scribbles. Her eyes scanned every inch diligently.
There was no way that she was leaving the building without knowing. She had to know his name. What happened to him? Was he even still alive? There, in the top right corner was a printed number, the page listing it as his cell somewhere in the building. It had to be somewhere on sublevel six. Where else would they keep a mutant of this caliber? Cassandra tore the corner from the rest of the page and tossed both folders onto the open box, before standing up. "Got it," she said, turning to face Wanda. "We need to get downstairs."
"What is this person to you?" Wanda asked, brows knitted.
Cassandra again shook her head. "I'll explain later, when I know more. Are you coming?"
Without hesitation, Wanda took two steps forward to close the space between them, and clasped Cassandra's outstretched hand with her own. Cassandra thought back to the floor plan of the building. Combing her memory for the image lit up on Magneto's desk as lavender swallowed them whole from the center of the room. They appeared within the walls of sublevel six a moment later. Though, it wasn't a second after that they were lit up with quick flashes of red. The bursts of color splattered the dark walls like blood spray to cast their bright shades in all directions.
Someone triggered an alarm. "Find the others and help them get people out. I'm gonna find this guy," Cassandra lifted up the torn paper in a gesture as she took steps backward, away from Wanda.
"If you're not with us in five minutes, I'm leveling this god forsaken building myself," Wanda replied over her shoulder. She turned to walk quickly in the other direction halfway through, but the sentiment managed to find its target regardless.
Cassandra exhaled sharply as she forced herself to turn away as well. Focus. This level was unlike the others. Its general appearance was almost industrial, the walls made of strong metal plating, darkened beneath the poor lighting now colored red. She stood in a main hallway, but other hallways branched out like a maze of what looked like glorified jail cells. Each off chute corridor was marked with numbers as though she were in a library. Realizing this, her eyes fell to the paper in her hands.
Perhaps finding him would be easier than she thought? She continued along the main hall, passing two, three, four others until the numbers reached the right section. Then she cut right, moving quickly along the path between cell rows. The doors were open, metal bars hanging limp on hinges, and she found herself having to push some out of her way to continue on. Had he already been found? Did the others come through this way already? Or, had they simply hit the 'release' button?
Either way, she needed to know. So, she trudged on, moving into a half-jog as she made a mental note of the changing cell numbers. The hallway felt endless. There was no way to count how many cells she'd passed, but the number was no doubt much, much higher than she could have ever anticipated. It only added to the sickening of her stomach, the organ making its home in the soles of her feet, with her heart soon to follow as the seconds ticked by empty-handed.
Then, she almost stopped altogether. Her muscles stiffened in a startle as her eyes finally focused on the end of the tunnel—a well lit room, visible through its open door, but the inside looked like some kind of operating room. As she approached, it only became more clear what its purpose was. But her eyes were stuck on the table in the center, a male's body fastened to the length of it, visibly unconscious. It was then that she started running. Adrenaline culminated in her legs, moving them faster than she was truly aware.
Cassandra barreled into the room, her shoulder colliding with the door hard enough to send it rushing toward the wall holding it up, but she continued straight toward the table in the center. Black lines were drawn in an unknown pattern on the man's bare torso, the markings illuminated harshly beneath a light positioned directly above. She gave the light a shove and the instrument rolled away quickly, aimlessly drifting across the tiled floor, and then reached for the thick leather tying him to the table.
The urge to look was creeping up in her throat. This close, she wanted to better judge the lines of his face, the way his features curved and skin crinkled. His physique and general shape was already so similar—was his face different from the photo? However, she continued working quickly on the leather ties, flitting to the other side of the table in a blink of purple sparks to get the second before moving to the ones at his ankles. Despite not looking up, it was hard to miss the initial visual.
Clamped around his neck was an activated inhibitor collar. That was most likely how he was able to be sedated so thoroughly. Once all four straps were removed, she appeared aside his shoulders, inhaling sharply. Cassandra hadn't seen a collar since she was a teenager. She could feel her chest tightening as she reached for it, getting her fingers around it enough to grip. "If you can hear me, don't move," she managed to get out the words.
Then, heat surged into her palms in a momentary burst. Energy expelled, propelled forward into the mechanics of the collar, and the metal and wires burst. It sparked, smoke climbing fast toward the ceiling as the device fell apart into two pieces. As it dropped into her hands, the man's eyelids flicked open, his chest inhaling—and he began to move. A familiar, metallic swoosh touched her ears and she instinctively ducked as his left hand shot toward her, hand clamping down on her wrist as silver flashed inches from her face. It reflected the light, and with it, her image.
He pulled her hand away with a hard yank that burned at her elbow as his other hand surged forward, the metal skewers ripping through his skin aiming for her face. Cassandra stifled a cry from the pain and bent her knees, allowing gravity to take her quickly to the floor. Strands of her hair floated to the tile from where he'd just missed anything of importance. Though, the drop also pulled at him. It caught him off guard, off balance and still disoriented, causing him to tip over the side of the table.
In the brief confusion, he let her go seconds before his shoulder collided with the floor. An empty thud echoed off the walls. He rolled twice before stopping himself, immediately lunging to his bare feet as he crouched, metal from his knuckles held ready to strike once more. "I'm helping you!" Cassandra shouted. She grabbed the pieces of inhibitor collar, scrambling to hold them up as her hands shook violently. "I took this off! We're getting everyone out! It's okay!"
His chest heaved rapidly, eyes boring holes into her skull only a moment before glancing briefly toward the open door. "Who's 'we'?" he barked the question.
"The X-Men," Cassandra answered, as she eased herself upright in a sitting position against the table.
The flashes of red signaled the alarm. It helped to corroborate her story, despite the unease lingering within his gut. As his eyes moved to her suit, the X at her waist, before returning to her face, the silver began sinking back into the bones of his hands, his brows knitted with confusion. "Since when do the X-Men hire kids?" he asked, a single brow raised as he stood to his full height.
"I'm twenty-five," Cassandra's own brows furrowed momentarily, craning her neck to look up at him in disbelief. "How old are you?"
"Sixty-one. I think. 'S it still twenty-thirteen?"
He took a step toward her—that was all that was needed to reach her, before he offered a newly disarmed hand to her. Cassandra couldn't help but stare at the man. In the back of her mind, an old age was always a possibility. Maybe even expected. Though, it was mostly the view of his face that clenched her jaw, tensing her shoulders. He was a spitting image, even in the odd shading as his head blocked the light.
Numbly, Cassandra nodded as she took his outstretched hand. He pulled her to her feet in one swift movement, a single tug, as though she weighed nothing at all. Because, to him, she did. She was but air when compared to the max weight capacity of each arm. "The others are helping people out. We need to find them and get out," she told him, rubbing at her elbow.
He nodded once, stiffly. "Let's go."
However, as he turned and took steps toward the door, the third step proved to be slightly difficult. He stumbled to the left just enough to notice, slowing his pace. The inside of his head was like a war between clarity and utter fog and the gunfire was just dizzying enough to affect his balance. Cassandra hurried to his side and grabbed at his arm. His eyes darted toward her as his muscles stiffened in a startle, but her sight relaxed them within the same second.
"Lean on me," she instructed, pulling his arm over her shoulders. "It shouldn't be long before whatever they gave you is out of your system. I have enough fire power for the both of us."
Reluctantly, he gave in. After all, what choice did he really have? Unable to focus and disoriented, he was no help should they run into security, so he did as told and leaned on her shoulder as necessary—though he tried not to need to at all as they left the room at the end of the hall. Cassandra guided him back down the hall she'd come from, finding the main hall once again rather easily. From there, she wasn't sure where to turn.
Her mind was stretched too thin to find the memory of the map now. "Do you know how to get to the elevators?" Cassandra blurted the question, leading the way toward where she last saw Wanda headed for lack of a better plan.
"Uhh," he lifted his head to see over her, eyeing the numbers on the walls. "Keep going. Pretty sure if we take a right up ahead, we'll get there. So I'm told."
That last comment elicited a tired chuckle from Cassandra. He faltered only once or twice more as they continued down the hallway Wanda had taken. It was a good sign—odds were, his metabolism would burn off whatever was in his system in the following seconds. When they reached another T, Cassandra turned right as instructed. They followed the new hallway for a few feet before a blur of color darted into the corridor from the left, several yards ahead. Blue.
"Kurt!" Cassandra called to him as her body rushed with cool relief.
Kurt's head turned quickly at the sound of his name—the sound of her voice—and he broke into a run toward them. "Cassie! We need to go! Where were you? We've been looking everywhere."
"Sorry, I got lost. Where are the others?"
Abruptly, the arm over her shoulders retracted, and Cassandra looked to find the man she'd freed standing on his own, tilting his head with a resounding pop. "This way," Kurt's voice pulled her eyes forward again, and she nodded quickly. She gestured a hand, ushering the man to come with them, and he followed as they began to run along the length of the hall.
Kurt lead the way down one final corridor, the hallway opening to a kind of foyer where the elevators offered the only escape from the building. But to the left, Blink held open a large portal, the window into the other side displaying silver walls and a matching floor crowded with a mass of other mutants. The danger room, Cassandra knew. "Where's Logan?" she questioned, as they arrived at the portal.
Only Blink and Wanda remained, the others tied up helping mutants to freedom on the other side. Wanda walked forward to meet them, relief visible in the lines of her face as her eyes lingered on Cassandra, before darting toward the bare-chested man beside her. "He just went through," Wanda answered her, an eyebrow raised. "He said he's coming back if you don't show in the next sixty seconds."
Cassandra paused. "Is everyone else out?"
"Everyone of consequence," Wanda nodded.
Again, Cassandra gestured for the man to follow as she stepped around Wanda, walking toward the portal. Kurt and Wanda followed behind them. Once they stepped through and arrived safely on the other side, Blink joined them, allowing the portal to close permanently. The state of the danger room was gut-wrenching. People filled the room nearly from wall to wall. Most resigned to sitting down now, finally resting after fighting so long.
Those with injuries were being triaged by Storm, Rogue, and Lori. The three hurried to get mutants sorted, their injuries looked at, most wounds having been left to fester while in confinement. Thankfully, no wound was fatal—unless left to infection. The purple-pink of Blink's portal disappearing from his peripheral as he dropped someone off to be triaged sucked the air from Logan's lungs. For one, two god forsaken seconds, it felt like his chest was being turned inside out. His eyes moved faster than they most likely had his entire life as he searched for her, moving faster and faster toward the main aisle made between sides of the room.
Then, there she was. And she looked unharmed. But he kept moving even as relief settled in. "Cassandra!" he called out for her, loudly to be heard over the murmurs and chattering of the other mutants around them. It was like the word traveled straight into her eardrums—no, her bones—pointing her eyes toward him like the needle of a compass, showing her the way to true north, and her shoulders deflated. With the nature of his mutation, there wasn't much to fear when in a dangerous situation.
Not many people had on hand the kind of weapon or know-how it would take to actually harm him. Still, she carried the fear of it in the back of her chest cavity every time. She anticipated it, allowed it to still her lungs within her chest in its iron grip, and a part of her warmed to a melting point when her mind was proved wrong. Cassandra started moving, following the aisle toward him in an almost-jog as he approached quickly.
They collided in a moment, a mess of arms as they rushed to hold onto each other, to show their hearts, see? you can calm down now. "You're okay? Are you hurt?" Logan asked, somewhat rhetorical as he bent to aid her height.
"I'm okay- I'm okay. Nothing an ice pack won't fix," she was quick to assure him. He nodded to himself. She was safe, she was unharmed, she was home. But the moment was short-lived. Cassandra pulled away after a beat, eager to find his eyes. Hazel. "I…you need to meet someone."
Logan's eyebrow cocked. "Okay…?"
She stepped back to let him go, instead wrapping her fingers around his wrist as his arms fell to his sides aimlessly, and she gave the limb a tug as she began to follow the aisle the other way. He went with her for curiosity's sake, if for nothing else. At the other end of the aisle, the man she'd brought through the portal was talking to Kitty now. Unaware of their approach.
Though, Cassandra could tell the moment he sensed her there, walking toward him. The muscles on the side of his head contracted, moving his ear a split-second before his head turned, and a part of her wanted to smile. It was bittersweet to recognize the behavior. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," she spoke up, as Kitty finally noticed them arriving two feet away. Her eyes shifted to Kitty as she asked, "Give us a second?"
"Yeah, sure. Remember to get that elbow looked at," Kitty said. She slipped into the crowd without another word, and Cassandra exhaled.
"What happened to your elbow?" Logan's eyebrow cocked again as his gaze slid to Cassandra, this time accompanied by lips pulled thin with annoyance by the omittance.
Cassandra turned halfway, angling to see both men, as she looked up at Logan. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a man's voice that sounded instead, sincere despite the worn grumble of the words. "She caught me off guard and I twisted her arm a little too hard," the man to her right explained, wary as he looked directly at Logan. "Wasn't expecting to be 'rescued' right then."
Adding, Cassandra told Logan, "It was a misunderstanding, but I'm okay. It's just sore. But that's not why I brought you over here. Logan, this is-"
"Hudson," the man supplied.
"Hudson. Hudson, this is Logan. Show him your hands," she looked to Hudson expectantly. Her expression didn't waver at the sight of his cautioned features, clearly hesitant—instead, she allowed the corners of her mouth to pull up, tipping her head just slightly in a nod. It's okay, she wanted to say. He's safe. He's our—
But Hudson eased up a hand into view before words were necessary. Silver flashed beneath the sharp lighting as he pushed the metal from between his knuckles. Logan's eyes rounded despite the lowering of his brow. "What the fuck?" he breathed, leaning backward on his heels.
Cassandra's grip on his wrist tightened as she turned to face him, a sour kind of anxiety bouncing around her rib cage. "Wait—it's okay. Logan, he's your son."