Shake Your Foundations
5. Sins of Our Fathers
It had not been a very good Tuesday in Chicago, especially not if you happened to answer to Burn-Out, Gnawgahyde, or Heart-Wrencher. Yes, Zartan had made an appearance in-person over the weekend (more to keep the kids from jumping into a brawl than anything else), but he'd left for New York once again Sunday afternoon, which was inconveniently when the whole mess started.
It started when Destro made a surprise visit Sunday night to "observe their progress" (a blatant fib; they all knew that Zartan found a way to blackmail the Scottish Laird into kid-wrangling until the full aftermath of the Chicago Incident could be determined). Two days later, the arms dealer was still looking over their shoulders. That in and of itself would have been cause for concern, but unfortunately it wasn't their only problem.
What had started as an unfortunate incident involving two members of the Chicago Police Department and a scared mutant teenager getting shot had escalated into a full-fledged beat-down between the X-Men and Acolytes Sunday night. A brawl like that on their turf was something nobody in the house particularly liked, but Zartan made it abundantly clear during his recent visit that they were to stay out of this mess for as long as was physically possible. Further complicating matters, Sabretooth had rather gruesomely massacred the officers involved last night and had yet to skip town. Just as they came up with some good information to release to the press about them, too!
Finally, to add even more of a headache to this whole mess, Atlantis had disappeared from the base. She had been gone for two hours and no-one on base had any idea where she had run off to; her disappearance hadn't even been noticed until nearly an hour after she left. She'd left her motorcycle at home, choosing to walk to her destination and taking one of the telepathy jammers and a hologram projector with her.
Needless to say, nobody was in a good mood right now.
Despite it being a weekday (meaning he should have still been pretending to teach at Bayville High School), Zartan was on a flight back to Chicago. This had been arranged once he saw the morning recount of Sabretooth's latest job. Despite that bit of "good" news, there was still the worry that by the time the Dreadnok leader's flight landed, it would be too late to stop Andi from getting herself into serious trouble.
"I don't get it." Kristen shook her head in confusion. She was curled up on one of the couches with a heating pad in her lap. "Where would she be going? And why walk there?"
"It'd be easier to figure it out if you'd get yer vampire arse off the bloody sofa and find her!" Virus snipped impatiently at the dhampir.
"Your total lack of understanding of female anatomy and physiology is astounding." Regan folded her arms. "The best she can do is wait a couple hours and hope the cramps stop long enough for her to pick up a scent trail."
"Especially since Mimic ain't quite learned to follow one yet." Bryan snorted.
"That's not my fault!" Mimic grumbled, looking up from his video game. "I don't get to use that power often, so I don't get any real experience with it!"
Destro pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling another migraine coming on. Damn Dreadnoks and their damned uncontrollable children…
"I say she's pullin' a page out of 'er old man's book and not coming back." Thrasher boasted. The black-and-green-haired Belgian would be incredibly glad to be rid of the annoying little brat. "Spawn of Sabretooth's more trouble than she's worth, if you ask me."
"Nobody did, and nobody will ever." Gnawgahyde glared at the Thunder Machine driver as Destro had an epiphany of sorts.
"Spawn of… You said her father was still in town?" The arms dealer asked.
"Yeah, been loitering for the better part of a week. Probably hasn't left yet." Gnawgahyde shrugged, clearly not having put the pieces together.
"Well, hell." Heart-Wrencher sighed, rubbing her temples. "She's been tryin' to call him all of this past week and he hasn't answered. But do you think she'd really take off just to yell at him?"
"It'll be more than yelling." Kristen shifted so that she was sitting upright. "Those two are incapable of having a disagreement without throwing stuff at each other or inflicting bodily harm."
"And if both of 'em are spoiling for a fight, she'll wind up looking like a scratching post or worse." Burn-Out groaned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was getting dark outside… Man like Sabretooth would probably head out to some dive of a bar where nobody asked questions. "We're gonna have to hit every seedy bar in town."
"There's at least seven of 'em!" Ren grumbled, throwing her hands up in the air. "And not a one of 'em close to each other! Even if we split off, we'd still be looking all night."
Point taken, Destro thought. There were only five adults, four if you were counting the ones who would actually be useful in a search party. "Which ones are the worst of the worst?" He inquired. "He's not likely to stop at anything other than those."
"Let's see…" Gnawgahyde thought a moment, "there's Tino's on the north side, but someone with an enhanced sense of smell ain't gonna want to go in there."
"Yeah, place smells like ass and barf all rolled in together." Ren wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Hog Haven's more our end of town, but since he's been avoiding her, that's out…"
"What about that one place Socks and the delivery driver were talking about?" Steve spoke up, recalling the conversation between one of Burn Out's shop hands and the driver for the company they ordered some of their parts from.
"Yeah. They said it had an old picture of some stripper over the door." Mimic added.
"Murray's place?" Burn Out gaped in surprise. "I thought it closed down a few years back."
"Apparently it's under new management, because they called it something else." Steve sighed. "But you know where it is, right?"
"Sounds like our bar." Gnawgahyde admitted. "But she left hours ago."
"Which means she is most likely there already." Destro sighed.
"Uh, aren't you guys forgetting something?" Bryan asked, looking at the clock.
"Like what?" Virus asked. "We found her! Let's go, people!"
"Well, somebody's gonna have to fill the boss in when he gets here." The Texan boy drawled. "His flight should be in pretty quick like."
Burn-Out swore under his breath. "Well, the private airstrip's not too far out of the way. We'll stop off and get him before we go drag her home. Is the infirmary stocked?" He had a bad feeling that they'd wind up needing it.
"As far as we know, it is." Kristen looked up at him. "A couple of us can take stock while you go drag her stubborn ass back here."
"I'll stay and help them with it." Ren offered. "You boys go on ahead and ride out. If we're right about this, she's gonna look like one helluva train wreck if we don't find her soon."
Oblivious to the panic her home base had been thrown into by her disappearance, Andi managed to make her way to a bar on the other end of town. The place had seen better days; boards were weather-beaten and broken; the once-spectacular image of a woman painted above the front door had been faded so much it was barely visible. The old name, "Murray's Bar", had been replaced by a cheesy-looking banner that read "Wet Willy's Saloon". All in all, it looked like just about every other dive bar her father had dragged her to during the brief time they traveled together. His motorcycle, a sleek red Harley-Davidson, was clearly visible in the half-empty parking lot.
There would be no turning back now. Even amongst all the smoke and alcohol, he would be able to pick out her scent and she knew it. However, she couldn't take the chance that he'd ignore her again, so she switched on the hologram projector (designed to look like an ordinary belt buckle) and entered the bar under the guise of a bleached blonde twenty-something year old woman. The clothes themselves didn't change, though.
His amber eyes zeroed in on her as she walked inside, intently trying to figure out just what she was doing here. "Now, now, you didn't think you were going to avoid me that easily, did you, Victor?" She asked in an icy tone. She wasn't about to be caught calling him 'dad' in a place full of large smelly men she didn't work with.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He growled, not amused at all with her presence in the bar or the tight-fitting clothes she wore as part of the act. In fact, she knew the denim lace-up vest she'd pilfered from Zarana's closet had to be driving him mad.
"We need to talk." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Alone." Cat-calls from a few drunkards at the worn-out pool table sounded at that comment. Another, much more dangerous growl sounded from Sabretooth.
"You got some damn nerve showing up here, actin' like this!" He snarled, leaving his spot at the bar and marching over to her. He was trying to intimidate her into backing down, and a few years ago it would have worked. But she'd gotten older and smarter (or just too damn stubborn for her own good…) since then, and stood her ground.
"Learned it from you." She growled back.
Apparently, that was enough to thoroughly piss him off (all according to plan). Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he physically dragged her outside and attempted to throw her down onto the gravel parking lot. She managed to catch herself before she landed on her ass. "Just what the hell do you think…"
"I could ask you the same damn question!" She hissed, pulling herself back up onto her feet. "You're the one who started invading my goddamn turf!" For braver or stupider, she decided that throwing a handful of gravel at him would be a wise decision.
An enraged roar sounded as the gravel made contact with his skin. Not known for displaying self-control at the best of times, Sabretooth lunged forward and raked his three-inch-long claws across her left cheek. "Wouldn't have to if you'd manage it right!"
He seemed to have forgotten that she wasn't the small, bony thirteen-year-old he'd left behind in a motel room anymore. Though still shorter than him, she towered over her housemates at an impressive six feet and had finally put on enough muscle mass to look 'healthy', as Burn-Out put it (verses the "anorexic" before picture). She lashed out with her own sharp fingernails (not really claws, but longer than average and filed to ragged points), reaching for the exposed (if hairy) skin under his chin. He moved too quickly for her to hit anything vital, but the strike still cut him open…briefly. His healing factor ensured it didn't stay open for longer than a few seconds. "Just 'cause it ain't the way YOU do it don't mean it ain't effective!" Perhaps a bit blindly, she tried to land another blow with her left hand (as opposed to the one she'd just made with her right).
Okay, so it was a really blind strike. He mercilessly forced her arm down with his fist, somehow managing to keep his face neutral as a faint snap was heard. "You weren't doin' a damn thing!" The next real blow was one to her chest. That time she knew she felt something crack as all the air was forcibly exhaled from her lungs, even as she realized that—just a little bit—he was pulling his punches for her. He didn't want her dead; just properly 'punished' for daring to challenge him to a fight. "You just sat there and let them get away with it!"
However, this wasn't the first time she'd had to fight with broken bones, a fact he should have remembered from when he (begrudgingly) aided her and a few other kids in escaping the labs. She ducked under his next blow (meant for her shoulder, more than likely), and continued moving forward and under his arm, the razor-sharp fin on her "good" arm taking out a long, deep trench of skin from his side. "Blacklisting them is not considered 'getting away' with anything." She growled, panting slightly for breath as the pain on her left side caused her to bite back a moan. That hit to the chest might have done more damage than just a couple cracked ribs, but she didn't have time to stop and evaluate injuries right now. "Sometimes a job needs less brute force and a little more…" now behind him, she kicked out with her right leg, nailing him in the back of his right knee, "finesse."
More animalistic roars pierced the night air as he was forced to take a step forward to balance himself before turning around. "Finesse takes too long for my taste." A low, menacing growl rumbled out of his throat as he rushed her, pushing her off her feet and down onto the gravel lining the parking lot. He crouched over her, fully prepared to start punching her in order to force some of his idea of sense and respect into his youngest child.
A yelp of surprise left his lips and his eyes widened as a knife blade stabbed its way through his gut. The wide-eyed feral looked down at his daughter. Andi shot him a sneer. "You just don't know how to use it right." She held the knife in place with her injured arm and used the blade-like fin on her other arm to help push his off to one side. As she desperately tried to catch her breath again, she wondered just how she was going to push herself back on her feet now that she had rolled onto her "good" side.
She was trying to work out the logistics of that problem when he came back for another round. She'd managed to get into a somewhat-bent-over position with her weight on her one good arm as his claws tore up her back and "bad" arm. He then grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and hauled her onto her feet, making sure she was facing him. "You listen here and you listen good." He snarled. "I ain't gonna have no cocky young pup tellin' me how I should conduct my business…"
"I won't have a bitter old man telling me how to 'conduct' mine, either!" She could hear the sound of sirens approaching—apparently the barkeep drew the line at watching big mountain men beat the hell out of a woman half their age (or in this case, less than one-tenth of their age). "Get your flea-ridden ass out of my town, Victor!" Dammit, why did it hurt so f'ing much to breathe?
You'd have thought she slapped him from the look on her face. Up until tonight, she hadn't called him much else but "Dad" and a few swear words. "You don't have to make it like this…"
"Too bad, because you already did!" Those sirens were much closer now. "Your 'dad' privileges are revoked until further notice." Unless he just wanted to get arrested, he should leave now…
A brief flash of alarm and regret crossed his face, but it didn't last more than a second. "Don't come cryin' back to me when this doesn't work out!" He snarled angrily.
"Stay the fuck away and I won't need to!" She shouted at him as he swung easily onto his motorcycle and started it. In a matter of moments he was fleeing the scene, leaving her to wonder just how in the world she was going to get home…and blinded by jeep headlights.
Wait a minute…since when did Chicago P.D. use a jeep?
Predictably, Zartan's mood did not improve as he and his Dreadnoks raced to get to Atlantis "in time", whatever that meant. Someone had already radioed for the nearest Terror Dome to send a doctor over ASAP, just in case her injuries were worse than cuts and bruises. He wasn't happy about having a stranger loitering around one of his bases or treating one of his employees, but at the moment it couldn't be helped. There was no way he was willing to risk taking her to a hospital, given the rather obvious nature of her mutation.
"She's already fighting…and losing." Gnawgahyde grumbled, using the squawk box in his jeep to communicate with the rest of the group. "Cops were just called to break up the fight."
Yes, Police scanners were nice things to have. In fact, so were used sirens, discarded due to supposed malfunctions. Through Virus's genius, they'd managed to get a couple of them working again. Such devices were quite helpful at times like these, he decided as he placed a "portable" flashing siren onto the roof of the car and turned it on. Anyone not paying attention would presume the dark-colored sedan to be a police cruiser.
"Not much farther to go." Burn-Out grunted. "Think he'll still be there when we show up?" He made no attempt to hide the disgust in his tone.
"Doubtful." Destro grumbled from his position in the driver's seat-it had been faster to simply jump in the car than argue about who was more qualified to drive. "He is probably under orders from his superior not to get arrested."
"Looks like him pulling out up there." Gnawgahyde observed, noticing a motorcycle tear out of the dimly-lit parking lot ahead. "Now where could she…Cor Blimey!" The jeep came to an abrupt halt part of the way into the gravel lot, headlights illuminating the bloodied form of a young woman.
The car wasn't even stopped yet when Zartan bailed out and ran toward the girl. The hologram projector didn't disguise the numerous bleeding slashes and gouges covering the upper half of her body, one set of which raked across her face. Her left arm was bent at a slightly wrong angle and she appeared to be having breathing problems. Disbelieving eyes blinked up at him. "Get in the car before the real authorities show up!" He urged her. Their siren had since been cut off, but other, more distant ones could be heard approaching.
Although her legs appeared mercifully uninjured, she didn't move. "You came here?" She asked, a vacant expression on her face.
"Car. Now." He roughly grabbed her shoulders and guided her toward the vehicle. Shock seemed to already be setting in with a vengeance, aggravated by blood loss from the still-leaking wounds that covered her frame. Once she was safely seated in the back of the car, he climbed inside as well. "Let's get out of here!"
"How bad is it?" Bryan asked as Zartan wandered out into the hallway and the Cobra-funded physician brushed passed them in order to wash up and change into clean scrubs. A faint spattering of blood was visible on the man's blue scrubs. Zartan wasn't wearing scrubs, but had stayed well within eyeshot of whatever the doctor had been doing. The teens had gathered outside the infirmary doors, anxious to get an update on their squad leader.
"Left arm was fractured; had to completely break it so it would set right. He had to sedate her before doing that, which was a good thing since he had to cut her open to re-set her ribs anyway." Zartan sighed, clearly suffering from both stress and jet-lag at the moment. "She had three broken ribs, and the force behind those injuries left a puncture wound in one of her lungs. Looked like a small tear and a lot of bruising to me, but the 'good', and I use the term loosely, doctor is staying here for the next few hours in case that leads to something more life-threatening. I lost count of the stitches once we went over thirty and don't even get me started on the bruises…"
"And we're sure her dad did this to her and not some other feral mutant?" Mimic asked, disbelief apparent in his facial expression.
"I believe it." Regan snorted. "He abandoned her at a cheap motel when she decided to form a team instead of just following him around; why not jump from abandonment to abuse?"
"He won't be doing that to her anymore." Zartan responded flatly. "I don't care how much DNA they have in common, she is not coming within a hundred miles of him without my express permission."
"Oughta be easy, since she won't be going anywhere until she heals up." Burn-Out stated. "She's officially on the bench until further notice."
"Since I doubt she'll be allowed to leave the infirmary for the next week, you shouldn't have any issues monitoring her." The Dreadnok leader sighed. "It's once she's cleared to leave that the problems usually start."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Heart-Wrencher waved. "With injuries like those, she won't even want to get out of bed for a while."
"Yeah, even she knows when to sit back and rest." Bryan shrugged. "You need us here for anything, Boss?" Zartan shook his head.
"No, you kids go on back upstairs. She won't be awake for several hours yet."
"And it's dinner time." Mitch nodded sagely, causing Burn-Out to chuckle. Teenage boys always seemed to think about food…
"Are you not going back with us?" Neal frowned at their employer, who made no move to leave the area.
"No, I am not." Truth be told, he didn't feel comfortable with leaving her in the next room, helpless and unaware of what was going on while some strange doctor wandered through the base. Someone needed to stay with her, just to be sure the stranger didn't try to slip in any unauthorized/unnecessary treatments while no one was looking. "I need to call back to Bayville and apprise them of the situation here, anyway."
Destro, who had been standing quietly next to the wall, winced. Despite his informing her of the urgent need for Zartan's return, the Baroness remained unconvinced of the gravity surrounding this turn of events. He knew that a lot of screaming and shouting would accompany that phone call.
"If you say so…" The Bangledeshi teen didn't look entirely convinced, but followed his teammates and handlers upstairs anyway. Destro fell into step behind them, determined to have a say in whatever thrown-together mish-mash "dinner" would consist of tonight.
With one last glance at their retreating forms, Zartan turned around and walked back into the medical bay.