Some things are universal. One of those things is the simple fact that after a harrowing experience, Chinese food and light conversation are the only way to go. It would seem that everyone involved in these events was well aware of this fact, since the conversation in the Hyperion lobby did not touch on mutants, demons, missions, prophecy, religion or politics until after dinner. Instead, they gathered in small groups, talking about various miscellanies that interested them. Henry McCoy, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, and Wesley Windham Price, for example, discussed the potential long-term positive effects the conference could have. Midway through the conversation, Cordelia joined them, and although she could not keep up with all of the medical jargon, the sociological aspects of the issue at hand fascinated her. Angel, Gunn, and Scott on the other hand, were perfectly content to take their little cardboard boxes, their wooden chopsticks, and in Angel's case, a coffee mug filled with type A positive, into the parking lot, and discuss at length the compression ratios, torque, and pure raw power involved in the engine of a 1967 Plymouth GTX. Then, of course, came the inevitable comparisons to the 1969 Pontiac GTO and the 1971 Ford Mustang. Finally, the last fortune cookie had been read, tea or coffee had been served, and everyone was actually comfortable for the first time since the events of the evening began to unfold.
It was Hank who began the more earnest talking.
"Now then, Angel. I can certainly understand your mistaking me for the antagonist in the scenario you came across, particularly since my assailant did look somewhat bedraggled at that exact moment. What I do not quite understand, however, is by what providence you came to be in that alleyway prepared for combat."
"That was my bad." Cordelia interjected, "When I got the vision, it wasn't too clear, and I think I kinda goofed up the translation." She stood and yelled out at the ceiling, "What?? A little clarification is too much to ask for?" Crossing her arms and looking very annoyed, she returned to her seat on the sofa.
"Visions?" asked the Professor and Hank simultaneously.
Wesley answered, "Yes. Cordelia is our Seer. The Powers that Be send…" he paused a moment, deciding which word to use, "messages through her as to whom we are supposed to be helping."
"Messages, that's one way to say it…" mumbled Cordelia.
"So you four just spend your time helping people in need?" Jean asked. "Just to be helping?"
"Oh, no!" Cordy piped up, "We charge for it.." she broke off as she realized how that sounded. "Well, only what they can afford of course."
"It seems to actually add closure in most cases." Wesley commented quietly.
Jean kicked into psychiatrist mode, "It would." She remarked. She looked at the professor, who nodded his agreement. "It allows them to say 'This is over,' and start to move on in their lives."
"And, it allows us to pay the bills," added Gunn.
"Always a good thing," said Scott. "But you'll help anyone, even mutants?"
"Mutants, humans, even demons occasionally," Angel replied.
"DEMONS?" The question came from three voices at once. Only Professor Xavier seemed to take this statement in stride.
"Well of course!" said Cordelia. "I mean, after all, since Angel's a vampire…"
"With a soul," Wesley interjected.
"…With a soul," she added, "and he's trying to redeem…"
"Waitaminute!" said Scott, gesturing towards Angel "Are you telling me that he's a… a vampire?"
"I know this is difficult to believe," Wesley started.
"Difficult isn't the word I'd use," Scott muttered.
"Not that difficult," stated Xavier. "With some of the things we've seen, vampires aren't that far-fetched."
"Professor," Scott started.
"Scott," Jean interrupted, "Think for a minute. We're mutants. Look at us, at the Brotherhood,"
"But really, Jean," replied Scott. "Vampires?"
Angel meanwhile, had slipped up behind the two. He cast a questioning look at Xavier, who simply nodded.
"Scott?" he said softly.
"What?" demanded Scott, turning towards him.
"This." Angel replied, his face shifting as his demon side was brought forth.
Scott Summers had seen some amazing things in his years as Cyclops of the X-Men, but nothing save perhaps Mystique's transformations could stop him this cold. Angel's handsome features briefly turned to liquid, sliding into a new arrangement. His brow extended both up and out, bringing the gentle eyes to a more sinister slant. The eyes themselves went from a deep brown to a golden yellow, and seemed to glow with a deep inner fire. And the teeth…
"…Dear God…" whispered Scott.
Angel's face returned to normal as he said "And I think Dr. Grey could verify my lack of pulse…" He held his arm out to Jean, who wrapped her hand around his wrist, second and third fingers expertly finding the vein.
"Nothing. No pulse at all," she commented, fascinated, "And you're body temperature…"
"Too low for the living." Angel finished for her. He returned to the other side of the room. "I've been dead for over two-hundred years."
"And the redemption young Ms. Chase was mentioning?" asked Xavier.
"About a hundred years ago, a gypsy woman cast a curse on me, revenge for turning her daughter. She returned my soul to me." Angel stared off into the distance as he continued. "Suddenly, I was a human in a demon's body. I could remember everything I'd done, and I felt it in my conscience. A century's worth of guilt all at once." He turned and cast his gaze to the Professor, "I almost walked into the sunrise the next morning."
"…My pains, my pains, who can express? Alas, they are so strong! My dolours will not suffer strength, my life for to prolong.[1]" McCoy commented softly, almost to low for anyone to hear.
Suddenly, Angel smiled, "But enough about us," he said, "What about you."
"Us?" asked the Professor. "What about us?"
Angel grinned a bit wider, "Mutants, right? Wes told me how he recognized Dr. McCoy…"
"Oh, please. Call me Hank. I hear Dr. McCoy and I start looking around for DeForest Kelley, rest his soul."
"Hank, then. And we saw Scott do that thing with his eyes…"
"And I thought the glasses were a fashion statement," muttered Cordelia.
"…SO…" Angel continued undaunted. "What about you Professor? Dr. Grey? Are you mutants as well?"
"Well, I couldn't very well run a school for mutants if I wasn't."
Angel, Cordy, Wesley and Gunn all blanched slightly as they all realized that Xavier had spoken directly into their minds.
"Dr. Grey?" Angel turned to face Jean and found his coffee cup floating about two inches in front of his face. Startled, he stepped back slightly.
"It was on the other side of the room, thought you might want it before it got cold." Jean said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I noticed that you had that in your hand and sort of nibbled at the Chinese. If it's not coffee, we wouldn't want it clotting." Scott paled slightly at the joke.
Angel took the cup from the air. "Thank you," he said, a smile still touching his face as well. He returned to his seat next to Cordelia. "So, Hank graduated from Xavier's Academy, according to Wes, before he went to Washington U. I would guess that the Academy is the school you referred to?"
"Indeed," said Xavier aloud, "We teach young mutants how to control their gifts, how to cope with them. And we work to allow them a choice when they grow older."
"Choice?" asked Cordy.
"Yes, to either go into the world prepared and well educated. Or stay on, teach the next generation, and possibly become one of our…special teachers."
"Special, Professor?"
"Well, Wesley, the student's like to refer to them as the X-Men. We act as a deterring force for those mutants who would use their talents against the world. And to protect those mutants who can't protect themselves."
Wesley snapped his fingers. "Ellis Island!" he exclaimed. "It was you that captured…what was his name, Longshear? Magneto, he called himself. He was trying to initiate some sort of energy wave over the conference."
"Eric Lensherr," Xavier corrected. "And speaking of which, Henry's assailant was an associate of his. I need to see if I can find out what he's up to." He looked directly at Hank, "You are still in danger, and I don't like working blind." Returning his attention to Angel, he asked, "Is there a room here where I could meditate? In New York, I would simply go pay Eric a visit, however, I fear I will need to attempt telepathic contact with him. Such a distance without the aid of Cerebro will be difficult, and I would like to prepare for a while."
"Cerebro?"
"A machine that amplifies by abilities, allowing me to expand the range of my telepathy."
Angel was preparing to show the Professor to one of the off-lobby libraries when Wesley stood and said, "Actually, Professor, I might have something that could help with that. I'll be back in a moment." And he disappeared into another room.
Scott meanwhile was asking Cordelia for a phone; "I have some family in LA that I haven't spoken to in a while. Thought I'd try to track them down while I was in town."
Cordy showed Scott to the main office. As she was grabbing the white pages from beneath the lobby counter, Wesley came back out of the room he had entered. He held a small wooden box with elaborate carvings on it.
"Cordelia, where is the first of the D'rahmon chronicles?"
"Try on my desk. I had it out yesterday looking up that weird symbol thingie…"
"Right," Wesley looked at her desk. "Any idea which pile?"
"Second from the right corner, facing the computer." Cordy replied, exasperated.
Finding the tome exactly where she indicated, Wesley thanked her and headed towards the library where Angel and Xavier were bound.
Once inside, he found Angel making sure the Professor had everything, and that the room was suitable for his needs.
"It's fine, Angel." Xavier was responding.
"Professor," Wesley started, "I have something here that could be of some use in this situation." He opened the box and withdrew a pyramid shaped red crystal.
"Haxon's Spyglass," muttered Angel, "Of course." Xavier looked at him, the question clear in his eyes.
"Haxon was a seer in the 1600's," Wesley answered. "He used this artifact to view events happening elsewhere. Chronicles say that he did this by entering the mind of someone at those events. Some of them were thousands of miles away at the time."
"Telepathy." Xavier commented.
"Other's since then have tried to use the stone, but no one seems to be able to make it work." Angel added. "We have the incantation used to activate it, but it never allows you to read someone's mind."
"I suspect that it only will work if the user is already a telepath, that it acts to strengthen the existing ability. Not create it." Wesley finished. "I'll do the incantation work for you, Professor, if you'd like to try it."
"With Magneto possibly involved," said Xavier dryly, "I don't think we have much choice. Thank you."
"Call if you need anything," Angel said as he closed the doors behind him.
"Alright, Charles, what do you want this time?" Xavier heard.
Opening his eyes, he saw the ceiling of the plastic prison that Eric Lensherr was incarcerated in. He could dimly hear Wesley's chanting in the background.
"Charles? Will you please at least do me the courtesy of answering?"
Xavier willed his spirit outside of Lensherr's body, creating an illusion that only the two of them could see. Unlike his physical form, however, this image had no need of a wheel chair.
"Yes, Eric, but I thought this would be more comfortable for you," he "said."
"Thank you for the thought, old friend, but you're still in my head and I know it. Please, tell me why you're here."
"I was hoping you would tell me what you have Sabretooth doing in Los Angeles."
"Victor?" Lensherr snorted. "How would I know? I've been stuck in this acrylic cage you designed, and unlike you, I'm not a telepath."
"He works for you, doesn't he?" Xavier asked.
"Victor Creed works only for Victor Creed, Charles," Lensherr replied. "For a time, it was in his interests to work for me. Now, obviously, it is not."
Lensherr stretched, and rose from his bed. "And, since I am kept in complete isolation," he continued, "I cannot even tell you any rumors about his current employment." He turned and faced out of the cell, looking towards the barely visible walls in the distance. "But it has nothing to do with either me or my cause."
"You still hold to…"
"Of course I do!" Lensherr hissed, his face a mask composed of equal parts rage and tears, "The war is still coming, Charles. And I will not see another of my kind slaughtered." He returned to the bed and sat down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm tired, Charles. It's late. I have told you what you wanted to know, so if you would be so kind…" He looked up at the telepathic projection, "I'd like to go to sleep."
"Very well, Eric. I thank you for the information."
"No harm in it," Lensherr sighed. "But Charles, do be careful. Victor's rough-shod exterior hides an intelligence that is both fierce and cunning."
"I find it strange that you would be concerned about me, Eric. But again, I thank you."
The projection was fading from Eric Lensherr's mind as he mumbled, "Of course I'm concerned, old friend. It wouldn't do for anyone else to take your life." He closed his eyes and laid back into the pillow.
"It wouldn't do at all…"
In an abandoned office building on the waterfront, Victor Creed sat in front of a speakerphone.
"Where is Dr. McCoy?" came a voice from the speaker. Smooth, cultured, and completely assured of it's own superiority.
"Xavier and two of his brood were there. And others…"
"Your point, Victor?"
"I was completely outnumbered, the mission was completely impossible at that point."
"Who were these…others?"
"I'm not sure." Creed scratched his sideburns, "One of them, tall, broad, a lot stronger than he oughta be. Someone called him 'Angel'."
"Angel." The voice was silent for a second. "I've heard of an Angel Investigations. Rumors are that he's a vampire. They claim to 'help the hopeless.'"
Creed sat in silence for a moment, then asked "What do you want me to do?"
"Tell me, which of Xavier's people were there?"
"The boy scout and the redhead."
"Unfortunate, I was hoping that Mr. Logan would be in Los Angeles, as I know you were."
"Runt and me, we got unfinished business." Creed muttered.
"McCoy won't be at the hotel tonight, he'll go into hiding," the voice replied, "Use your sources to find this Angel Investigations. Start there. Find him." There was no need to add any threat to the end of that. Creed knew it was there.
"I will," he said. Turning off the phone, he spoke to the darkness. "Get everyone together, we've got a job ta do."
"Will do, boss."
Remy LeBeau could not sleep. This was hardly an uncommon experience. He'd been a night owl for so long, there were just times that sleep would not come easily. Sighing, he pulled on a pair of jeans and went to his favorite thinking place. Climbing out his window, he rapidly ascended to the roof, using skills he'd been honing since he was a child picking pockets in the streets of New Orleans. He knew this roof by heart, all it's peeks and crevices. He knew the stars he would see, and the winds he would feel. He knew exactly what to expect. That's why he was so surprised to find someone else up there.
"Couldn't sleep, chere?" he asked Rogue.
"Hey, swamp rat," she replied. "Happens sometimes."
"Know the feelin'" he commented, lighting a cigarette.
"Those things'l kill ya, y'know." Rogue said.
"Maybe,"
They sat in silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Remy turned to Rogue after a while.
"You look beautiful in this light, chere." He said softly.
"Don't" was all Rogue replied.
"Don't what?"
"Flirt with me,"
"Not flirtin', just payin' a lady a compliment."
Rogue was silent for a moment, taking that in. "Thank you," she finally said.
"You don't like me, chere?"
"Ah like ya fine, Remy, but Ah don't like people getting' to close."
"I'll settle f'r as close as you'll let me."
"Why? Why want to get close to a woman ya cain't touch?"
"More t' life then touch, chere."
They sat silently again, watching the stars.
"…didn't realize it at first," Xavier was explaining to Wesley as they exited the library, "But I was here once before, in 1962. I had reservations, but when I arrived, there was some…essence that my telepathy picked up. The hotel was one of the most uncomfortable places I'd ever been, and I'd just arrived. I stayed elsewhere, of course."
"Well, Professor," Wesley replied, "there was a Thesulac demon in residence here at that time. They whisper to the mind, creating the fear and paranoia they need to feed."
"Ah, well. That would explain why I didn't want to stay the night." Xavier chuckled.
"Indeed, in fact we just recently removed him from this plane of existence." Wesley paled slightly at the memory of the feelings the Thesulac had brought out in him.
As they approached the others, Jean was entertaining Angel, Cordelia, Hank and Gunn with a story about the Ellis Island incident.
"…so Scott says 'Prove it.' And Logan stares at him with this…look and says 'You're a dick!'" she started laughing, her voice joining the others who were already enjoying the story.
"What did Scott say?" asked Cordelia, catching her breath.
"Oh, oh," Jean started, "He stands ramrod straight, looks at Logan, and goes," she put on her best deadpan, "'Okay."
At this, no one involved could keep a straight face, and even the Professor grinned.
"Oh my stars and garters!" said Hank, starting to recover himself. "I can just picture our esteemed leader exactly like that! Not letting anything rattle him."
"Oh can you now?" asked Scott, entering from the other end of the room. "Telling tales on me again, Jean?" As he sat next to her, the smile on his face betrayed his true reaction to the story.
"So honey," she asked him, "Any luck with your family?"
"Friad not," Scott replied, "No listing for the home numbers, so I tried calling Uncle Hank's office. They told me he's off in Spain somewhere, and wouldn't take a message." He settled back a bit in the sofa, "I'll try Aunt Joyce's work tomorrow sometime."
Hearing the names of Scott's aunt and uncle, the crew of Angel Investigations suddenly stopped smiling.
"Scott," Angel started, "Your Aunt, Joyce Summers?"
"Yeah," Scott answered, "You know her?"
"Does she have any children?" Angel continued.
"They have a daugh….."
Suddenly, for just a slice of a fraction of a second, Charles Xavier felt…something, just barely. It brushed the outer edges of his mind with fingers of gossamer. Then it was gone again. Looking to Jean, it seemed that she hadn't noticed it. In fact, Xavier himself was beginning to doubt as to if he actually felt anything. A quick scan showed that all was as it should be. He returned his attention to the conversation.
"…Two daughters," Scott was saying. "Buffy and Dawn. God, I haven't seen them in years." A slight smile touched his lips at the memory.
"Oh, god…" Cordelia whispered.
Xavier and Jean both picked up on the change in emotions, and she reached out to take Scott's hand.
"Scott," Angel said softly, "…how long since you talked to either of them?"
"Joyce was in New York about five years ago." Scott said, "She said that there were some problems, and didn't say it out right, but divorce was written between the lines. Is that it? They're divorced?" He looked at Angel, apprehensive.
"Yes, but…" Angel sighed, and clasped his hands together between his knees, "I'm sorry Scott, there's no easy way to say this. Your aunt died about a month ago. We all knew her. And the girls…" he trailed off, looking up at Scott.
"What about the girls?!" Scott said, his voice rising in volume slightly as he started to stand.
"They're fine!" Cordelia jumped up and laid her hands on his shoulders. "He meant as in 'We know the girls…' They're both fine."
Scott sat back into the couch, his face absolutely expressionless. "How well do you know them?" he asked.
"Buffy and I were classmates, sophomore on up," Cordelia started, "Angel…" she hesitated.
"Buffy and I were very close for a while." Angel finished, "And Wesley, he was her watcher for a brief time."
Gunn sat quietly, deciding that there was no need to actually announce that he didn't really know them.
"Watcher?" Scott said blankly.
"uhm…" Cordelia started. She looked at Angel and Wesley, both of whom returned her look with a nod. "There's a lot you don't know about Buffy, Scott."
"Tell me…everything."
By noon, Logan had gone out to pick up some needed items. Most of the students were outside, enjoying the day poolside. Rogue had decided to stay inside and read. Her mutant ability, absorbing others memories and powers with a touch, made her wary of any situation where she would be wearing a swimsuit.
"Are you alright, Rogue?" asked Ororo, on her way out to the pool.
"Ahm fine 'Ro" came the soft southern voice. Rogue sat in one of the most padded chairs in the house, reading. Her fingers twirled one of the white locks that framed her young face. "Just don't feel like bein' outside today, that's all."
"Really?"
Rogue stretched her toes and sighed. "Ah just don't feel right goin' swimmin' yet. I used ta love it, ya know."
Ororo sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair, waiting for her to continue.
"I used ta swing out ovah the swimmin' hole we had in Caldicutt County, as high up as I could, lettin' go, and droppin' feelin' like ah fell forevah…" she drifted off, lost in the memory. "Now, Ah can't risk lettin' one of the othah kids touch me. Kinda takes some of the fun out, doncha think?"
"The other students are well aware of what would happen," Ororo said, "I think you can trust them to be careful."
"That's just it, though," replied the younger woman, "They shouldn't have ta… y'know?"
Silence hung between the two women for a few moments.
"Alright then," Ororo responded, "If you need anything, I think Remy's getting something out of the freezer for dinner. He'll be in the kitchen for a while, I'm sure."
Rogue smiled, she really did have a soft spot for the Cajun charmer, Ororo realized. She headed towards the kitchen to let Remy know she was going swimming with the students. As she approached the end of the hall, she smelled cigarette smoke.
"Remy, didn't we discuss your smoking last night?" she called out. When there was no answer, she grew a bit concerned. The two of them had gone back and forth about his smoking for a long time, and the expected wise crack hadn't come. She entered the kitchen.
"Remy?" she asked, the young man stood stock still in the middle of the kitchen, a look of concern on his face, and a half smoked cigarette dangling from his fingers, half raised to his lips.
"Shhhhhh…" he replied, "Someone in de house wit' us."
Ororo immediately set down her towel and brought up her guard, "The pool?" She had learned a while back to trust the Cajun on issues like this. It wasn't that he could hear or smell someone, like Logan. It was just some…sense that alerted him to changes in his surroundings.
"Non, they safe, only in de house." He stood still a moment longer, focusing. "Sapristi[2]!" he cursed, running back the way Ororo had come, "De library!"
"Rogue's in there!" Ororo cried out as she fell to following him. Right about then a crash came from the direction they were headed. They both redoubled their speed. As they approached the library, they could see that the door had been smashed inward. Remy grabbed the only thing in his pockets, his key to the mansions main doors, and focused his mutant power on it. The key started growing bright red as the potential molecular energy in the key was transformed into active kinetic energy, and he was prepared to unleash that energy on whoever had broken the library door.
"Hey, Cajun!" came a shout from the other side of the hall. Remy turned just in time for a shaft of energy to hit him directly in the chest. Suddenly, the key discharged its pent up energy, the two forces combining to throw him backwards into the wall. He slid down to the floor, unconscious.
"REMY!" screamed Ororo, her eyes already shifting to pure white. She drew on her own mutant abilities, and the skies answered her calls by darkening. A large man stepped out of the hallway from the direction that the shaft had appeared, dressed in a black coverall and holding a harpoon which was starting to glow. He had vaguely Inuit features, and he stared ice at her.
"Next," he said, raising the harpoon to throw.
"I think not," she replied, pointing at him. Lightening came in through all the windows in the hallway, striking the man, and flinging him down to the far end of the hall, knocking him out in the process.
As Ororo ran over to check on Remy, a smaller man, oriental in appearance wearing casual sports clothes, stepped into the hall from the library.
"That wasn't nice," he said, and he looked at Ororo.
Suddenly, her own power was turned inside out, and Ororo for the first time in years felt the fury of her own lightening. She slumped down besides Remy.
The last of the three men came out of the library, a massive hulking mountain of a man, dressed to match his Inuit comrade, an unconscious Rogue carefully draped over his large shoulder. The oriental spoke to him, pointing to the Inuit.
"Get him too," was all he said as he walked away. The large man grunted, picked up his second burden, and followed the oriental out the front door.
Dark. Cold. The air in this room hadn't moved in almost a year. Then, with a loud hiss, a shaft of light came through a crack in one wall. As the crack widened, two figures holding a flashlight could be made out. The torches light circled the concrete bunker, not pausing over the advanced computer equipment, stopping only when it centered on a non-moving form on the floor. The circle expanded as the two men came towards the corpse, revealing the patchwork nature of the body. One arm was normal, but the other was half again as large, and covered in green scales. It also had the wrong number of fingers. On the chest, a large metal box sat directly over the heart, with a small slot in the center that was about the size of a computer disk. Finally, the dualistic nature of the face could be fully seen. It was as if someone had torn two pictures in half and glued them together. One side was handsome, rugged looking. The other, however, came straight out of Hell. The eyes were open, starring into nothingness.
"Dr. Walsh's masterpiece," came one voice, haggard, sounding like the wind in the desert.
"And all of her notes?" came the other. Smooth and refined. Complete polar opposite to the first.
"Let's find out…" came the first. The man who spoke was the same who held the flashlight, and he turned to the far wall, walking towards the power box there. He threw the switch and the fluorescent lights flickered on.
"Generators are still hooked up to this section," the man commented, smiling. Many men had paled before that smile, although no one had ever put a name to the tall man dressed in black. The face was well worn, and the hair gray. But the eyes could stare straight into your soul. He reached into the inside pocket on his trench coat, retrieving a battered pack of Morely cigarettes. Lighting one, he turned back to his companion.
"I suspect that the computer systems will still have all of the records from project 314," he commented.
The other man stepped over the body on the floor, and walked to the awakening computers. Like his companion, he wore a black jacket and pant combination; however, he wore a white turtleneck instead of a shirt and tie. His hair was coal dark, and slicked back against his skull, and his eyes were the same deep dark as a black hole at the bottom of the ocean. A perfectly trimmed goatee, the same obsidian tone as his hair, framed his thin-lipped mouth, and served to accent the ghastly pale shade of his skin. As the screen flickered to life, he asked his companion, "And that…?"
"You mean Adam?" the older man replied. "As I understand it, his power supply was removed. Replace it, and he should wake up." He drew on his cigarette, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. "I think he could probably answer a number of your questions regarding Dr. Walsh's work."
The computers had fully booted up, and the other man was accessing some information on the terminal. "According to this," he said, "this entire section of the project doesn't exist."
"And that's why it's still here," his companion replied, "The rest of the complex has been filled in with concrete. This," he waved his hand, holding the cigarette, around the room, "was never on the original design. The power supply, air filtration, everything, is entirely separate from the main installation. Apparently, the Pentagon didn't listen as closely to the Slayer as they should have." He walked over to join his companion at the terminal, "I trust this will fulfill my end of the bargain, Doctor?"
The other man smiled, an expression so cold the temperature dropped. "Of course, this sort of bio-combinative research is just what I need to augment my own DNA manipulation work." He returned his attention to the monitor. "The full results of my work here will be delivered at the arranged address. I'm sure your consortium will find it most beneficial."
"Wonderful," said the older man, lighting another Morley. "Then I will leave you to your work, Doctor." He turned and left through the same opening that they entered.
The man called "Doctor" turned to the patchwork corpse on the floor, "And you, my friend, let's see about getting you some energy…"
It was slightly after nine when Angel came down the stairs into the agencies main offices. Cordelia was working on the computer, while Hank was perusing the books on the shelves. Angel was only slightly nonplussed to see that Hank was perusing while hanging from one of the ornate railings that ran along the ceiling by his feet. Professor Xavier was on the phone, trying to contact the Academy.
"Morning," he murmured on his way to the coffee pot. It smelled wonderful, which could only mean Cordelia had not made this batch. "Where is everyone?"
"Prof. X sent Scott and Jean to get Hank's stuff from the hotel, Wes and Gunn went to talk to the Host, see if maybe they could find out something. Wes thinks that maybe that mutant…" she grimaced, "Sabretooth, might be behind some of our missing demons."
"Could be…" Angel mused, "But why…"
Xavier hung up the phone, and came over to the others. "I've left a message at the school for Ororo to contact us here. I suspect that the students are out enjoying their impromptu vacation."
Hank McCoy looked up from the volume he was reading, "I know we always did," he commented with a smile, "A chance to get away from the iron fist of Professor Charles Xavier."
Xavier smiled at the joke, "And here I thought I was a benevolent dictator…"
"How is Scott handling things?" Angel asked.
"He seems to be doing well," replied Xavier. "However, I know him. He is looking at the current crisis with Henry. Scott tends to keep his emotions to himself. As soon as we can, I am going to insist that he go visit Sunnydale to check on his cousins."
Angel nodded his head in agreement, remembering how difficult it was for him to return to LA after Joyce's death. He felt an understanding of what Scott must be thinking, having two families, both who needed him.
Suddenly, Xavier stiffened. "The windows!" he cried out, "Someone…"
That was as far as he got. The large windows on the east side of the hotel came exploding inwards, heralding the arrival of some unwelcome guests.
"Round two, folks," Sabretooth growled as he brushed bits of glass off his shoulder. There were four others with him, two woman and two men. The first woman was tall with short dark hair, and wore a simple outfit of jeans, boots and a black jacket. She was Portuguese in appearance, and wasted no time. Looking directly at Xavier and Angel, she slammed her fist into the floor, sending a shockwave through the concrete. Angel managed to maintain his balance, thanks mainly to his vampyric agility. Xavier was not so fortunate, and the force knocked over his wheelchair, sending him sprawling across the floor.
Henry McCoy wasted no time launching himself at Sabretooth, taking the two of them back towards the front doors. However, Creed allowed himself to be knocked down, using the momentum to flip Hank over his head and into the wall. McCoy was not so easily taken out of the game, however, and quickly regained his feet, bracing for Creed's oncoming attack.
One of the other men was small, but well built. He resembled a baseball player in both stance and dress, a dark satin jacket, with a ball cap and sunglasses concealing most of his face. He faced Angel, and suddenly his arm was fully outstretched as Angel felt something tear through his chest, right next to his heart. The pain was incredible, and despite himself he fell to his knees.
Cordelia meanwhile was trying to get to the weapons locker when she was overcome with dizziness and nausea. As she stumbled, catching herself on a table, she spun around, seeing the second woman staring at her with intense concentration. Another wave of nausea hit, much stronger than the last, and Cordelia's world swam sideways. She collapsed to the floor.
Xavier was trying to pull himself over to his wheelchair. Wesley had given him the crystal from last night, and he had left it in a compartment in his chair. He hoped that he could activate it, and that it's added power might override the protection that Sabretooth and, he assumed, his companions had from his telepathy.
The last of Sabretooth's companions spotted Xavier's attempt. He was a large, bulky man dressed completely in military fatigues, with multiple pouches hanging from them. He reached into two pouches and pulled out small pieces of electronic equipment that he then attached to a rod pulled from a third pouch.
"I don't think so," the man muttered, pointing the rod at Xavier.
Xavier grasped his head in pain as a sonic wave hit him. The intense sound quickly overloaded his mind and he passed out, mere inches from his goal.
Creed delivered a shattering roundhouse to Hank's jaw, and the brilliant mutant slammed headfirst into one of the lobby's marble columns. He slumped to the floor, not moving. Creed quickly found a pulse and let go a sigh of relief. His employer wanted McCoy alive. He stood up, hefting McCoy over his shoulder.
"Alright, let's get out of here," he growled at his companions, and they left through the lobby's front door.
[1] O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep. Anonymous, 1776
[2] Hexes, accursed.