by Gouki
Chapter Seven
Fast Forward
Weapon X and Prelate Cyclops were not conscious for several hours. They were sprawled out in a heap across a hard wooden floor, not moving and not making any noises. In fact, the only indication that they were even alive was the fog that surrounded their noses and mouths as they breathed: shallow, weak actions on their part.
And then, slowly, Weapon X stirred, moaning softly. Deliriously, his eyelids fluttered open, a psychedelic distortion of his senses artificially enhancing the lights of the cold, uncomfortable room, making it appear more brightly lit than it actually was. Instinctively, he brought his left arm up to his eyes, using the metal stump which covered his handless wrist to shield his eyes from the harsh lights as he supported himself with his right hand.
That was where he realized something was wonderfully wrong.
The metal stump on his wrist was gone.
He gazed in wide wonder at the wrist, where his hand had been amputated, and in a confused moment, realized that there was, in fact, a hand in front of his face. He jumped to his feet in a shock, and examined both arms.
Sure enough, both of his wrists had hands attached.
He should have been happy, he realized that much, but seeing a left hand jutting from his wrist seemed to be too good to be true. He wriggled the fingers on this new hand, closing them into a fist, and tapping them at air to see if he could feel the coldness on his skin. His suspicions that the hand was artificial were dispelled when he felt the tingle of blood rushing through the hand's veins.
Thus far, he had not spoken, perhaps fearing that the sound would make the hand disappear. He hadn't had the luxury of having two hands for a year and a half, and now he could feel the prickly sensation of pins and needles surging through his left hand. He must have been laying on it while he was unconscious.
"This has gotta be some sorta dream," he whispered.
"No," a gentle female voice responded from across the room, "you can rest assured that this is real."
Weapon X swiveled his head to the direction of the voice. It was one he recognized, and to him, it was the most important voice in the world.
"Jeanny?" he gasped, his eyes widening in hopeful anticipation.
He couldn't see her, but he immediately knew who she was. She was concealed in the shadows of the dimly lit room, but no shadows could conceal the way she smelled. A rich, violet scented perfume, and the scent of expensive shampoo emanated from her skin, hair, and clothes, but they could not disguise her delicate scent from his enhanced senses.
It was Jean Grey. Weapon X soon forgot his new left hand and rushed to the woman he loved, preparing to embrace her and kiss her passionately.
But as she stepped out of the shadows, he realized something was very wrong. She was wearing different clothes than her usual X-Man uniform, and while that was unimportant, she was missing the tattoos on her face and her hair had grown much longer than he remembered it.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Gazed at her in confusion.
And then he heard another voice which sounded surreally like his own.
"Don't take another step, bub," the rough voice growled.
This voice came from speakers which were placed in the ceiling of the cold room, so Weapon X couldn't detect the voice's owner using his enhanced sense of smell.
"That's right," the voice continued, "just take it easy."
Weapon X looked around the room, searching for the speakers, and possibly some visual reference of whoever was talking to him.
"Jean Grey" looked at a mirrored window to an unseen observer and waved her hand cautiously. "It's okay, Logan," she said urgently. "He won't hurt me."
Logan? That was Weapon X's real name. He looked at the Jean Grey double in confusion and rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the ensuing headache which threatened him.
"I'm sure you are very confused," she said to him in a very reassuring tone. "But we can work all of this out."
Upon hearing that last statement, Weapon X passed out, and fell to the wooden floor with an echoing thud.
Rewind
The Beast invaded her dreams. He was just as ugly as ever: hideous blue-black fur, terrible spiky projections jutting from his back and elbows, long coarse black hair flowing past his shoulder blades like a waterfall of sludge. His metallic-blue pants reflected the harsh bright lights of the operating room; Beast as the doctor, Blink as his patient.
Blink did not enjoy the comfort of a hospital bed. No, she was in an upright position, naked and manacled to an operating stand, fearfully watching as the Beast hummed cheerfully, filling a syringe with a vile green fluid and squeezing out the air-bubbles within it. He picked up a ball of cotton, soaked it with alcohol, and it he daintily rubbed Blink's left arm.
"There we go," he murmured gently. "Now try and remain still, my dear niece. If this syringe is jostled whilst I inject it into your body, it may well be fatal. So no wriggling, or Uncle Hank will have to find a new little patient to operate on."
Beast had a partner waiting behind him, just a child, Blink's age maybe. He was holding a clipboard with various charts and graphs composed in such a haphazard way that only the Beast could possibly hope to decipher it. He smiled lovingly at his partner and patted him on the head in a sickeningly sweet manner. "That's a good lad, Georgie," he said as he took the clipboard, "you may make it into Apocalypse's Med School yet. Shoo, off with you now. Uncle Hank's got mutie surgery to attend to, and he mustn't be disturbed as he does so."
Blink shuddered at the name "Uncle Hank." Beast wasn't any uncle she'd want. He wasn't even any acquaintance she'd want. He leered at her with a sickening grin, bringing the needle ever closer to her arm, and she wondered painfully how the Catholic god she'd been raised to believe in could ever let her come to this. Would her god really let this maniac doctor dissect her and throw her into the gene vats? She squirmed as he touched the tip of the needle against her arm and started to cry.
"Ah, dear me," Beast sighed, taking the needle away from her arm, "are you really THAT afraid of needles, my little faery? Most eleven-year-old girl mutants are much braver at the Doc's office. If you think this is scary, you should see Sinister's operating table. Yeesh. Now there's a sick motherfucker, lemme tell ya."
He set the needle down and studied Blink with the look of both curious doctor and sick pervert. "No, Sinister doesn't see science the way I do. With him it's so cold, so, so, TECHNICAL. No fun involved, whatsoever. Well, I like fun sprinkled in with my work. And you look like fun."
With that, he reached for a sterile, empty needle. He tied a tourniquet around Blink's arm, and then poked the needle into the bulging vein in the crook of her arm. Smiling as she winced, Beast giggled in fascination, watching the blood fill the vial. He dabbed the needle wound on her arm with iodine and affixed a bandage to it, and then brought the vial of blood over to his blood analysis workstation. Forgetting his previous task of injecting DNA toxins into Blink's body, he studied the blood sample he'd just taken and marveled over his new private DNA.
"...no, I can't have the original fairy...nobody said I couldn't make a fairy of my own...nobody needs to know about this one...all mine"
Nausea and headaches surged through Blink as Beast rambled on to himself, and soon a shockwave blasted through her, frying her thoughts and switching her to instincts and adrenaline. She didn't know what was happening all of a sudden, but knew she had to release whatever was building up inside of her.
And she did just that, lashing out for the first time with a power that was the most destructive known in the world...
...right before she woke up in shock.
There Beast was, just like in her dream, standing there.
Acting on pure instinct, Blink leapt at him, unrestrained and free to kill the vile doctor. He was caught off guard by her sudden charge and moaned, just before she collided with him, "Nuts."
Play
She wrestled Beast to the floor and struggled to reach for his throat. He fought back, not as brutally as she'd braced herself for, but enough to evade her attempts to strangle him, and he swiftly kicked her off of him.
Before she could start for another attack, Beast held up both hands and called out.
"Stop!"
Blink did so, but scowled back. Backing away, she rubbed her head and looked at him again, and then thought about her surroundings. This wasn't the Beast. This was a gentle, blue-furred man with huge hands and feet. No spiky protrusions from the spine or elbows. No coarse black fur or yellow fangs. This man had the look of a scientist or a doctor about him, but not the gleefully evil grin the Beast flashed around to doomed patients and tortured experiments.
He wasn't Apocalypse's Beast. This wasn't Apocalypse's world.
The next sound Blink heard was the ripping and snapping of Wolverine's bone claws popping from their housings in his forearms. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there close by.
Right behind her.
"Easy, Logan," Beast said in a calm, collected voice which effectively masked his sudden unease. "Just take it easy. Everything's under control."
Blink fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. The world was putting its weight on her shoulders, and she couldn't withstand the strain of it anymore. Muffled cries filled the hallway, and soon she felt Logan's battle-hardened yet gentle hands touch her shoulders. The soft hum of Professor X's floating wheelchair and the rapid footsteps of the X-Man Phoenix soon filled the hallway, but Blink didn't have the emotional strength to register their presences. She didn't even realize she had fallen into Wolverine's arms, or that she was burying her face into his chest and soaking his shirt with her tears.
Wolverine and Phoenix led Blink out of the hallways of the second level basement, leaving Beast and Professor X to ponder the situation they had gotten themselves into, taking in this unknown girl.
They weren't long in pondering.
*Professor?* Psylocke and Cyclops called out, through Psylocke's telepathy. *We seem to have two guests, unconscious on the front step.*
Professor X smiled grimly. "More guests." Then, telepathically, *Are they people we know; allies or enemies?*
*Well, Charles,* Psylocke said with a bit of confusion in her voice, *one of them appears to be Wolverine.*
*And the other?*
Cyclops spoke next. *Sir, the other one is... me.*
Pause
David did not know what to do. Weapon X and Prelate Cyclops were not supposed to have escaped. No doubt they had been snatched from him by the same girl who had taken Jean Grey, and was now ripping down the walls between Order and Chaos. He had four kids roaming about that didn't even belong in his reality. Jean was STILL missing. Bishop was unable to help him.
And the Continuum was STILL expecting results.
Oh, what would his father say if he saw the mess that was unfolding?
He held his head in frustration and moaned.
"David?"
He looked at the girl that spoke his name. "What are you doing here, In-Betweener?" he snarled in contempt.
She sighed. "I'm not the In-Betweener, David. I severed my ties with that entity long ago to live my own life."
"Whatever," David muttered, looking away from her. "What have you done with Jean Grey?"
His former rival shook her head. "You have to let this go, Legion. David Haller, the mortal, no longer exists. Your passing was mourned, yet still you crave acceptance from those who cannot give it to you."
David's eyes darkened. "Don't ever call me that again."
"Why not? Legion is what you were. If you're not careful, you will become him again. Maybe this time, no one will be able to help you."
He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her up against a wall of clouds. Eyes burning bright green, hair standing on end, he roared, "Don't you dare! I will not be told what not to do by one who nearly destroyed reality herself! Get out of my sight! Hide behind your shadows! Leave me alone!"
Calmly, the girl who was disguised with shadows melted from David's grip and stepped away from him. She shook her head sadly. "I guess this means we're enemies again. I'm sorry, David. I really didn't want it this way."
"This is not over. One way or another, I will get Jean Grey back."
"Legion, this has yet to BEGIN. The next time we meet, one of us will die." With that, she faded into the other shadows.
Stop
Shining brightly, Bishop spoke. "I request permission to take David into custody."
The Elders considered the request for many microseconds, and then replied in unison. "Permission denied."
Bishop sighed. "I thought as much. You do realize, of course, that if left on his present course of action, David will destroy everything, including the Continuum."
"Perhaps. We shall see."
The Elders left.
Bishop loved David like a son, but he knew that the Infant God could not long be nurtured and steered away from chaos. It seemed nothing Bishop did or said could possibly avert that destiny. Bishop was powerful, but power alone doesn't always win battles and wars.
"You heard everything, I presume?"
The shadow girl emerged from her hiding place in the darkness. "Wasn't much to hear, actually. Legion hasn't gone mad yet, but it seems certain that he will soon."
The beam of light that was Bishop brightened, indicating his expression of skepticism. "Certain, is it? Don't be so sure. Your threat to kill him the next time you meet certainly didn't help matters, In-Bet-"
"Don't," she interrupted him. "Don't call me by that name."
He let it go. "You came to ask me to help you, yes? Help you to kill my pupil, my would-be son."
"Bishop, it doesn't have to be this way."
"I will help you, but not to kill him, just to stop him from destroying reality or himself."
With a "Thank you, Mister Bishop," the girl exited in a portal of shadows.
Mister Bishop?
MISTER Bishop?
Bishop laughed until the proverbial tears ran down his cheeks.
The strange thing was, he really didn't find it THAT funny.