Feedback and flames are welcome.
*****
The wakefulness came suddenly, and engulfed
him fully. There was none of the momentary disorientation, none of the
occasional morning
confusion that had plagued him ever since
his transformation at the hands of Nur into the Horseman of Death. On this
morning he rose up out
of the dreamless sleep directly into a
state of wary alertness, unsure of what had disturbed his slumber.
Long-engrained habit kept him
motionless as he scanned his surroundings,
still asleep to all the world but for the slight change in his breathing
pattern. He registered and
dismissed the slight motion of the curtains
stirred by an early morning Westchester breeze coming through the open
window.
Checking the rest of the room, he absently
took in the familiar objects, his hooded eyes sliding easily from the wakizashi
on the wall, past the
solitary photograph on the table, to the
Ming vase in the corner. He could feel his frustration building as he failed
to pinpoint the source of his
uneasiness in the murkiness of the room.
He sprang out of bed suddenly, throwing
away the covers. Stopping in front of the window he sighed deeply, consciously
relaxing the
tension in his muscles and finding his
ka, his center, his inner calm. He peered outside, at the familiar scenery
of the Mansion grounds. The
chill air helped, and he'd almost succeeded
in convincing himself that his instincts had played a trick on him, when
he caught it. His nostrils
flared slightly and he felt the hair on
his neck standing up, as he checked the challenging growl rumbling at the
base of his throat.
Only minutes later, as he was getting dressed, Logan realized that it had been this same sound -- his own snarl -- that woke him.
***
The sleep refused to come. By now she'd become quite proficient in recognizing the signs of true insomnia. This was it. Damn it all to hell.
The black-haired pale woman scowled
at the darkness, and shifted under the covers, rearranging the pillows
for the umpteenth time. It
would fail to help her to fall asleep
... again, but at least she felt a little better as she pounded the innocent
mattress into a groveling lump of
cloth.
*If nothing else,* she thought, stubbornly
refusing to admit defeat and burrowing down under the huge blanket into
the depths of the
king-sized bed, *You have to admit that
the accommodations Pete arranged for X-Force are not bad.* Not bad at all.
She smiled softly as
she remembered watching the panorama of
San Francisco at night from her window. She always liked cities.
There was something
inherently beautiful watching a jewel of
the urban art at night, shining as a testament to human achievement.
The scowl made a triumphant comeback as she reflected
on how little, on the other hand, she liked being awake at 3 am. "All his
fault," she
muttered resentfully, "I never used to get insomnia.
The bastard is contagious! Damn all Summerses anyway... if I start to angst
or any
long-lost relatives begin to show up, I am tracking
his metal ass down and doing something unpleasantly permanent to him."
Alas, even the momentary vision of Cable in a
pool of sharks, as satisfying as it was in other respects, did not appear
to have much of an
effect on her insomnia. Cursing under her breath,
Domino propped the pillows up yet again and sat down cross-legged at the
head of the
bed, still maintaining a proprietary grip on
the blanket. In fact, if some unlucky soul would have chanced upon observing
her at the moment,
the only impression he could have gotten would
be that of two violet eyes blazing balefully from the darkness of the make-shift
cocoon of
bed linen.
As she leaned back against the head-rest,
Domino gasped softly at the sensation of the wooden frame coming into contact
with that... thing
on her back. She shuddered slightly in
disgust, the reaction muted only partly by the time she'd spent coming
to terms with having something
so completely alien in her body.
Sighing deeply she closed her eyes and forced herself into the beginning
stages of the meditative trance
Logan had taught her long ago. Slowly she
counted down from ten, taking long, even breaths, but the
simple technique of emptying her mind eluded
her.
Every time she tried, the same vision kept swimming
before her eyes - Gryaznova. The cyborg Sentinel who'd made the destruction
of
Domino her mission in life. Biting her lip in
a desperate attempt to keep the memories away, the mutant sometimes called
the luckiest woman
alive did not notice the slight shaking of her
hands. By chance or skill Gryaznova had found Domino's deepest fear and
exploited it ruthlessly.
Domino still wasn't sure that the physical effects
of the neural inhibitor that Gryaznova had implanted in her head to deaden
her reflexes were
completely gone. She'd hoped the psychological
effects were.
She thought she dealt with it just like she dealt
with memories of what Tolliver had done to her. It had been a while since
he came to taunt
her in her dreams... since she woke up screaming
thinking that sweaty bundle of blankets around her were the straps trapping
her on the
surgical table... that the chilly feel of Cable's
techno-organic arm was the scalpels biting into her flesh...
The warm liquid streaking down her chin jerked
Domino out of her nightmares. Realizing that she'd bit down hard enough
to draw blood
from her lip, Dom swore and carefully got out
of bed. All she needed now was a lecture from Tabitha on housekeeping.
*Oh, yeah.
Wouldn't she just love to get back at me after
all the 'talks' I had to have with her about clearing at least some paths
through the obstacle
course she called her room.*
Thankfully she somehow managed not to get blood
on the bed-linens.. or the floor, as she threw on a shirt and quietly tiptoed
her way to the
bathroom. Making noise and waking the others
up would be a BAD thing. The kids looked totally wiped out, as if they
hadn't gotten a
decent sleep in weeks. True it was only a week
or so, since the funeral...
She paused with her hand on a med-cabinet, and
yet again second-guessed her decision. She'd returned to the US, firmly
realizing that this
time she really did need help. While not liking
it one bit, she was not stupid enough to deny the realities of life. Tsung
was better than her.
Much, much better. She sighed and opened the
wooden locker, scanning for a package of Band-Aids.
Her choices had grown depressingly limited of
late. Not that many people left she _could_ ask for help any more. Logan
and Cable had
apparently fallen off the face of the Earth along
with the rest of the X-Men, Grizzly took a job for Wakanda and right
now was somewhere
in the middle of Congo, if alive. Bridge... had
his hands full apparently. With all the stuff on his mind, she could only
too well imagine his
reaction if she did ask him for help. Domino
grinned crookedly as she ripped the package apart. *The old chauvinist
would put me in a lock
up with a 24-hour armed guard. For my own protection
of course. Yeah, that's all I need. SHIELD on my back.*
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, while reluctant
to admit it even to herself -- she didn't... trust Bridge with this. Couldn't.
He always had
been a man of strong loyalties and SHIELD
suited him all too well. Gave him that purpose in life he'd been looking
for, ever since his Army
days. She didn't REALLY think he'd turn
her over to their medlabs... but he might. And so she went looking for
Pete and X-Force. Only
Pete was dead.
Closing the mirror-door Domino purposefully aimed
the bandage at her face, only to swear yet again when she could see nothing
but
unblemished, pale skin. "Fuck! I can't even bleed
in peace without Junior being helpful! Bugger!"
Putting the supplies back, Domino resisted the
urge to slam the cabinet closed. She leaned against the sink looking at
her reflection with
unseeing eyes.
She knew that she wasn't being rational, wasn't
in top form. Waking up one day with an organic implant in her had been
bad, but the hunt
that followed, the days upon days of feeling
watched, the ugly crawling shiver along her spine.... That was worse.
She called the memories of her slaughtered team
to mind, dispassionately replaying the mission, trying yet again to catch
something
significant, some details she might have
missed then... something that could help her get to Tsung first, this time.
She slammed down the
beginning snarl. None of that nonsense now. But
even when examined coldly, the slaughter of her team offered little insight
into the
weaknesses of her opponent. His execution
was flawless. Theoretically the chances of one man taking out a standard-size
merc team were
astronomical at best. And this group had been
better than most. Yet Tsung cut them apart with almost surgical precision,
seemingly
anticipating their every contingency. They never
even saw him until he decided to give her a glimpse of his face... Vain?
Sadistic? There was
something there...
The sudden, abrupt, soft sound rudely jerked Domino
out of her reverie. Without even thinking she threw the cabinet open again
and palmed
the small hold-out gum, sliding noiselessly out
of the bathroom a second later. The sounds came with harsh irregularity,
sometimes muted,
then louder. Only as she neared the origin of
the noise did realization strike Domino. It was the sound of crying.
"Tabby... Come on, Boom, huh? Issok... it's gonna be ok... Really... Please don't cry. Please?"
"Shu'up." A short sniffling sound followed, acutely
reminding Domino of that evening, not long after the Six Pack had broken
up, when she
ruined Grizzly's shirt after making the mistake
of attempting to chart out her future with a bottle of vodka. One of the
few times liqueur
made her cry and not shoot things.
Still sniffling, Tabitha continued in a rough,
quiet voice hiccuping a little occasionally, as stray sobs attempted to
break through, "This is my
room. I'll cry if I
wanna. You're only here 'cos I'm out of tissues
and you have a silk shirt."
"Had a silk shirt..." Samuel Guthrie's voice
was manfully firm, although if he kept to form that was probably the only
silk shirt... hell, the only
silk article of clothing in his wardrobe.
And even that was probably courtesy of Lila Chaney. Putting the safety
on the gun back on, Domino
held her breath, listening to the conversation.
"I can't believe he's dead, Sam. I... I just can't.
And... he was just lying there... and... blood... it's not supposed to
happen to us! We're
superheroes!"
"Stop it, Tabitha. Snap out of it right freaking now!"
Domino's eyes widened in surprise at the
sadden hardness in Sam's voice. She had to fight off the temptation to
sneak a peak inside the
room, but even so she could positively imagine
Tab's shocked look. Sam didn't pause though, "You start thinking
you're invincible because
you don't need a grenade to blow something up,
you're gonna end up like Mr. Wisdom. That's what he's been trying to tell
you.. tell us. The
Dream doesn't work one way. If you wanna people
to treat you as equal, do the same. Respect them. Fear them. We
are not Gods! Jesus, Tab! You know this! If Doug's
death taught us _anything_ it taught us this! Or Illyana!"
"Stoppit! Shut up, Sam. Just shut up! We were
kids then.. of course... I mean... And no one even cared! Nobody even noticed
that he's
gone!" Suddenly, another raking sob broke through
and the last thing Domino heard before Tabitha's words were drowned under
the new
weeping whisper-scream was, "I miss him, Sam.
I miss him so much..."
"I know, Tab. I know. I do too."
Sliding softly away, Domino made her way to the
kitchen. Coffee and time heal all wounds, after all. And while time was
out of her control,
coffee she could have waiting by the time Tabitha
cried herself out.
***
The night is a strange time. Once it was the embodiment
of Man's fear. The ultimate unknown, the omni-consuming darkness full of
demons,
Gods and spirits. To some the night still is
that. The enemy. Holding a creeping kind of horror in its depths. Her high
school teacher once
called it atavistic, scoffing at primitive phobia
carried through time from the cave-man who stared fearfully outside his
lair and, hearing the
sounds of the wide and scary world outside threw
another log on the dying fire. Romany grinned and kicked a stray pebble,
watching it sail a
curved path off the graveled path off into the
bushes. Personally she thought it was bullshit and she'd told
the teacher so. She was thirteen then and she
already knew only too well that only a moron is not careful of night and
its denizens. Mr.
Smythe disagreed and clinched the argument with
a detention. She hated detention. Besides he was wrong. So she wasn't really
being all
that bad when she set a gremlin on him. Running
up the steps back to the house, Romany smirked again, "Nicely rationalized
if I do say so
myself." Unhurriedly she made for the kitchen,
pausing only slightly when she heard muted voices behind the door.
"Hey, lookee here, another insomniac. Join the club."
"Move over. Come on, move it, you ox." Shouldering
Thom determinedly, and kicking when necessary, Romany squeezed herself
between
him and Mick, neatly taking Pete's space on a
small bench.
The latter scowled at her but knowing from experience
the effects -- or rather lack thereof -- it would have, turned the power
of his scowl
onto Thom, who vacated his spot hastily... only
to chase Joakim from his. The latter unobtrusively stole Nick's chair.
Nick signed and
looked at the small gathering resentfully.
The gathering unrepentantly looked back, each keeping a firm grip on their
seats. Nick d'Arfoix,
the owner of the mansion and the garden in which
Romany had just taken her night stroll, sighed again and sunk to the floor,
crossing his legs
in a fluid motions, "Bastards."
In an almost synchronized motion the five people
sitting around the small table strewn with food and paper flipped Nick
the finger. Malchus
chuckled softly from his place besides the stove,
and added a pinch of salt into the merrily bubbling pot. "If I may be so
forward, it might be
for the best if you all took a little time to
sleep tonight. The next several days promise to be very... exciting."
"Excitement is my middle name. Thomas Excitement Peregrine."
"Oh yeah? I thought it was Doofus."
"I have a suitably long name. Not like some abrasive Celtic females... who shall remain nameless of course."
"Of course."
"Very chivalrous of you there, Tommy."
"Uh-hah."
Malchus chuckled again, letting his question be
buried under the banter as Thom ducked the suddenly airborne loaf of bread...
He of course
never even saw the thick manila envelope coming.
Mick and Romany high-fived each other contentedly as Nick deftly exploited
the
opportunity and triumphantly reclaimed his seat
at the table.
"Quit it! For Chrissakes, people!" Pete 'Looked'
at Thom and the latter immediately realized the depth of his temerity in
even thinking about
displacing Wisdom from his chair. Not that the
realization actually stopped him from picking Wisdom up and dumping him
somewhat
unceremoniously on the other side of the table.
"You, big lummox! Get the hell out of there!"
"Sha. I'm a big man, I need my rest. "
"I'll give you..."
"All right already." Getting up, Joakim kicked
his stool to Pete, straddling the sink instead. "If we are quite done with
musical chairs a la
WWF, can we get back to business?"
Malchus considered the pale, usually silent man
while absently cutting the garlic. Joakim was still uneasy with him...
surprising considering
that he was the first to put all the pieces together
and he was very receptive to the notion that Malchus was exactly who he
appeared to be.
So were most of the others in this somewhat peculiar
little group... although in his private opinion much of Michelle's -- *Mick's,*
he
corrected himself -- current pique came from
the fact that she was the last to figure it out. Or rather that Thom figured
it out before her.
He smiled wryly, remembering the discussion. At
the time he half-feared that Thom might not survive his lecture... now,
just six days later, he
was already used to the perpetual war zone that
was Thom and Mick's partnership.
He couldn't resist a sidelong glance at the pair
who were currently utilizing the remnants of supper as ammunition and a
violently protesting
Pete as a human shield. Joakim caught the motion
and winked at him, clearly amused. Malchus grinned back, appreciating the
man's
attempts to establish rapport with him, despite...
everything.
Pitching his voice low, Joakim motioned toward
the window, his smile giving way to his usual somber, smart-eyed mask.
"Do you think he
knows? The Blood Weaver?"
The darkness outside suddenly seemed to deepen
and grow malevolent, and Malchus regretfully let the simple contentment
of sitting in a
room full of warmth and friendship slip away.
"That his opposite number is on the same plane? Almost certainly. Who he
is? Probably not.
But..."
"What? But what?" Pete's narrow-eyed question seemed to cut through the clamor around him.
Malchus sighed, pulling on his earlobe uneasily.
He was very tempted to go with the ever-popular, 'I am not sure you'd understand.'
Alas
judging by his previous attempt... * Well
hell, if they can accept that the Wandering Jew is sitting in their kitchen
making calabash - * He got
up, wiping his hand on the apron, and starting
his 'thinking pace' from the stove to the door, and back, "As I have told
you the person we are
looking for is an... incarnation.. an avatar
would be a more suitable moniker, perhaps. The previous.. hmm, Spirit of
Murder sounds so
sophomoric and foppish, doesn't it? I've met
her only once. A very... peculiar young lady... had this strange fascination
with red leather..."
"Hey. Nothing wrong with a little leath... What? What are you looking at?"
"TMI."
"Yeah really, Rom."
"God, did NOT need to know that."
"Oh shut up, the lot of you. Malchus?"
"Umm, yes... Where was I? AH, that's right. As
Peter and Romany already know the previous Murder was dispatched recently.
Unfortunately her demise coincided with the death
of an entity of an even greater power and that sparked off a chain of events
unforeseen
and unplanned for. You see these seeds, these
parts of the late Ms. Rose Tattoo's essence are not simply shadows of her
former glory but
rather.. Hmm.." Malchus sighed in frustration,
"You see every one of these 'drops' has the potential for becoming the
next avatar of Murder."
"So? Understandably this is not wonderful but
this has to happen if the machine is going to creak on. The Balance is
the normal, right? You
take the bad with the good..."
Malchus turned and gave Romany a very long look.
"That is a very progressive point of view, Ms. Wisdom. It appears I underestimated
the
level of Learning you possess."
Romany grinned cheerfully. "Nope. Just the amount
of Moorcock I swallowed as a kid." She motioned impatiently, "So, ok. If
I am right,
what's the catch?"
"The catch is that the spread was uneven. This particular drop - Marcus Tsung, wasn't it?"
"Yep. That's the guy that fit the profile you gave us."
"Thank you, Nicholas. As I was saying Mr. Tsung,
for example, harbors great potential for becoming the avatar. But then
again, so does
Mr. Jason Wynn -- do not furrow your brow, Joakim,
I'm afraid the name is several dimensions away from being familiar to you.
But back
to my original point. Both Mr. Wynn and Mr. Tsung
have the capability to become the avatars. They are not mutually
exclusive, you see.
While they may attract and absorb the smaller
'drops,' these and a few other 'special' people spread across the Multiverse
have the
capability to reach their full potential as the
.. ahem.. Spirit of Murder. Hardly a picture of balance, wouldn't you say?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute... are you saying, we basically have to thin the crop?"
"Umm... aptly put, Thom."
"Well, that's nice and all but since I don't have
to worry about those other Manson wannabees, can we concentrate on our
friendly
neighborhood psychotic godlike entity?"
"Am I detecting a little touch of sarcasm there, Peter?"
"Just a bit, Joak. Toss me that towel, would you"
Mick raised her fork, pointing it accusingly at the fridge. "Pete's got a point though. What do we know about this Tsung? Nick?"
"What?"
"Share the wealth, o bwana."
"Again?! We've been over this already a hundred times! I know you are a bit slow on the uptake, Mickey, but come on..."
Thom shrugged off the murderous glare from his
partner with a smirk, secure in the knowledge that he had a Very Important
Paper in his
hand and thus safe from bombardment for the moment.
"You'll get yours, Peregrine. Don't you worry."
"Promises, promises."
"Shut up. And you, d'Arfoix - let's have it again."
"Ok, fine" Sighing, Nick cracked his fingers and
with unerring aim of supreme familiarity plucked a glossy photo from a
pile on the table,
"Here's the guy."
"He's kinda cute."
"Thank you for that fascinating update, Romany. Anyhow - here is what we know. He was born in Madripoor, presumably in 1959 -"
"Presumably?"
"Oh, come on Joakim - you know how their records
are. With the right amount of cash in the right hands, you can be born
in the 12th
century and be a three headed hermaphrodite
Buddha incarnation. Anyway, he got his training in the Triad. First became
a Player during the
Yakuza/Hand 'have it out' of the 77. By the early-80s
he was a minor don. Then he had a misunderstanding with Matsushita clan.
He almost
won, too --but almost doesn't quite cut it. I
am not sure how he managed to get out of Madripoor alive, but he did.
Next --"
"Excuse me, Nicholas?"
"Hm?"
"Could you be so kind as to illuminate our friends as to the events that transpired in Madripoor after Mr. Tsung's departure?"
"Oh. Umm... sure. Tsung used to control a fair
portion of Low-Town's dock workers. When Matsushita took it over they turned
on the
screws, since they were in it with the then Vizier
Shakhra Anhaz. That's when they got the strike and the April Riots. Riots
are bad for
business so Matsushita were moved out by the
other clans... I think Hong/Williamson are now running the docks, but I
could be wrong. I
only did a standard brush up on the area, strictly
as related to our boy -- I could..."
"No, that's dandy." Pete waved Nick to continue as he nodded to Malchus shortly, "I get it."
"Get what?"
"Stay or go, this guy is leaving a blood trail after himself..."
"Ah. Well, I hate to rain on your cosmic forces
parade, but in his line of work that's probably just a coincidence.
Hell, if you want to take it
that way - every two-bit gang banger is a Spirit
of Murder. Ok, where was I?"
"He left Madripoor alive."
"Thank you, Joakim. So... uhm... oh yeah, he fell
off the face of the Earth for several years. There are a couple of assassinations
that might
have been his work, judging by MO, but nothing
definite. Until 19... 19... dammit, where... ah here it is - 1992.
That's when he surfaced in
Eastern Mongolia and whacked the local 'baron.'
For the next five years he basically stayed there, built himself a little
private kingdom. Hand
tried a go at him and the government too. Twice,
I believe. Anyway in '97 he up and disappeared. Left. Vamoosed. Just in
time too, since
the Mongols finally caved and asked the Russians
for assistance against him."
Pete banged his leg against the footstool. "So he left. Just like that?"
"Yes indeed. Oh! He didn't go emptyhanded if that's
what you mean. See, the Mongolia was just a front, this guy is diversified
up the
wazoo. He controls about 3 percent of Shaw Industries
and has a foothold in Stark/Fujikawa. Not to mention the fact that he sponsors
several terrorist groups. He's not up to bin
Laden's level, as far as I can tell, yet. But he's getting there. Also
he provides protection for the
drug fields and trafficking in Asia. Or at least
he started out that way - now he does a bit of growing and trading himself.
And not only in
Asia."
"Now? You mean as in currently?"
"Damn straight. See, this guy is smart. His little
estate in Mongolia was just an easy target. Nice, plum, juicy - visible.
So when he left, a lot of
people assumed that he was done for."
"But.."
"Well a lot of those people are complaining to
St. Peter that Tsung wasn't playing fair, if you get my drift. The guy
is sharp. He took the
doctrines of guerilla warfare, modern business
management and well... crime syndicate running and applied them all to
build himself a
multi-celled, thriving organization with interests
in narcotics, arms trade and terrorism. Heh, the guy is a freaking Keyser
Soze."
"Great."
"Perfect."
"Wunderbar."
"Ok, hold up. This is way too pat. So ok, he beat
off the Hand once. I can live with that. I doubt that the Hand was all
that eager for a piece
of Gobi anyway. The Mongolian government - I
mean... come on. But to carve himself a syndicate like that and escape
affiliation with any of
the big dogs for a decade? Gimme a break."
"Thomas, m'boy... you sooo don't get it, do you?
Tsung didn't escape affiliation, he escaped absorption. See, he's
mingled with ALL - well,
most of -- the major players at one time or another.
Trained personnel, laundered money, supplied equipment or the dust.
And he's been
very careful who he takes on. Look at his operation
in Asia. He showed that he could hold his own, but THEN he made nice with
the Hand.
And the majority of his interests are closer
to theMiddle East. True, a lot of people have their fingers in that pot,
but no-one has the whole
fist -too volatile an environment. So nobody
objected too much when Tsung came in. Get it?"
"Yeah, but still.. It just doesn't seem right..."
"Of course it doesn't, you poster orphan of the
Globalization Age. You are used to corporations. The Hand, SHIELD, HYDRA,
Disney.
Tsung is... he's an empire builder. He wants
to carve up his own pie, and he can. And he did."
"Okay, so he went mobile three years ago and he stayed that way?"
"Yep. He surfaced here and there periodically, but strictly legit stuff. Until about a month ago."
"That's when he started...?"
"Yeah. Basically... here." Nick picked up a neatly folded map. "See these red dots?"
"Yeah..."
"This is mostly supposition, based on my extreme dislike of coincidences."
"Coincidences, huh?" Romany shot her brother a sidelong look.
"Ah... yeah. Basically what we have is Tsung spotted
in several cities, starting in Tangiers. He comes into town, sees the sites,
eats at a good
restaurant, gets lost for a couple of hours -
disappears. No biggie, right? Right. Remarkably enough, his departure is
usually followed by
police reports of some strange disturbance. Often
involving a woman, who also disappears shortly after. Except for three
occasions these
disturbances are usually very contained..."
"Elaboration?"
"All right.. But this is weird. The very first
one, which is basically how I was able to latch on to this - somebody wiped
out a whole team of freelancers. And not some
amateurs either - Makedo's team. Black Air and
the Russians used them a couple of times and had no
complaints. What is interesting is that it appears that only
one member of the team escaped alive."
"Lemme guess - a woman."
"Got it in one. Next one was just 10 days ago.
Same story -- we get Tsung coming into town, blah-blah-blah, a shooting.
Only there are no
shots fired. And yet there is a dead body. Of
a woman."
"So what's so weird? We know Tsung's got a mutant trait for those 'psionic bullets' or whatever, right?"
"Oh, sure. The thing of it is - the dead body disappeared."
"Big deal, so he wanted to cover his trail."
"Umm... no. See, there were witnesses. Namely
a highly traumatized morgue intern whom the body bumped into while it was
WALKING
out of the building. This, umm... body, also
appeared to be highly agitated with the design of the morgue robes."
"All right.. This IS interesting. Do we have an ID?"
"Actually yes, Joakim. We received a photo of the lady yesterday and Pete here was so good as to ID her for us."
"Reaaaally?"
"Yes indeed. Her name is... oh, wait. Pete, you want to do the honors?"
"Nah, you're doing fine."
"Why thank you. Okay... ah, so here we have a
disappeared dead body and a disappeared Tsung, with no idea where they
are surfacing
next. Until this Thursday. Here - check this
out."
Pete frowned, leafing through the offered folder. "Wait a minute... this is...this is... Are you telling me Jack finally planted a guy in NSA?!"
"Nope. Not for the lack of trying, mind you, but
no. Not in any position to matter anyhow. We got this from the CIA. They
didn't need it
anymore and figured we'd owe them a favor.
You know how they are always keeping tabs on each other? Well, they thought
they got
something juicy here - a group of 'cleaners'
got dispatched to a secluded airstrip in Northern California. Presumably,
and I repeat
_presumably_ there was a bunch of dead
bodies and a slightly exploded plane to pretty up."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. You can see the satellite photos at the end of the folder there."
"There is nothing there..."
"Bizactly. They freaking 'cleaned' the entire
airstrip off the face of the Earth. Now this completely freaked the analyst
boys out. See, they
have all this info, but they can't put it together
since they don't know about Tsung and such. Partly why they practically
let me run amok in
the archives, it's driving them nuts. Pete, you
sure I can't tell them? They'd give you a much better take on all of this,
I can just do the basics."
Pete grimaced slightly and shook his head. "Yeah,
I'm sure. Besides, we already know everything we need to."
"Well... true, I suppose. At first there was no
way to say that the thing at the airport was tied into Tsung or not. But
then we spotted our
dead lady. At Pete's funeral no less. We matched
her with the picture from the morgue, but... it was none of the Company's
business then,
so we let her go. But she left with those mutant
kids, and we were keeping tabs on them so, when Mr. Wisdom here resurrected
himself and
started making waves, we found her muy pronto."
"So now we just wait."
"For Tsung to take another shot at her."
"Bloody brilliant."
"Pete... Who is she?"
Malchus felt a stab of sympathy as Pete got up
off his stool and approached a window, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Domino, Rom.
He's after Domino."
***
"Excuse the hell outta me?! Since when?!"
"This morning." Logan fastened the last belt around
the duffel bag and stepped away, giving it one final critical review. It
looked good
enough not to fall off the bike.
"Logan!" If the girl's voice could get any louder she'd be liable to break the windows.
"Rogue."
"You can't just take off on a moment's notice! Where are you going?! Why?!!"
Sighing, Logan finally turned around and looked
directly at the auburn-haired southerner who was steadily approaching the
boiling point
behind him. "All right. Here's how I see it.
The Neo are done for now. We got the doc and the elf out. There is
nothing else wrong. You
don't need me here right now. She does."
"Logan..." Rogue's tone softened. "Logan, Jean
and Nate have been searching for her for weeks. There is no sign of Kitty...
Even if she is
alive - how would you know where to start looking,
even?"
"Here. One of my contacts gave me a heads up a couple of days ago."
Rogue curiously accepted the creased sheet of paper and inspected it. "This is an auction manifest... So wh.. Oh mah gawd!"
"Don't get yourself all excited. It might be nothin'.
But I gotta check it out. No sense taking the whole team though. If it
pans out I'll contact
you."
"Logan, if a spacesuit like this is going on sale,
if this is Kitty's spacesuit - you'll need some backup! And why didn't
you tell me about this
when you got it in the first place? You are not
the only one worried about Kitty, you know!"
"I'll call you when I get there and later if there's any news."
"Logan. You can't do this alone. Logan! I'm ord..."
"Liebchen." Kurt materialized noiselessly behind
Rogue, nodding to Logan companionably. "A word of advice - don't give an
order you
know won't beobeyed. It makes it all that
easier to disobey the next one."
Rogue narrowed eyes at the blue-furred mutant,
her hand absently tapping against her leg. Then she slowly transferred
the not-quite-glare from Kurt
to Logan. The latter was leaning against
the motorcycle, nothing in the easy posture betraying whether he'd heard
Kurt's whisper. Sighing disgustedly,
Rogue threw her hands in the air. "Fine!
You'll call me as soon as you get there. And emails. Regular emails, Logan!
I remember Cyke's methods, so
you even
think about disappearing on me and his trick
with the Blackbird will seem like a picnic! Got it?"
"Yes'm." Logan chuckled softly, sketching a mock
salute. Then suddenly covering the distance between them and enveloping
her into a bone-crushing
bear-hug, he lifted her up... forcing a newly
appointed leader of the X-Men to let out a highly undignified, girlish
shriek. A shriek that almost
completely masked the nearly imperceptible message
breathed in her ear.
"What did he say?" Nightcrawler's exotically golden
eyes glinted with curiosity. Hugging herself and watching the departing
rider thoughtfully,
Rogue let the pause stretch before finally answering.
"Thanks. He said thanks."
Kurt nodded and, after squeezing her shoulder
reassuringly, disappeared into the house. He never heard Rogue add with
quiet unease "...and that there is
a bad wind from the East."
***
"Check."
"Damn... All right, here."
"Check."
"Damn... Ha! Say goodbye to your pawn, young padawan."
"Check."
"Fuck! All right, all right - here."
"You sure?"
"I have three bloody pieces left, does it look like I know what I'm doing? No, I ain't bloody sure!"
"Want to take it back?"
"Aye! Here."
"Checkmate."
"DAMMIT!!"
The man by the window, silent until now, stretched languidly. "Give it up, Eddie. You suck at chess."
"True, true... 'course I haven't seen you do any better against 'im, Mikey me boyo."
"You're mixing up your accents again, you over-bleached
meshugenah." Michael Thompson gave his fingers one last pop and got up,
his hand casually
pressing against the left side of his jacket
- an innocent looking movement adjusting his gun-holster. The other two
occupants of the spacious living
room did not waste time in deciphering the meaning
behind Michael's sudden activity.
"We moving out?" Eddie's voice betrayed reluctance at the prospect as his unconsciously glanced at the door leading to the second room.
"Should be. He's due at the University in about
two hours. We ready?" Mike raised an eyebrow at Eddie, painstakingly ignoring
the lamp-light in the
adjoining room. It has burned all through the
night, but all of these men had long ago admitted defeat in controlling
their charge's work hours.
"I was born ready." The artificial blond winked at Mike suggestively and reached for his own sidearm.
Mike shook his head tiredly, firmly refusing to
rise to the obvious bait and instead quirked an eyebrow at the second chess
player, who was methodically
putting away the pieces. "Nate?"
"Yeah. I'll go down, check the car one last time."
"All right. Oh and if Jack is sleeping in the car again - hit him."
"Willco." As he closed the door of the suite behind
him, Nate could already hear Eddie begin yet another round of remarks aimed
at provoking Mike.
Grinning slightly he unhurriedly made his way
to the elevator. As the neon numbers of the floor-counter began to light
up, he shook his head, thinking
about the sheer surreallism of his current position.
He, Nathan Summers Dayspring Askani'son, was playing bodyguard to
Robert Kelly. Senator Robert
Kelly. Presidential hopeful Robert Kelly. He
shook his head again, a chuckle of honest mirth escaping him. "Unbe-flonqing-lievible."
The strange fact was
that, as much as he tried - and he tried very
hard -- he could not find fault with the reasoning that left him standing
here in the corridor of the
Marriott in the middle of Texas. Kelly stood
for everything that he hated. For everything that Scott... that his father
hated. He was making his bid
for Presidency on the platform of hate and fear.
Kelly couldn't be allowed to die.
Not without unleashing the horrors of the riots and pogroms and lynch mobs.
The soft chime of the opening doors registered
only tangentially on the youngish, silverhaired man lost in thought. Kelly
had to be left alive. This
conclusion alone grated on Cable's nerves. What
was worse was that he was not sure he could accomplish the task. That...
and he was actually starting
to like the guy.
Nathan tsked in irritation. He was sure that any
man proclaiming the ideals that permeated Kelly's campaign had to be a
flaming bigot of Creed's
caliber.. or simply a fanatic, judging by the
Senator's past. Sharon Kelly looked nothing at all like Aliya, but
for a split second, as he was reading
the files on the Senator, her face superimposed
itself on that of the Senator's late wife. Oh, yes. More than most,
Dayspring could understand
the reasons behind the Senator's drive for segregation
of mutants. He'd convinced himself even before he took the job that
the man could be easily
labeled and classified. Put into a neat little
box. It's been years since he underestimated human complexity so badly.
The lobby of the hotel was cooler, with air-conditioning
working overtime to overcome the oppressive Austin heat. At this still
relatively early hour,
there were only a few guests down here, mostly
clustered around the concierge desk. Signaling to the man... Luis, yes,
that was his name...
Cable approached the glass doors, his eyes sweeping
the courtyard, looking for the familiar black limousine. He tsked again,
his thought stubbornly
refusing to let go of the previous train of thought.
He never expected to think that Kelly was actually a... a good man. Honestly
trying to do what he
believed was right. Trying to serve his people
as best he could.
He never expected to like him.
As often the case, the Senator attracted people
of similar caliber to his team. It often struck Nathan as completely and
utterly incongruous as he
watched Melissa or John or Beckie get into fights
on financing reform, or education or social security. They were good people.
They wanted to change
the world for the better. They believed they
were going to.
They wanted to brand his people. They wanted to
institute a policy that would see his people herded into the slums by unbending
laws of economics
Policies that would make mutants into second
class citizens.
These were good people. They genuinely believed
that mutants represented a threat to humanity. They didn't hate them. They
spoke with disgust of the
FOH. They didn't _wish_ mutants ill. They
simply wanted to protect 'ordinary people'. Guarantee the 'average American'
a right to cross the
streets safely without fearing death from the
fallout of the battle between new-age gods. They wanted peace, security...
"Lebensraum." The smart, sad face of Henry McCoy
suddenly pushed its way to the surface of his mind as he remembered catching
the scientist watching one
of Kelly's speeches with a strange, bitter smile
on his lips "He wants space. He and Lehsnherr are two sides of the same
coin and they don't even
realize it... Paving the road to hell, blinded
by good intentions."
These were good people. Down to the very bottom
of the ladder. With Mike, the 50-year old Jewish veteran of Vietnam, Panama
and the Gulf, Eddie Carson
- seemingly a perfect picture of the 'valley
boy' but ruthlessly professional when it came to his job and Jack who...
was finally here with the car.
"Yo, Nate!"
These are good people.
These are the Enemy.
Can I keep all of them alive if Mystique is as good as I think she is?
***
"Coffee!"
"Get your hands off the pot!"
"My cup, you insolent wench! I shall have your head for this."
"I will never understand you Americans and your fascination with that liquid manure you call coffee."
"Oh shut up, Joakim."
"Coffee. Coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee."
"Ladies. Gentlemen."
"And Mortimer to the rescue with a second tray! I love this man. Love 'im."
Thom, wrestling his cup back from Mick, inhaled the aroma and sighed deeply in complete contentment. "Mmm... How much time do we got, Joak?"
"Well, they made the meeting for 12, so... about an hour."
Cracking one eye open, Thom fixed Pete with it, "Are you sure they didn't find the bug?"
"More or less." Pete looked even grimmer than
usual, the ashtray before him full of cigarettes smoked down to their roots.
Putting another one against
the surface of the table he ruffled through his
jacket looking for a new pack. Romany frowned from her corner of
the table but didn't comment.
Throwing her a warning glance anyway, Pete turned
back to patting down his suit. "They don't have the necessary equipment
right now. Besides it seems
like what they'd do... I told them to contact
Technorats if they needed help."
"Are we sure Tsung will show up?" Nick squinted at Pete through the sights of the Glock, working the safety absently.
"More'n likely. He always tracked Domino successfully before... he's about due for another go."
"Of course he'll show up. Sure as mine name is Peregrine. And we'll be waiting. Speaking of which - Mick?"
"Ah tooak cawe offf it."
"Don't talk with your mouth full." Thom admonished absently, cracking his knuckles.
"Shuddap."
"All right, let's get on with this. Malchus? You ready?"
"Lead the way, Mr. Wisdom."
***
"Take it."
"Yeah, she's right, Jimmy. Can't hurt."
"Oh, fine. I'll take the stupid gun. I still say you are all paranoid."
"Just 'cos we are..."
"...doesn't mean they aren't out to get us. Yeah, I know."
Grumbling under his breath James Proudstar fastened
the holster carefully under his armpit, presenting it to Domino's unforgiving
scrutiny. The big
Navajo spread his arms akimbo, "There. Want me
to do a pirouette for ya? A little walk down the runway, maybe?"
"Hmm... not right now. But check with me again
at about 8. I like my nubile young boy-toys closer to the evening. All
right, that's good. Put your
jacket on and button it."
"Yes, mother."
Domino slowly and somberly collected her fingers into a fist before lengthening the middle finger, "Get the hint?"
Sam snickered behind her as Jimmy raised his hands in surrender and buttoned the black jacket. "Haven't lost the charm, have you?"
"Like riding a bicycle. Only more rewarding. Nothing like the taste of crushed youthful rebellion."
Watching James exit the room, Sam grew serious,
"I am not sure about the guns, Dom. I agree that we need backup, in case
something goes wrong but
with all the checkpoints on the streets.. If
we get stopped - five armed people..."
"Yes, Sam. I know. You have a valid point.. I
thought about it... but the checkpoints have been relaxing their inspections
steadily. We are not going
to go through any of the heavily patrolled areas.
Basically the chances that we will need some extra 'punch' are far larger
than the chances that
we'll get stopped."
Sam shrugged, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.
"All right... Well, unless some poor canine is being horribly molested
somewhere in near vicinity, I do
believe Jesse and Tab got the car ready. 's time.."
***
The alley was damp and reeked of stale urine.
The shambles of splintered wooden crates, broken glass and pieces of newspaper
littered the ground,
crunching wetly as a careless misstep landed
on them. The wind from the Bay reached even here, making what would have
been a pleasant day into a
slightly chilly one. Gripping the cigarette tightly
in his teeth, Pete inhaled, stubbornly refusing to let the salty smell
of the Pacific overcome
the acrid bite of nicotine. He threw a casual
glance downward, seemingly a meaningless gesture. Letting the smoke out
in two blossoming streams through
his nostrils he grunted in satisfaction. The
coat-pockets were large enough to hide his hands. Wouldn't do for the team
to see the Mission Control
making nervous fists like a Catholic schoolgirl
getting groped for the first time.
"They are coming." Nick's quiet warning was like
a shot of Benzedrine, bringing everything into a sharp, brilliantly clear
focus. Pete felt a
familiar calmness settle over him as he watched
the approaching five figures. He heard the slight ping of the com almost
before it sounded.
"Speak."
"Control, this is Oversight. Everything is clear."
Romany's voice, distorted by the reception, rang mechanical and detached,
as he could hear the
computer keys being punched methodically in the
background. He knew she resented being left behind to coordinate the communication,
but he didn't
have time to worry about it now. "What's the
story on the goons?"
"Mick brought them in. She says they are not with
the Company, just like you said. Local talent. They've used them a couple
of times, but that's it."
Suddenly, as if she saw Pete's narrowing eyes,
Romany's voice grew irritated. "Don't think at me in that tone of voice!
There was no way to
find somebody completely unconnected on such
short notice and you know it. These are random enough to be untraceable.
Oversight out."
The alley grew darker still as the entryway suddenly
became obstructed by what momentarily seemed like one big mass of black
leather. Pete let his
eyes wander lazily over four faces made nearly
identical by black shades, shaved heads and square jaws. Even in her 'work
clothes' Mick stood out like
a sore thumb. Of course she, at the moment, was
the only one smiling... most probably because she didn't like the looks
Quartet was giving the new
arrivals. "Hi, boys. Meet your new friends. Thom,
cut off that testosterone flow or I'll do it for you. And you - introduce
yourselves. Now."
The lead brick-face turned his head, slowly assessing
the short figure next to him. Upon brief, but obviously deep reflections
the gloved fingers moved
into a signal.
"Call me Larry."
"I'm Moe."
"Name's Curly."
Pete could feel the heads turning to the leader,
with reluctant, curious anticipation. The man waited until Pete finally
gave into temptation and
raised a sardonic eyebrow at him.
The cold watery-brown eyes met Pete's blue ones and the unsmiling lips moved.
"Fred."
It's nice when your nominal subordinates treat you with respect and trust.
***
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
"Yes, Tabitha."
"Well, where the hell are they?" Tab impatiently
glared at the empty street in front of her. The rest of X-Force clustered
around an empty park bench
were killing time in their own ways. One of them
being bets on how long it would be before Meltdown's questions wiould drive
Domino into a killing
rage.
"They'll be here."
"Whe... Guys." Tabitha's tone suddenly lost the annoying whining quality, prompting the rest of the team to look her way. "They're here."
"Bedlam." Sam scrutinized the seemingly ordinary
bus that ground to a stop before them. Behind him X-Force drew closer together,
Jesse Aaronson at his
farthest right, looking intently at the vehicle.
If his scan detected something amiss he would also be the first one to
attack, playing merry hell
with the bus' electrical systems through the
power that earned him the codename of Bedlam. Turning slightly to Sam,
he shook his head. "Just some
low res sensor field."
Sam took an unhurried step forward, fighting the
temptation to bring up his force-field. The seconds stretched as the bus-doors
remained closed, until
suddenly a yellow-haired head popped out, looking
at him with irritated mismatched eyes. "Get the fuck in, already."
The interior of the bus seemed all the more
fascinatingly weird when contrasted with the rather ordinary outward appearance..
It was also
strangely spacious inside with enough room for
both its crew and X-Force to move among the computers and strange looking
tech that filled up the rest
of the available space. As Domino, the last of
the team entered, the doors clamped shut again. The sound seemed to calm
the strange trio inside the
vehicle. The girl who greeted them sighed in
relief and suddenly shimmered like a disappearing mirage. Familiar with
the effects of a deactivating
image-inducer Sam simply waited, trying to keep
the other two people in his field of vision. The rest of X-Force looked
around them in frank curiosity.
The machinery held their interest only for a
brief moment before they turned their attention to the 'techno-anarchists'
themselves. Their inspection was
only partly reciprocated, by the man who seemed
to be the leader of the group and the girl. Noticing her looking, the brown-haired
man, with a nose
showing all the evidence of being broken at some
point, frowned at her, "Get us to the place, Charlie."
"Aye, aye sir. Whatever you say, Boss Abel. Yes,
mastah." The now black-haired girl deftly maneuvered her way behind the
wheel, winking at
Jesse on her way. "Welcome aboard Traveler, hot
stuff." Sam noted absently that her eyes retained the strange coloring,
only now the right one was
green and the left one was blue.
Abel gave the group one last long look before turning away, "Baker, are we clear?
The third member of the group, sitting farther
to the end of the bus in a niche between computers and what looked to be
a radar, was quite probably
the tallest man Sam had ever seen. Easily taller
than Proudstar he would probably tower even over Cable. Interestingly enough
his height was the
least remarkable thing about him. He was the
only one among them who was obviously not baseline human. All of his impressive
height, from hair to
toes, was of a strange muddy redly-brownish color,
only the darkly black-on-black eyes breaking the harmony. Grunting affirmatively
in response
to Abel's question, Baker threw a sidelong glance
at X-Force, his gaze stopping abruptly when he reached Domino. Suddenly
blue and white sparks
began to run along his body, apparently not to
either his or his friends'great discomfort. The sparks transformed
him even farther, revealing what
looked to be a skin-tight suit made of microchips,
previously almost invisible in the shadowy cubicle, where Baker was half-hidden.
"What in the..."
Abel grinned humorously at Tab's reaction. "Wetware Dermal Circuitry. I am guessing that the lady is the one with the problem?"
"Yeah. Her name is Domino. I'm Cannonball." Gesturing with his hand, Sam introduced the rest as Abel led him and Domino deeper inside the bus.
"Bedlam." Jesse gave a mock salute, his eyes roaming across the gadgets around him.
"Warpath." Abel seemed suitably impressed by the
massive Navajo. Baker might compete with Jimmy in the height department,
but Sam would still put his
money on Proudstar in the sheer intimidation
contest.
"Meltdown."
Tabitha was still staring at Baker in fascination.
"Do it again! Do it again!"
Glaring at her, Baker crooked his finger at Domino. "Let's have a looksee."
***
"Control to all points, the mark is anchored. Repeat the mark is anchored - take your positions. Alpha - ceiling, Bravo - doors and corridor."
"Alpha check."
"Bravo check."
Pete lowered the binoculars, rolling the unlit
cigarette between his lips. It was a sound guess that with all the patrols
on the streets, Abel would
prefer to park the Traveler somewhere quiet rather
than taking the show on the road. Not that many suitable places close to
the meeting place he'd
requested, either... Still it was a guess. If
he'd been wrong the whole setup would have gotten a lot chancier. He bit
down on the fag -- not that
it wasn't iffy as it was. Too many variables...
too many things that could go wrong given half a chance. Which was one
of the reasons he opted for
supplementing the Quartet with additional firepower...
the new arrivals would give him more room to maneuver if... no, _when_
things started to go
wrong. Damn, what wouldn't he give for more time...
He'd scouted all the places out, of course, but
the Stooges had zero familiarity with it except for the brief tour Mick
gave them. Personally he
felt confident that the placements he picked
would work but, if somebody had decided to put him in him on the spot like
this back in the old days, he'd
have sent them for a long stroll off a short
pier. "Oversight, talk to me."
"All clear. All the emissions I'm picking up from the mark are in line with specs given."
"Alpha to Control. In position."
"Bravo in position."
Pete moved the chair slightly, checking for the
sun's position. Satisfied it wouldn't reflect of the binoculars he settled
down. Rank Hath Its
Privileges. Unlike the Stooges and the Quartet
he was comfortably inside an abandoned apartment, overlooking the small
square. Abandoned, looted and
with its windows mostly absent it was still better
than laying on the roof or running the ground detail. Only Rom in her van
had it better. Probably
still fuming. Ah, well. For all her brief stint
with SHIELD she was never much as a field op, but she'd do better than
most on the Oversight. Now
then...
"Control to all points. Keep me updated. No music till I say so."
***
"The damn thing scanned me back!" Baker sounded
more curious than anything else, Sam noted, as the techno-terrorist moved
closer to take another look
on the pulsating, greenish mass on Domino's
back.
The albino mutant didn't move as Baker probed 'Junior' gingerly.
"So? Any idea what the hell it is?"
"Hell if I know..." Moving back to his computer
Baker picked up the print-out, scratching his head. "Damndest thing I ever
saw. It's alive. And
it has para-abilities."
"Para-what? Para-human? Para-rat?" Sam noted with
some concern that Domino's self-control was beginning to show cracks. *Lord,
no. Not now. I can barely
keep my team from losing it. I really don't need
Domino going off. Please, Lord, not now. *
"Beats me. All I can tell you is that it's sentient.
The sucker tried to get a read on me when I pinged 'im."
Baker looked at the printout yet again, before
turning back to the computer screen and then to Junior. "This is weird
stuff, man."
"That's fucking great. That's just fucking..."
"Abel, we got incoming!"
"Charlie?"
"They locked on to us! I'm getting us ou..."
***
"Alpha to Control, I have the pigeon in sight. Please advise."
"Certainty, location."
"Looks a lot like the photo. North approach."
"Control to Alpha - hold it, wait for further instructions. Don't lose 'im. Bravo - get a fix, confirm. Oversight, the same."
"Roger that."
"Bravo to Control -We got it. It's the pigeon."
"Oversight to Control - I have him."
Pete held his breath, training his binoculars
carefully... Nothing, nothing, nothin... There! "Control to all points.
That's a confirmation. It's our
boy. Who's got a clear shot?"
"Alpha 2 to Control - clear as day, say when."
"Bravo 1 - I have him.. I have him...Shit, lost it. Bravo 1 -no shot, I repeat I have no shot."
"Control to all - herd him until we have at least two beads on 'im. Bravo 2 and 4 cut the backdoor."
"Roger that."
"Wilco."
"Alpha 4 to Control, I have him."
"Alpha 2 to Control - still good."
"Bravo 1 - Got him."
"All right. Control to the lucky few, take the sh -"
"Oversight to Control we have company. Two Apaches, coming in low and fast, bearing west."
"Fuck! Control to all points - disregard last
command. Repeat disregard the last command. Last thing we need is to put
on a spectacle for the National
Guard. Don't lose the pigeon."
Pete gave the quickly approaching shapes an evil
eye and putting down the binoculars reached inside his coat for the lighter.
Hearing the slight noise
behind him he kicked the chair rolling to the
opposite side, coming up with the gun on the intruder. "Dammit! What are
you, on dope?! I could have
fucking spluttered your brains all..."
"I know why he's after this woman." Malchus face
was pasty white, the black eyes blazing from the gaunt face, "I know why
Tsung is after her. Kragri is
here. Kragri is with her. She has Kragri."
"Oversight to Control -- there is something wrong. I am registering missile lockons.. Pete, they are going to fire at them!"
***
White noise.
All he could hear was white noise.
Dimly he registered other noises. Someone was
shouting his name over and over again. The girl with the yellow hair...
what was her name... Tab!
That's it.
"Sam! Wake the hell up! Sam!"
He shook his head, suddenly feeling the giant
blanket lifting. They were under attack. He was lying behind a tree next
to Tabitha, who was yelling at
him, a plasma bomb forming between her hands.
Less then two meters away, the remnants of the bus still burned and he
realized that he had not the
slightest idea how he'd gotten from there to
here. The three prone bodies lying around the bus ...The short elation
at the realization that they were
techno-rats and not X-Force disappeared under
a wave of shame. Shaking his head again, he held up his hand. "I'm up,
Meltdown! Shut up for a second."
Jesse and James were returning fire from behind the park bench and Domino.. Domino.. was with them. "Shoot! She took off her gun for the X-ray."
"What?"
The noise of the helicopters' machine guns filled
his ears and then suddenly faded a little as he brought up his shield.
As he exploded from behind the
tree he noted that Tabitha was rolling
and then dashing to the flaming wreckage. He saw her checking one of the
bodies for a pulse and then there
was no more time as the shape of the leading
Apache was suddenly looming in front of him.
***
"Jesse, what in the name of sweet merciful fuck are you doing?!"
"Shooting, ma'am!"
"Give me the frigging gun and bring that chopper down, Bedlam!"
Jesse looked at Domino blankly for a second,
his hand still gripping the gun, aiming it at the sky where Sam was zigzagging
in an intricate pattern
between two helicopters. Then, suddenly, understanding
flared and he grinned ruefully, tossing her the gun. "Let's do this right,
then."
***
"Alpha to Control, the target is loose. Repeat target is loose."
"Bravo to Control, I have no visual on the primary."
"Oversight to Control, I lost him. Do you want to give fire support to X-Force?"
"Control to all points - Hold your fire. Repeat hold your fire! And try to reacquire the primary. The pigeon is the priority target."
Malchus moved somewhere in the corner of his vision
and Pete jabbed a finger in his direction, silently but savagely, as he
scanned the square trying to
see through the thick oily smoke. Trying not
to think about what a stray machine gun bullet would do upon getting through
Sam's shield.
***
The force-field held. It held.
Sam fought the incongruous urge to let out an
excited, adrenaline-filled whoop as he dove away. Down and to the right,
hurriedly estimating the reach
of the falling Apache . The fiery line drawn
by the second helicopter whipped above him and then below. He rolled, knowing
even as he did that he
wouldn't be fast enough.
*Overshot and undershot, You know what comes next, Guthrie. Let's brace ourselves.*
As if to punctuate the thought the bullets hit
the field in rapid succession. Just as it held had through ramming the
tail of the first
'copter, the field held, but for a split second
Sam felt himself losing control and tumbling down into a downward drop.
He wheeled himself into the
spiral, hoping to get enough escape velocity
for a climb but another hammering series of impacts threw his concentration,
driving him back into a
pattern that would see one Sam Guthrie kissing
the pavement. Feeling his lips tighten, he forced himself into that calm,
detached state Cable had
opened to him years ago. His world narrowed suddenly
to him and the ground coming up at him, the possibilities racing through
his mind in lines and
tangents, as if drawn in chalk on a black-board.
The slight wind, the chopper's suddenly clumsy circles, the draft of the
warm air from the
burning bus - the data was coming to him
in bite-sized chunks. Suddenly it was just there. The solution..
He just _knew _ it. Knew that if he held
it till that point -- right here and then sharp right -- as he overshot
that window with the dead flower...
right here! Suddenly the ground was swimming
away from him and the second Apache was screaming down into the suicidal
dive. "Jesse!"
"Boss."
"Appreciate the assist, is all."
"No problem, m'man."
Domino's voice abruptly broke into the conversation,
short gasps magnified by the radio, "I'm moving in to pick the debris and
ask some questions.
Warpath, cover me."
"On it."
Sam nodded unconsciously. "Check. Bedlam, get on it also. Tab, you ok?"
"Yeah. I think the techies are all alive. Abel is in a bad way though."
"I'm coming down."
***
"Alpha 2 to Control, I got him! To the north-east, shadow on the fence. He's going for the wreckage."
"Control to all - find him. Get a bead on him. Now!"
***
"Got a live one here." Domino kicked the pilot's hand, deftly catching the gun as the man clutched his fingers, moaning in pain.
"All right, you ugly son of a bitch. You tell me who sent you and maybe, just maybe..."
The pilot's face stiffened suddenly, a surprised
expression entering his eyes. Domino clicked off safety and took a step
back, suspicious of a trick.
The kneeling man opened his mouth, looking at
her with those very surprised eyes before lowering them to the growing
red spot on his chest. As he hit
the ground, falling heavily and awkwardly, Domino
was already raising her gun to cover the new target. She might as well
have been unarmed.
*Damn, he's fast. * She stopped herself from firing,
seeing that Tsung already melted back in the shadows. She shouted a warning
to X-force and
backed up, gripping the gun tightly and scanning
the surroundings. The pilot's sudden, silent death reminded her uncomfortably
of Tangiers and the
team dispatched in a matter of minutes by the
same man. Suddenly she heard him coming. She distinctly heard him coming.
From behind.
Sam heard Tab's gasp and saw Domino suddenly turning
around, while dropping into a crouch . He saw the tall shape appearing
at her right side. By the
time he saw Domino fall he was already airborne.
The first blow came from her right, not from behind.
She felt her arm go numb and then she lost her footing. The familiar, hateful
face suddenly
coalesced just feet from her. Smiling.
"Motherfucker. I'll see you dead first."
"Tsk, tsk. Such venom. I wonder what your friends
see in you. They even give their lives for you. Like this young fool. No,
stay down. Stay down and
watch."
Domino gritted her teeth, stifling the scream
of pain as Tsung's foot heel slammed down on her dead arm, and she felt
her heart drop into her stomach
as she saw the familiar shape cannonballing toward
her.
Sam was going to get himself killed. What kind
of a moronic stunt was he pulling? They didn't know the capabilities of
these 'virtual bullets'!
Feverishly building another bomb on the run,
Tabitha raced after him, more feeling than seeing Bedlam and Jimmy doing
the same.
It hurt. The shield held yet again but it
did nothing about absorbing the shock. Dimly aware that his speed had fallen
off by at least a quarter, Sam
coughed, feeling warm wetness splatter his lip.
*Damn things kick worse than a mule. I've gotta to slow down. No room to
maneuver down here. He didn't
expect me to get though the bullets tho'. Gotta
slow down more. Gotta slow down. Aw hell... Too late. *
Domino saw Sam shudder as the bullets hit and
struggled feebly, prompting Tsung to kick her absently. She gasped, feeling
her rib give way and then
Sam was above her and Tsung... was no longer
there. One minute he was standing on her arm and the next he was stepping
aside and moving with
impossible speed. Absurdly her attention fixated
on the fact that Tsung was barefoot as he ran UP THE FREAKING WALL! And
then Sam was down.
It was ridiculous. In the course of the last 15
minutes his field had held while he crashed a top-of-the- line helicopter,
it had deflected machine gun
fire, it even held the 'virtual billets' whatever
the heck they were. And than a guy blacks out for a second and the shield
was gone. Ridiculous.
Can't count on anything these days.
By the time he saw Tsung's kick driving Sam into
the ground, Jesse was already 'feeling' for him. He saw Tabbie run by him
but most of his
attention was fastened on the waves and currents
that were Tsung's brain. The man was 'slippery', it was as if there was
a field of interference
clouding him. Concentrating Bedlam forcibly made
himself ignore that Tsung had Sam by the throat, suffocating him. Suddenly
he grinned nastily, finding
the 'hook.' "You are mine, punk!"
Suddenly, Sam could breathe. He could breathe! Oh yeah... he was also falling.
Domino saw Sam hit the ground awkwardly, gasping
for air, as Warpath suddenly was there, his punch taking Tsung squarely
in the face. She swore
as she made herself crawl, the gun remaining
tantalizingly out of her reach.
***
The tall, Asian man in a black trenchcoat smiled at him as he strengthened, ducking the second time. "Myyyy tuuuurn."
James Proudstar didn't reply to the mocking intonation,
crouching slightly into a defensive position. As soon as he felt his punch
connect, he realized
that he was outmatched. He knew he was better
than most in unarmed combat but this Tsung was on another level entirely.
He took the punch at full
force... almost, turning ever so slightly --
and yet that simple motion robbed the hit of most of its strength. Warpath
swung again. A short vicious stab
at Tsung's throat that was perfect, completely
perfect... except it missed, hitting air, and then he felt something clamp
on his neck and the world went
black.
She missed! Tab swore, not believing her eyes.
She frikking missed him! The bomb exploded harmlessly half a foot from
Tsung's head. The man raised his
head and smiled at her, giving Bedlam's neck
one short chop. Dropping the lifeless body to the ground he blew her a
kiss and bent down, coming up with
Sam's throat in his hand. "Why, you smug cockroach!
You fucking ignore me?!" She almost didn't feel the burning pain as she
created another bomb, without
waiting for her body to make good its depleted
resources "Kiss this, you sonovabitch!"
As Tsung's head disappeared in a familiar explosion, all she could see was Sam's bleeding, battered face against the ground.
"Oh, come on. Come on.. Sam, don't you freaking die on me, Guthrie! Come on.. oh, God. I can't feel his pulse.. Oh, God..."
"Maybe... if you quit... trying to find it in
my elbow...you'd have... better luck."
Sam grinned weakly, wincing as he propped himself
up against the wall. "Geez, Tab. I didn't know you cared."
Feeling the treacherous itching in her throat Tabitha scowled at the smiling face. "You big oaf. What in the hell were you doing jumping in front -."
"Tab, behind you!"
Sam felt something akin to nearly preternatural
horror creeping down his neck as the melting, bleeding ruin of a face smiled
at him from behind Tab's
immobile form. There was no way Tsung could still
be alive... his head had exploded for God's sake... He watched as the monster
tore off a loose skin
fragment hanging off what used to be his cheekbone
and dropped it to the ground uncaringly. "You little morons. You really
thought you could kill me?
This little bitch really thought she could kill
ME?!"
His force-field refused to come back on; as he
reached inside himself looking for the familiar 'push,' all Sam could feel
was emptiness. And
Tsung's hands around Tab's throat were squeezing
tighter and tighter... "Aaagh!"
"Fool." Tsung spat the word out almost contemptuously
as he caught Sam's lunge in mid air with a kick to his midsection. He kicked
him again in the
face as Cannonball was wheezing on the ground,
his air driven from his lungs by the first blow. "Idiots. Time for you
todie."
Even gasping for air and half-blinded by the bleeding
gash on his forehead, Sam recognized the hold on Tabitha's head. *One hand
on the chin for
leverage... the other above the temple... He's
going to break her neck! He's gonna...*
He stumbled toward the laughing madman, his hands
outstretched, fully realizing the futility of the attempt. The sudden weight
in his arms broke
his already precarious balance, knocking him
to the ground. "You, murderer!"
"Guthrie..move away...Sam, you are in my fucking shot!"
As Domino's voice pierced through to his mind,
Sam realized that Tabitha was still breathing. Gasping, he tried to right
himself, to figure out what was
happening -- and found himself face to face with
Tsung.
"Sam, he's still alive... get the hell out of my shot!"
Sam detachedly registered Domino crawling to the
side, the gun trembling faintly in her left hand. He looked at Tsung, who
was rising up above him,
seemingly not bothered by the wound in his right
shoulder any more than he was by Tabitha's bomb. As he saw the hand reaching
for his heart, the
blackout was almost a blessing.
***
Pete grinned savagely, trailing the falling body
as bullets tore into it. "Shrug this off, ya toerug." Not lowering the
binoculars he motioned to
Malchus to wait a moment, "Control to Oversight,
check the pigeon. Bravo back her up."
"Roger that."
Giving the body, lying motionless, with its outstretched
hand still reaching for Sam, one last glance, Pete finally lowered the
binoculars, shrugging off
the feeling of unease, and turned to Malchus.
"All right, first of all -you pull this running in and screaming shit again,
I WILL shoot you. Second,
what the hell were you talking about?"
The man in front of him seemed to have calmed
down a little, although his eyes still shone with something too much alike
to fear for Pete's liking.
"She has Kragri, Mr. Wisdom. Your friend has
the end of the world with her."
Pete suddenly felt very, very tired as he dropped
back into the chair, listening to Malchus only-superficially cool voice.
He lighted up the
cigarette, noting with disgust that it was his
last, and wished he had something to drink. And that the nagging feeling
at the base of his skull
would go away.
***
"Are you sure he's dead this time?" Jesse kicked
the prone carcass on his way to falling into a sitting position next to
Domino. The latter winced,
nodding thanks to Jimmy as he tied off the bandage.
"Yeah, you got a point."
Romany sighed and stepped aside, fairly confident
of what would happen next. As Domino methodically emptied the clip into
Tsung's neck, she mused
resignedly that Domino hadn't changed much.
"Happy now?"
"Ecstatic." Twitching her shoulder irritably, Domino tossed the empty gun on the ground. "Mind explaining me what the hell happened here?"
"She would. She will. After you wake up?"
Sam closed his eyes. "That's it. I knew it. Momma
done warned me about being a superhero." Opening one eye he looked at Proudstar
plaintively. "They
finally hit me on the head one time too many,
Jimmy. I'm seeing dead people."
Romany sighed in exasperation. "You know what,
Pete?! Make up your damn mind. First you want it a big secret, then you
come marching up here! Look
at that poor kid, if his jaw was any lower he'd
dislocate it. And what the hell do you mean after she wakes up?"
Domino nodded weakly, too tired to be surprised
at Pete's sudden appearance and too busy fighting the urge to violently
scratch her back, "Yeah. Run
that by me again. "
Pete nodded, winking at Sam who was still muttering and shaking his head, "It's simple, Dom. You have a nasty thing somewhere on your person."
"And?"
"And it's about to wake up. Fred, trank her."
"What?!"
Watching Domino's body slump back to the ground, Sam buried his face in his hands. "This is all a dream. This is all a dream. This is all a dream."
"What the hell is going on here?" Tabitha squinted
her eyes, trying to block out as much of the sunshine as possible from
putting needles directly into
her brain. Bedlam shrugged at her, his eyes closed.
"Beats me. Apparently Sam has some serious issues. This is his dream, you
see. Personally I blame
lack of sex."
"Oh." Tabitha rubbed her temple, absently waving hello to Pete. "Oh. Hey, did we kill the bad guy? Is that Tsung-idiot I see bleeding on my shoes?"
"Yes and no. This is the bad guy." The massive
black man with the rifle kicked the body, before turning back to shrug
at Tabitha, "Only Pete here
says it's not Tsung."
"Oh." Her headache was getting worse, Tabitha
noted, watching men under Pete's sister's direction pick up bodies and
disappear with them somewhere.
"Hey, Sam?'
"Yeah?"
"When you wake up, we're going to have to work on those issues of yours."
***
Eileen was having a great day. And the best part
of it was - it was almost over. In just one hour and seventeen minutes
she could finally go home. Go
home have something to eat -- and then she grinned,
imagining Kevin's reaction when he'd see her in that dress she got last
week. She giggled
under her breath, waving to the customer
to hurry up, "Where to, sir?"
"One way to Moscow, please."
"Name?"
"Logan."
"That'll be $722, sir."
"There you go, darlin'. "
*****
To Be Continued...