Born and raised in the wealthy social provinces of upstate New York, Emma Frost strongly disliked any situation in which she was forced to ask for help. That was before her nineteenth birthday- a bit young, she realized, for a mutation to manifest (she knew for she had researched it immediately) but it wasn't unheard of. Now, five years later, when the hushed murmurs in her head grew in both volume and quantity, she was forced to choose between a psychiatric ward or Xavier's Institute- a quaint but prestigious school established strictly for mutants. She and her parents decided there was no way in hell she'd be caught dead in a mental hospitable, or as her father had so graciously termed it, "the nut house."
So Xavier's it was.
Despite the close strings she kept attached to her father and his bank accounts, Emma prided herself on being basically independent, and though Xavier's Institute seemed fairly pleasant, she was not entirely thrilled with the idea of having to be shipped off to the academy as if she were back in junior high and being loaded onto a plane and flown cross-country to attend one of her several boarding schools. But during her interview with Charles Xavier, he'd revealed to her that the Institute was so much more, acting as a station for a team he'd recruited to use their mutations for a greater cause. Emma had never been part of a "greater cause" in her entire life, unless you counted prom committee or cheerleading squad, and was admittedly touched by both the confession and invitation. She decided immediately that she did indeed want to join his team and right away. Xavier smiled warmly.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Ms. Frost. We'll begin your training as soon as possible. I think you will like it here."
Three days later, she returned upon Charles' request.
She sat in his office, back straight, legs crossed, cool and collected and fingering her Italian leather suitcases as Xavier explained the basic goals of the school and what he hoped to accomplish in her stay, dabbing his tea bag in and out of his small teacup.
"Ah, I've summoned my X-Men and here are some of them now." He gestured at his door and it immediately swung open, a fairly built dark-haired man with tinted sunglasses and two slender, equally beautiful redheaded women gaining entrance. Close behind was an attractive couple consisting of a tall, lithe man with long auburn hair beside a pretty brunette, the two standing close enough to give away their dating status.
"I apologize, Ms. Frost, but four of our members appear to be otherwise occupied at the moment. That's all right, we may begin the introductions with Scott and Wanda Summers, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau and Rogue."
Emma eyed the belle with a questioning eye but quickly averted her attention when she was received with an icy glare. In an attempt to mask her embarrassment, the petite blonde turned instead to the more congenial looking portion of the team, the gentleman with glasses and two redheads.
Wanda had wandered behind Xavier's desk in hopes that he would notice the perplexed look in her dark eyes but hopefully not her callous thoughts. 'Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?'
"So," Emma regarded Jean, "Mrs. Summers, is it? What's a girl to do aro-"
"No, I'm Mrs. Summers," came the sharp interruption from behind her. Emma spun to see the irritated expression etched in the woman's features. "I'm Mrs. Summers. That's Miss Grey."
Scott and Jean exchanged awkward chuckles and Rogue subtly buried her face in Remy's shoulder to suppress the embarrassed smile.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Emma said, suddenly wishing to crawl into a whole and die. Her first impression was failing miserably.
Charles cleared his throat and continued with the overview of his school's agenda. Occasionally, one of the others would offer a helpful and genuinely amicable addition to the conversation, slowly setting Emma more at ease with her situation and beginning a long recovery from a rocky head start.
**
"Well Ah dunno about you girls, but Ah don't like her one bit."
Jean noted that Rogue had taken a considerable mood swing between this morning and the afternoon. At the meeting held while Emma unpacked in her room, Rogue was furious that Xavier would invite another into his home while "a fucking psycho runs loose!" Xavier insisted that Emma needed the guidance he could offer and not a day too soon. She was a telepath and Jean sympathized; the voices were exasperating, in a word. Xavier then assured Rogue that the 'psycho killer' she spoke of was no longer a threat to his team, and of that he was positive. Rogue simply narrowed her eyes. "Whatevah," she'd said, and left it at that.
Jean clicked the pen in her hand when she wasn't chewing on the edge, allowing herself to indulge in yet another recent memory. Scott caught her in the den one night; it was late and she was tackling a T.V. Guide crossword puzzle. He saw her nibbling on the pen tip and confessed he found it hard not to stare. She chided him playfully but he noticed her tongue dart in and out a tad more seductively, teasing the ballpoint and him.
"Blank Rhapsody; eight letters."
"Rustlers'," he said and took a seat beside her on the couch.
"Bill Blank the Science Guy." She turned to him. "Three letters."
"Nye," he said, edging ever closer. She met him in the middle until their thighs were touching. She watched his hand settle casually on her knee while he shared the crossword puzzle with her. When she was lost in thought, he would lean over and bury himself in her neck, making her sigh and dip her head back before regaining focus and slapping his leg.
"Cut it out! You want to get us in trouble?"
His butterfly kisses against her neck soon transformed into slow, sinful ministrations with his tongue until her breathing ran haggard. "Stop it, you! Someone will hear me." He did not, that is until Jean's eyebrows shot up and she hissed, "Wanda!"
They were on opposite sides of the couch before his wife was even within hearing range of the den. When she entered, she suspected nothing. They hoped.
That had been almost a whole week before she broke the news to him. They hadn't 'accidentally' stumbled across each other since, and for that Jean's heart did a painful twist.
She shook the thought and glanced casually over at Scott's wife. "How do you like her?" Silly question, she knew.
Wanda scoffed. "I don't."
Jean nodded. "Thought so."
Wanda raised a brow. "And what do you think of her, Peaches?"
Rogue suddenly looked up from her magazine. "Oh, Bono!" She interrupted enthusiastically. "Put him down. Ah love him!"
"Yeah, I love him too. We might as well put the Edge down as well. I like ole Edge."
"Edge?" Wanda asked.
"You know, the guitar player!" Jean scribbled the names down on her pad of paper. "I hate her," she replied in regards to Wanda's previous question. "There's only room for one gorgeous telepath in this house." She winked.
"We could say the same thing about redheads." Rogue added from over her issue of Rolling Stone. Wanda and Jean glanced at each other, a brief stone-cold hatred flashing in their pretty eyes. Rogue immediately wished she hadn't said anything. She quickly added another to the list. "Oh and we've got to have a Beatle. I like John."
Jean nodded, "Okay."
"No, no, no." Wanda said. "It's got to be Paul. He's ten times cuter!"
Jean sighed. "We'll put both of them and you can have Paul." Wanda smiled. "Ok, who else..." she tapped the pen against her notepad. Bobby wandered into the den and was immediately taken back by the congregation of women.
"Woah, I didn't do it." He held his hands up defensively.
Jean snickered. "Hey Bobby, pull up a seat. We were just making up a little list." She held up the paper: Rock and Roll Men To Sleep With. "What can we say?"
"We plead insanity," Wanda chimed.
"Moah like boredom," Rogue smiled.
Bobby spun on his heel. "I guess I'll be going then."
"Oh hey Bobby, where were you when we had to endure early morning introductions with our new mansion resident, hmm? I didn't even think you got up that early, let alone leave the mansion." Wanda chomped a baby carrot, content.
Bobby shrugged but was careful to avoid Rogue's eyes. She wasn't making a tremendous effort, either. "Just busy, I guess."
"Yeah well I don't think Charles was very pleased." Wanda sniffed.
"Let off, sugah. He said he was busy." Rogue said, her tone light but Wanda was no fool.
"At least try to make an effort and meet her tonight, Bobby, so the professor isn't upset with you, you know?" Jean circled Lindsey Buckingham absently; she'd demanded he be the first on the list.
Bobby said he'd try and left the women alone again.
"Oh, you know who Ah like?"
"Who?" The two other women asked in unison.
"That guy, what's his name? Oh shoot... he was lead for The Doors." Rogue snapped her fingers, frustrated.
"Van Morrison?" Wanda asked.
"Jim," Jean piped and nearly shrank under Wanda's cool stare. "It was Jim Morrison. Van Morrison was the guy that sang 'Brown Eyed Girl,' and 'Domino.'"
"Yeah, Jim!" Rogue cheered. "Ah like Jim Morrison, put him down."
"You ever seen the video for that song 'Unknown Soldier?'" Jean asked.
"Yes! Where he pretends to be executed on stage with a drum roll and everythang? Ah loved that!" Rogue exclaimed, tucking her legs under her and positioning her copy of Rolling Stone on her lap.
Jean grinned. "Yeah that was cool."
Wanda decided she really disliked Jean's smile. Or Jean, even.
**
Logan stripped his leather jacket and tossed it on the foyer closet's coat hanger. Irritated and glazed with fatigue from his aimless journey on his prized Harley, he stumbled into the kitchen for a beer and into the Rec. Room for some justified relaxing. But it was already occupied.
She looked up from where she dipped over the pool table, her tight shirt leaving little to the imagination. Blonde locks tumbled across her forehead as their eyes met.
He took a swig of his brew. "Who the fuck are you?" He wasn't in the mood to be polite or even civil.
She stood, slowly enough to make his eyes linger on her voluptuous body. "Emma Frost, your new recruit. You must be Wolverine. Logan isn't it?"
He nodded and spun on his heel, leaving the room and a chagrined Emma.
His arrival went from great to wonderful when he ran into Jean on the stairs to his room. 'Fucking great.' He stopped for her and she did likewise; they stood silently on the stairs while finding any excuse not to meet eyes.
Jean didn't want to ask, she really did not want to, but she knew it would gnaw at her in the night until she did. "Why'd you go?"
He locked eyes with her now, his gaze black and looming. "You know why." He swiped at his nose with a finger. "I could smell him on you."
Jean knew immediately that he referred to Scott. "I'm sorry." She'd been saying that a lot lately and she knew this would not be the last time. Even now, she wasn't exactly sure why she was sorry for Wolverine; it wasn't as if they had ever been an official "couple"- a word this mansion seems to avoid like the plague- but they'd flirted enough to suggest something, that was for sure.
Logan only nodded, wishing he had a stogie to drag or a beer to swig, anything to avoid her searing blue stare that snagged him into a vicious trap he found impossible to escape. Truth be told, returning to this place hadn't been something he was anticipating, but Rogue was one of Logan's closest friends- a rare thing to be sure- and he wasn't going to leave her hanging without helping drag in the bastard that killed her lover, whoever the hell he was.
Wordlessly, they nodded an understanding and parted separate ways- she descending, he ascending.
**
"Professor?"
"Yes, Scott. What is it?"
"Well, I'm sure it's nothing terribly important, it's just that..."
"Yes?"
"It's just... I'm a bit worried about the whereabouts of Angel and Storm. I mean I haven't seen them for a few days and-"
"You're absolutely right, Cyclops. I too have noticed their absence and planned on using Cerebro to locate them after my meeting with Senator Snyder via satellite. Thank you for informing me of your concern. If nothing else, it assures me I can trust you as a vigilant field leader of my team."
"Just thought I'd see what the deal was."
"Thank you. Good-bye, Scott."
"Bye Professor."
**
"So tell me more."
Emma had been bored come midnight and as there was no way of slipping out to hit a club or just enjoy a good ole-fashioned night on the town- as she was the main attraction and was thus watched like a hawk at all times- she decided that the mansion was just a good a place as any to get drunk.
Unfortunately, Bobby was unknowingly plopped in her path so she decided to take him along for the ride. 'Hey, Bobby is it? How about you fix us a drink, hmm playboy?' She couldn't help it; it was in her nature to cause trouble, from Jocelyn Boarding School, to Margaret's Prep School, even on her own father's estate and finally here- Xavier's Institute. As far as Emma was concerned, life was bland. It was her mission to "spice' it up. Bobby was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Emma smirked; famous last words.
Nine, count them- nine, shots and a few bad jokes later, Bobby was fall down drunk in his room, with Emma positioning shot glasses at the young boy's lips, encouraging the next swig with a playing smile and bright, seductive eyes.
Glancing at her from the corner of his crisp blue eyes, he would swallow the next shot with a chuckle in his throat and decidedly much more relaxed state of mind than he had started with.
"Well," Bobby began, licking his lips slowly as if it were a great feat he was to accomplish, "I don't know if there's mush more to tell. I think I've pretty mush covered everyone." His words were slow and slurred.
"That's too bad about that little southern belle of yours. Seems to me like you're better off without that white trash anyways, if you ask me." Bobby narrowed his blurry vision on her, wanting to defend Rogue but unable to form a coherent sentence before Emma continued. "And what's all this about a murderer? Who do you think it is?"
Emma hated to admit it, but the prospect of a dangerous killer under the same roof as her did much to enhance a certain arousal in the young woman. Growing up in a posh, affluent environment in which the people thrived on superficiality, Emma Frost had been attracted to the proverbial 'bad boy' since she was old enough to date.
Bobby's eyes squinted as he considered his answer. "Who do I think it is?" He mumbled, burying his head back into the plush sitting chair in his room.
Emma piqued a brow. Bobby's stalling did not go unnoticed. "Yes, that's right. Who do you think it is?" When Bobby simply shook his head, she took it upon herself to crawl into his lap and lace her fingers behind his neck. "Robert, please. Who are you protecting?"
His eyes widened. "No one! No one at all it's just..." His sentence was stopped with her peach lips playing over his, her tongue creeping into his compliant mouth.
She pulled back and sank her glittering eyes into his, adjusting her position so that extra pressure was applied to his stiff groin. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed. "Jesus, woman," he breathed.
He felt her legs straddle him in the chair and her tongue trace his earlobe. "Who?" She whispered, rocking against him again. He moaned throatily.
Emma, dissatisfied, trailed her fingers to the buttons of her blouse. She snatched his hand and rested it against her plump breast. His thumb grazed a pert nipple and he lowered himself to take it in his mouth when she stopped him. "Who?" She repeated, a bit firmly this time.
Bobby was nearly driven to insanity with the feel of her soft body pressing against his lap, her soft pink flesh so tantalizingly close but miles away until he said one name. He pressed hard against her mouth and gasped between kisses, "God. Jean. It's Je..." He kissed her again, covering Emma's small smile of triumph.
She considered pulling away from the boy now that she'd acquired all she was after, but decided against it. He might very well be a decent fuck. Indulging the young man, she let him use her body as an obvious outlet for the fervor he harbored, but not for a wealthy blonde seductress with cream-colored skin. Despite what he heard through the door, Bobby knew that the real heartbreaker wasn't a redhead that drove a team leader to infidelity, but a passionate green-eyed girl with a bold white streak through her cinnamon tresses.
**
Jean tugged on a pair of sweatpants with her white tank and padded quickly down the hallway, noticing others coming from their rooms one by one as well, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
"What's going on?" Scott asked from his doorway, Wanda peeking from behind him.
Jean shrugged. "I don't know. The professor woke me up and told me to get down their and quick!"
"Us too," Wanda added as the three trampled down the stairs.
Jean saw Bobby's door fling open and the blonde boy stepped out. What Jean was not expecting was the blonde woman behind him clad in one of his shirts, hair mussed and dark circles under her eyes. The Heartbreaker fought to keep her mouth from hanging agape and focused instead on catching up with Wanda and Scott.
"They're in a small, nearly nonexistent town named Greenwood approximately 40 miles east of Buffalo. On the further outskirts of the town is a giant, rundown shopping mall. It's been deserted for nearly twenty years but it still stands."
"And you think they're there?" Wolverine asked coolly.
"Cerebro has pinpointed them there, yes."
Scott straightened, immediately assuming leadership mode. "Was Cerebro able to give you any specifics on the buildings architecture: possible entrances, how many levels we're looking at, anything?"
The professor shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry Scott but I could only catch glimpses through the brainwaves of Ororo and Warren, and vague ones at that. Neither had any explicit details of the building's structure."
Bobby fought the urge to pace. "Damn it, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Life without his brother was easy when Bobby assumed he'd simply disappeared with a beautiful woman to have some fun for a few days- it wouldn't have been the first time- but now that his brother was in fact kidnapped and hauled out to Bumsville, Anywhere, well that was another story entirely and this standing around shit was getting him and his patience nowhere fast.
"You'll be leaving immediately." Xavier turned to their newest member. "Emma, you too will be on this mission, creating a telepathic connection with the team so Jean will not have to exert her efforts doing so. I would rather her telekinetic assets be used on this mission; I think they will be of greater use to us." Emma nodded. "But as I feel you are not yet ready to fully participate in a mission, particularly one as grave as this, you will be stationed in the Blackbird, serving also as a fast getaway for your teammates should they require it." She nodded again.
A moment of silence sank between the team until Scott clapped his hands in a "hut-hut" fashion, assuring them they had no time to lose.
**
The Blackbird hummed steadily while the passengers took this time to either rest-up or pace anxiously.
Rogue stood from her seat and stretched her long legs. She idly wandered to where Bobby sat, head in hands and trying his best not to shake. She frowned. "Aw Bobby." She leaned down and squeezed his hand. He met her eyes solemnly. "We're gonna get him back, sugah. 'Ro, too. Don't you worry one bit, alraght?"
He swallowed hard. "I just can't help but wonder how much time we've been wasting just sitting around, assuming they had run off somewhere." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it. "Goddamn, I feel like such an idiot."
Rogue tilted her head. "Don't. It ain't yoah fault." She brought him closer and gave him a genuine hug, strong and sincere. Bobby nearly melted into her warm embrace. When she walked away, he felt miserable- about his brother, about sleeping with Emma, about shooting his mouth off to her when it wasn't his place to talk. He was just hurt and Emma had been... convenient. Still, it didn't excuse confiding in her about Jean or sleeping with her. Bobby rubbed his temple. He felt a migraine coming on.
Remy watched Bobby from the corner of his blazing red eyes. To expend nervous energy, he shuffled a pack of cards with his nimble fingers. Something was wrong with Bobby; he knew something. Remy paled at the thought. In this mansion, one could know a million things. The Cajun burrowed his tongue against a tooth- another habit he possessed, only this one was done when he was swimming in deep contemplation. Saints and Christ but he really hated that kid, and it wasn't simply because he'd been a bit jealous at whatever he and Rogue USED to have, or the way he held on to Rogue for an extra instant when they'd just hugged. God Remy, have a heart. The kid's brother could be lying face down in his own sticky blood right now.
Remy winced.
No, he wasn't, because if Worthington was, then Ororo could be. Or worse.
No. They were fine. Remy shuffled again, a few sparks flying from the worn edges of the pack. They were fine.
**
Warren Worthington III rolled his shoulders once again in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the tension growing in his neck. He assessed his situation once more. Apparently, his body was contained in a large red box with only his legs and head free. He decided a long time ago it was damn frustrating that his arms were unable to reach his head, which was growing strained from hanging outside of his prison.
Warren had seen these sorts of body boxes at a magic show his mother had taken him and his brother to see when he was nine. The assistant would crawl in there and be sawed in half then the magician would miraculously piece her back together. Warren hoped whatever sick magician was pulling this prank didn't get any bright ideas.
As if on cue, the door swung open. Warren saw a man with a medium build and orange hair and mustache cross the room. He swung a walking stick beside him and was a little on the short side, but what snatched Warren's attention was the bold orange and yellow plaid suit the man wore, complete with equally ridiculous top-hat.
"Who the fuck are you? And where's Ororo!" Warren thrashed in his box but quickly ceased when the man burst into guffaws.
"Oh lordy, lordy, you mustn't do that ole chap. It's just too funny." He raced to the magician box and hopped joyfully onto it, just over where Warren's stomach was. "It's just too, too funny." He sat with his legs crossed, peering down into Warren's eyes. "Tell me something, ole sport. When do ya' think your friends will show up, hmm?" The absurd little man pretended to be interested in his nails. "'Cause I'm getting just a leeeetle bit tired of waiting around, ain't you? Well of course you are! Look at the predicament I've put YOU in?" He laughed uproariously as if he'd said something simply hilarious.
"Where's Ororo?" Warren managed through clenched teeth.
"Oh you mean the pretty lil lady you came in with?" He shrugged. "Not up yet."
"You don't know what you've done, buddy." The blonde warned.
His captor gazed at him blankly and then wordlessly brought the flower on his suit to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Ah, beautiful. Here take a whiff." He held it to Warren's passive nose and he squeezed, liquid spraying from the flower and splashing onto Warren's cheeks and nose. It dribbled down his chin in thin red streaks. Warren's eyes widened.
The man deadpanned. "Blood, ole boy. Blood."
**
Though Scott had switched the Blackbird to autopilot, he preferred staying seated in the pilot's seat in case something should go wrong. The endless expanse of sky growing boring, he turned his chair to look over his team. They were ready.
His eyes avoided Jean's much the same way hers avoided him. They were finally on speaking terms- after all, how could they pull off a silent treatment with each other without the others wondering when they'd found the time to even engage in a fight- but they hadn't had a little midnight rendezvous since she'd made him privy to what the rest of the mansion was just dying to know. Scott was beginning to really believe that it was over. Good. He was married. What he had with Jean was just a few nights of foolish fun with a few "I love you"s thrown in. That's it.
Scott gathered the courage to look at her. She was trying to doze but he knew her better than that. 'Look at her; she's... the Heartbreaker!' He tried to paint over the fact with pleasant images of her in his arms, first thing in the morning on a bed of fresh grass, dewdrops in her eyelashes and smiling but the truth bled through the dream like a crimson blot against a sheet of solid white.
Scott felt eyes boring into him and he turned to catch Logan glaring at him. No, he wasn't glaring. Logan always looks like that. Scott nearly nodded to himself. Yeah, he always looks like that. He could almost believe it until Logan produced a small scoff and closed his eyes, laying back into the seat.
A small scream of panic rang in Scott's ears. God all hell! Does he know?
**
"I'll do it." The taller man lifted Ororo easily in his arms and all but tossed her into a giant toy chest. She fell in a crumpled, unconscious heap.
"Man, she's pretty!" The shorter one noted with a slight Australian accent.
The taller one stood over her with decisive eyes. "Yeah, she is." He said finally. "Aw well," he said, starting away. Maybe the boss'll let us have a go at her when he's done with her, eh?" He laughed until the wind was knocked from him in one swift kick from behind. Storm grabbed his hair and slammed his face into a close giant building block.
The smaller one charged at her but she dodged him easily. She positioned her elbow to meet with his counterattack but arms swung her from behind.
"I wouldn't do that, gorgeous." An obnoxious voice rang from behind her. She wrenched to see a man with hair the color of ripe oranges.
"Who the hell are you?" She spat, already summoning the natural forced to her aid. Before they could answer her call though, she finally felt the sting of a needle plunged into her minutes ago by the carrot top psycho running the operation. She fell limp against him.
"That, my dear," he heaved her back into the chest, "is the million dollar question." Slamming the lock on it, he turned back to his remaining goon, the taller one still unconscious on the floor. "Get rid of him," he nudged his thug with his toe, "and bring this to the control room." He slapped the heavy wooden chest that contained Ororo. "I think I want her with me when they come."
**
The X-Men filed out of the jet, Cyclops staying behind to briefly make sure Emma was familiar with the controls. When he was satisfied she was, he joined his team in front of the towering gray stone building.
"Remy and Logan, I want you to circle the place and check out possible exits. Rogue, you get air born and see if there's anything up top."
The trio returned with no results. "Nothin', Cyke. Place is sealed up like a pickle jar!"
"Alright, thanks Rogue." He said, already acting as point as the team neared the apparently one and only entrance. On one broken glass door, the word 'enter' was painted on in crude white letters.
"Don't mind if we do," Logan muttered, the last to enter behind his team.
Inside, they founf themselves in a rather small, secluded center much like a lobby.
"Dis ain't like no mall I've seen cher, how 'bout you?" Rogue shook her head.
Before them stood three more doors, each one painted a bright, bold color. They were numbered 'one,' 'two,' and 'three.'
"Stay alert," Scott warned.
Logan rolled his eyes but bit back a comment. No ain't the time.
An intercom cackled above them and the team tensed like a live wire. The lights dimmed except for the bulbs flashing yellow and lining the ceiling. A jaunty ditty blared through the old black speakers in the ceiling.
"Step right up! Step right up! Ya' only live once, ladies and gents, take the plunge and choose a door. You got the guts? You got the brains? Well buddy, let's see just exactly WHAT you got!" The voice was swift and slick, the voice of a true carnival master. "What's it gonna be? Door number one, door number two, or door number three?"
The team exchanged glances and turned back to the three doors.
Scott's voice cut through the music, sure and strong. "Alright, split up. Rogue, Jean, and Gambit, you take 1. Wolverine and Iceman take 2. Wanda, you're with me in 3." They nodded once and divided into their individual groups.
But it really didn't matter. Every door led to a long hallway. Tentatively and unaware of each other, each sub-team crept forward. Only then was it apparent that the hallway had simply been a holograph- bait to lure them on until the doors could slam and lock behind them.
"No!" Jean cried, running to pry it open. The team members with more extreme powers dared not use them for fear of exploding the entire room and ultimately injuring a teammate. Before Rogue could ram the door or Wolverine could unsheathe his claws, gas seeped through the vents and filled their lungs.
The last to fall, Wolverine mused before he slipped into unconsciousness: "Oh I can already tell THIS is gonna be a fuckin' joyride."
**
In his control room, the man with orange hair smiled smugly and thought, "Round one to you, Arcade."
MY NOTES:
Alright, that's all for now but the next chapter is gonna be some serious coolness. There's action, drama, and even pie! Yes, pie, really! Now you just CAN'T miss it! But seriously, everyone's gonna find out everything in the next chapter.
Also, um, does anyone have any suggestions on what I should put in the funhouse? I already have a lot of ideas but if yours are better, I'm all ears!
And lastly, REVIEW! O please, REVIEW! And you know I love any review, but feel free to make it long if you want. Talk about anything you want- the direction it's taking, what's being dragged out too much, what needs to be elaborated on, who Ororo should end up with, who Bobby should end up with, if Wanda should do some evil, conniving thing, should the professor grow hair? You tell me folks. I'm your little slave-writer and if I had it my way, I'd lock myself in my dark basement/cave and frantically type your ideas out!!!
So Xavier's it was.
Despite the close strings she kept attached to her father and his bank accounts, Emma prided herself on being basically independent, and though Xavier's Institute seemed fairly pleasant, she was not entirely thrilled with the idea of having to be shipped off to the academy as if she were back in junior high and being loaded onto a plane and flown cross-country to attend one of her several boarding schools. But during her interview with Charles Xavier, he'd revealed to her that the Institute was so much more, acting as a station for a team he'd recruited to use their mutations for a greater cause. Emma had never been part of a "greater cause" in her entire life, unless you counted prom committee or cheerleading squad, and was admittedly touched by both the confession and invitation. She decided immediately that she did indeed want to join his team and right away. Xavier smiled warmly.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Ms. Frost. We'll begin your training as soon as possible. I think you will like it here."
Three days later, she returned upon Charles' request.
She sat in his office, back straight, legs crossed, cool and collected and fingering her Italian leather suitcases as Xavier explained the basic goals of the school and what he hoped to accomplish in her stay, dabbing his tea bag in and out of his small teacup.
"Ah, I've summoned my X-Men and here are some of them now." He gestured at his door and it immediately swung open, a fairly built dark-haired man with tinted sunglasses and two slender, equally beautiful redheaded women gaining entrance. Close behind was an attractive couple consisting of a tall, lithe man with long auburn hair beside a pretty brunette, the two standing close enough to give away their dating status.
"I apologize, Ms. Frost, but four of our members appear to be otherwise occupied at the moment. That's all right, we may begin the introductions with Scott and Wanda Summers, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau and Rogue."
Emma eyed the belle with a questioning eye but quickly averted her attention when she was received with an icy glare. In an attempt to mask her embarrassment, the petite blonde turned instead to the more congenial looking portion of the team, the gentleman with glasses and two redheads.
Wanda had wandered behind Xavier's desk in hopes that he would notice the perplexed look in her dark eyes but hopefully not her callous thoughts. 'Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?'
"So," Emma regarded Jean, "Mrs. Summers, is it? What's a girl to do aro-"
"No, I'm Mrs. Summers," came the sharp interruption from behind her. Emma spun to see the irritated expression etched in the woman's features. "I'm Mrs. Summers. That's Miss Grey."
Scott and Jean exchanged awkward chuckles and Rogue subtly buried her face in Remy's shoulder to suppress the embarrassed smile.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Emma said, suddenly wishing to crawl into a whole and die. Her first impression was failing miserably.
Charles cleared his throat and continued with the overview of his school's agenda. Occasionally, one of the others would offer a helpful and genuinely amicable addition to the conversation, slowly setting Emma more at ease with her situation and beginning a long recovery from a rocky head start.
**
"Well Ah dunno about you girls, but Ah don't like her one bit."
Jean noted that Rogue had taken a considerable mood swing between this morning and the afternoon. At the meeting held while Emma unpacked in her room, Rogue was furious that Xavier would invite another into his home while "a fucking psycho runs loose!" Xavier insisted that Emma needed the guidance he could offer and not a day too soon. She was a telepath and Jean sympathized; the voices were exasperating, in a word. Xavier then assured Rogue that the 'psycho killer' she spoke of was no longer a threat to his team, and of that he was positive. Rogue simply narrowed her eyes. "Whatevah," she'd said, and left it at that.
Jean clicked the pen in her hand when she wasn't chewing on the edge, allowing herself to indulge in yet another recent memory. Scott caught her in the den one night; it was late and she was tackling a T.V. Guide crossword puzzle. He saw her nibbling on the pen tip and confessed he found it hard not to stare. She chided him playfully but he noticed her tongue dart in and out a tad more seductively, teasing the ballpoint and him.
"Blank Rhapsody; eight letters."
"Rustlers'," he said and took a seat beside her on the couch.
"Bill Blank the Science Guy." She turned to him. "Three letters."
"Nye," he said, edging ever closer. She met him in the middle until their thighs were touching. She watched his hand settle casually on her knee while he shared the crossword puzzle with her. When she was lost in thought, he would lean over and bury himself in her neck, making her sigh and dip her head back before regaining focus and slapping his leg.
"Cut it out! You want to get us in trouble?"
His butterfly kisses against her neck soon transformed into slow, sinful ministrations with his tongue until her breathing ran haggard. "Stop it, you! Someone will hear me." He did not, that is until Jean's eyebrows shot up and she hissed, "Wanda!"
They were on opposite sides of the couch before his wife was even within hearing range of the den. When she entered, she suspected nothing. They hoped.
That had been almost a whole week before she broke the news to him. They hadn't 'accidentally' stumbled across each other since, and for that Jean's heart did a painful twist.
She shook the thought and glanced casually over at Scott's wife. "How do you like her?" Silly question, she knew.
Wanda scoffed. "I don't."
Jean nodded. "Thought so."
Wanda raised a brow. "And what do you think of her, Peaches?"
Rogue suddenly looked up from her magazine. "Oh, Bono!" She interrupted enthusiastically. "Put him down. Ah love him!"
"Yeah, I love him too. We might as well put the Edge down as well. I like ole Edge."
"Edge?" Wanda asked.
"You know, the guitar player!" Jean scribbled the names down on her pad of paper. "I hate her," she replied in regards to Wanda's previous question. "There's only room for one gorgeous telepath in this house." She winked.
"We could say the same thing about redheads." Rogue added from over her issue of Rolling Stone. Wanda and Jean glanced at each other, a brief stone-cold hatred flashing in their pretty eyes. Rogue immediately wished she hadn't said anything. She quickly added another to the list. "Oh and we've got to have a Beatle. I like John."
Jean nodded, "Okay."
"No, no, no." Wanda said. "It's got to be Paul. He's ten times cuter!"
Jean sighed. "We'll put both of them and you can have Paul." Wanda smiled. "Ok, who else..." she tapped the pen against her notepad. Bobby wandered into the den and was immediately taken back by the congregation of women.
"Woah, I didn't do it." He held his hands up defensively.
Jean snickered. "Hey Bobby, pull up a seat. We were just making up a little list." She held up the paper: Rock and Roll Men To Sleep With. "What can we say?"
"We plead insanity," Wanda chimed.
"Moah like boredom," Rogue smiled.
Bobby spun on his heel. "I guess I'll be going then."
"Oh hey Bobby, where were you when we had to endure early morning introductions with our new mansion resident, hmm? I didn't even think you got up that early, let alone leave the mansion." Wanda chomped a baby carrot, content.
Bobby shrugged but was careful to avoid Rogue's eyes. She wasn't making a tremendous effort, either. "Just busy, I guess."
"Yeah well I don't think Charles was very pleased." Wanda sniffed.
"Let off, sugah. He said he was busy." Rogue said, her tone light but Wanda was no fool.
"At least try to make an effort and meet her tonight, Bobby, so the professor isn't upset with you, you know?" Jean circled Lindsey Buckingham absently; she'd demanded he be the first on the list.
Bobby said he'd try and left the women alone again.
"Oh, you know who Ah like?"
"Who?" The two other women asked in unison.
"That guy, what's his name? Oh shoot... he was lead for The Doors." Rogue snapped her fingers, frustrated.
"Van Morrison?" Wanda asked.
"Jim," Jean piped and nearly shrank under Wanda's cool stare. "It was Jim Morrison. Van Morrison was the guy that sang 'Brown Eyed Girl,' and 'Domino.'"
"Yeah, Jim!" Rogue cheered. "Ah like Jim Morrison, put him down."
"You ever seen the video for that song 'Unknown Soldier?'" Jean asked.
"Yes! Where he pretends to be executed on stage with a drum roll and everythang? Ah loved that!" Rogue exclaimed, tucking her legs under her and positioning her copy of Rolling Stone on her lap.
Jean grinned. "Yeah that was cool."
Wanda decided she really disliked Jean's smile. Or Jean, even.
**
Logan stripped his leather jacket and tossed it on the foyer closet's coat hanger. Irritated and glazed with fatigue from his aimless journey on his prized Harley, he stumbled into the kitchen for a beer and into the Rec. Room for some justified relaxing. But it was already occupied.
She looked up from where she dipped over the pool table, her tight shirt leaving little to the imagination. Blonde locks tumbled across her forehead as their eyes met.
He took a swig of his brew. "Who the fuck are you?" He wasn't in the mood to be polite or even civil.
She stood, slowly enough to make his eyes linger on her voluptuous body. "Emma Frost, your new recruit. You must be Wolverine. Logan isn't it?"
He nodded and spun on his heel, leaving the room and a chagrined Emma.
His arrival went from great to wonderful when he ran into Jean on the stairs to his room. 'Fucking great.' He stopped for her and she did likewise; they stood silently on the stairs while finding any excuse not to meet eyes.
Jean didn't want to ask, she really did not want to, but she knew it would gnaw at her in the night until she did. "Why'd you go?"
He locked eyes with her now, his gaze black and looming. "You know why." He swiped at his nose with a finger. "I could smell him on you."
Jean knew immediately that he referred to Scott. "I'm sorry." She'd been saying that a lot lately and she knew this would not be the last time. Even now, she wasn't exactly sure why she was sorry for Wolverine; it wasn't as if they had ever been an official "couple"- a word this mansion seems to avoid like the plague- but they'd flirted enough to suggest something, that was for sure.
Logan only nodded, wishing he had a stogie to drag or a beer to swig, anything to avoid her searing blue stare that snagged him into a vicious trap he found impossible to escape. Truth be told, returning to this place hadn't been something he was anticipating, but Rogue was one of Logan's closest friends- a rare thing to be sure- and he wasn't going to leave her hanging without helping drag in the bastard that killed her lover, whoever the hell he was.
Wordlessly, they nodded an understanding and parted separate ways- she descending, he ascending.
**
"Professor?"
"Yes, Scott. What is it?"
"Well, I'm sure it's nothing terribly important, it's just that..."
"Yes?"
"It's just... I'm a bit worried about the whereabouts of Angel and Storm. I mean I haven't seen them for a few days and-"
"You're absolutely right, Cyclops. I too have noticed their absence and planned on using Cerebro to locate them after my meeting with Senator Snyder via satellite. Thank you for informing me of your concern. If nothing else, it assures me I can trust you as a vigilant field leader of my team."
"Just thought I'd see what the deal was."
"Thank you. Good-bye, Scott."
"Bye Professor."
**
"So tell me more."
Emma had been bored come midnight and as there was no way of slipping out to hit a club or just enjoy a good ole-fashioned night on the town- as she was the main attraction and was thus watched like a hawk at all times- she decided that the mansion was just a good a place as any to get drunk.
Unfortunately, Bobby was unknowingly plopped in her path so she decided to take him along for the ride. 'Hey, Bobby is it? How about you fix us a drink, hmm playboy?' She couldn't help it; it was in her nature to cause trouble, from Jocelyn Boarding School, to Margaret's Prep School, even on her own father's estate and finally here- Xavier's Institute. As far as Emma was concerned, life was bland. It was her mission to "spice' it up. Bobby was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Emma smirked; famous last words.
Nine, count them- nine, shots and a few bad jokes later, Bobby was fall down drunk in his room, with Emma positioning shot glasses at the young boy's lips, encouraging the next swig with a playing smile and bright, seductive eyes.
Glancing at her from the corner of his crisp blue eyes, he would swallow the next shot with a chuckle in his throat and decidedly much more relaxed state of mind than he had started with.
"Well," Bobby began, licking his lips slowly as if it were a great feat he was to accomplish, "I don't know if there's mush more to tell. I think I've pretty mush covered everyone." His words were slow and slurred.
"That's too bad about that little southern belle of yours. Seems to me like you're better off without that white trash anyways, if you ask me." Bobby narrowed his blurry vision on her, wanting to defend Rogue but unable to form a coherent sentence before Emma continued. "And what's all this about a murderer? Who do you think it is?"
Emma hated to admit it, but the prospect of a dangerous killer under the same roof as her did much to enhance a certain arousal in the young woman. Growing up in a posh, affluent environment in which the people thrived on superficiality, Emma Frost had been attracted to the proverbial 'bad boy' since she was old enough to date.
Bobby's eyes squinted as he considered his answer. "Who do I think it is?" He mumbled, burying his head back into the plush sitting chair in his room.
Emma piqued a brow. Bobby's stalling did not go unnoticed. "Yes, that's right. Who do you think it is?" When Bobby simply shook his head, she took it upon herself to crawl into his lap and lace her fingers behind his neck. "Robert, please. Who are you protecting?"
His eyes widened. "No one! No one at all it's just..." His sentence was stopped with her peach lips playing over his, her tongue creeping into his compliant mouth.
She pulled back and sank her glittering eyes into his, adjusting her position so that extra pressure was applied to his stiff groin. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed. "Jesus, woman," he breathed.
He felt her legs straddle him in the chair and her tongue trace his earlobe. "Who?" She whispered, rocking against him again. He moaned throatily.
Emma, dissatisfied, trailed her fingers to the buttons of her blouse. She snatched his hand and rested it against her plump breast. His thumb grazed a pert nipple and he lowered himself to take it in his mouth when she stopped him. "Who?" She repeated, a bit firmly this time.
Bobby was nearly driven to insanity with the feel of her soft body pressing against his lap, her soft pink flesh so tantalizingly close but miles away until he said one name. He pressed hard against her mouth and gasped between kisses, "God. Jean. It's Je..." He kissed her again, covering Emma's small smile of triumph.
She considered pulling away from the boy now that she'd acquired all she was after, but decided against it. He might very well be a decent fuck. Indulging the young man, she let him use her body as an obvious outlet for the fervor he harbored, but not for a wealthy blonde seductress with cream-colored skin. Despite what he heard through the door, Bobby knew that the real heartbreaker wasn't a redhead that drove a team leader to infidelity, but a passionate green-eyed girl with a bold white streak through her cinnamon tresses.
**
Jean tugged on a pair of sweatpants with her white tank and padded quickly down the hallway, noticing others coming from their rooms one by one as well, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
"What's going on?" Scott asked from his doorway, Wanda peeking from behind him.
Jean shrugged. "I don't know. The professor woke me up and told me to get down their and quick!"
"Us too," Wanda added as the three trampled down the stairs.
Jean saw Bobby's door fling open and the blonde boy stepped out. What Jean was not expecting was the blonde woman behind him clad in one of his shirts, hair mussed and dark circles under her eyes. The Heartbreaker fought to keep her mouth from hanging agape and focused instead on catching up with Wanda and Scott.
"They're in a small, nearly nonexistent town named Greenwood approximately 40 miles east of Buffalo. On the further outskirts of the town is a giant, rundown shopping mall. It's been deserted for nearly twenty years but it still stands."
"And you think they're there?" Wolverine asked coolly.
"Cerebro has pinpointed them there, yes."
Scott straightened, immediately assuming leadership mode. "Was Cerebro able to give you any specifics on the buildings architecture: possible entrances, how many levels we're looking at, anything?"
The professor shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry Scott but I could only catch glimpses through the brainwaves of Ororo and Warren, and vague ones at that. Neither had any explicit details of the building's structure."
Bobby fought the urge to pace. "Damn it, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Life without his brother was easy when Bobby assumed he'd simply disappeared with a beautiful woman to have some fun for a few days- it wouldn't have been the first time- but now that his brother was in fact kidnapped and hauled out to Bumsville, Anywhere, well that was another story entirely and this standing around shit was getting him and his patience nowhere fast.
"You'll be leaving immediately." Xavier turned to their newest member. "Emma, you too will be on this mission, creating a telepathic connection with the team so Jean will not have to exert her efforts doing so. I would rather her telekinetic assets be used on this mission; I think they will be of greater use to us." Emma nodded. "But as I feel you are not yet ready to fully participate in a mission, particularly one as grave as this, you will be stationed in the Blackbird, serving also as a fast getaway for your teammates should they require it." She nodded again.
A moment of silence sank between the team until Scott clapped his hands in a "hut-hut" fashion, assuring them they had no time to lose.
**
The Blackbird hummed steadily while the passengers took this time to either rest-up or pace anxiously.
Rogue stood from her seat and stretched her long legs. She idly wandered to where Bobby sat, head in hands and trying his best not to shake. She frowned. "Aw Bobby." She leaned down and squeezed his hand. He met her eyes solemnly. "We're gonna get him back, sugah. 'Ro, too. Don't you worry one bit, alraght?"
He swallowed hard. "I just can't help but wonder how much time we've been wasting just sitting around, assuming they had run off somewhere." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it. "Goddamn, I feel like such an idiot."
Rogue tilted her head. "Don't. It ain't yoah fault." She brought him closer and gave him a genuine hug, strong and sincere. Bobby nearly melted into her warm embrace. When she walked away, he felt miserable- about his brother, about sleeping with Emma, about shooting his mouth off to her when it wasn't his place to talk. He was just hurt and Emma had been... convenient. Still, it didn't excuse confiding in her about Jean or sleeping with her. Bobby rubbed his temple. He felt a migraine coming on.
Remy watched Bobby from the corner of his blazing red eyes. To expend nervous energy, he shuffled a pack of cards with his nimble fingers. Something was wrong with Bobby; he knew something. Remy paled at the thought. In this mansion, one could know a million things. The Cajun burrowed his tongue against a tooth- another habit he possessed, only this one was done when he was swimming in deep contemplation. Saints and Christ but he really hated that kid, and it wasn't simply because he'd been a bit jealous at whatever he and Rogue USED to have, or the way he held on to Rogue for an extra instant when they'd just hugged. God Remy, have a heart. The kid's brother could be lying face down in his own sticky blood right now.
Remy winced.
No, he wasn't, because if Worthington was, then Ororo could be. Or worse.
No. They were fine. Remy shuffled again, a few sparks flying from the worn edges of the pack. They were fine.
**
Warren Worthington III rolled his shoulders once again in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the tension growing in his neck. He assessed his situation once more. Apparently, his body was contained in a large red box with only his legs and head free. He decided a long time ago it was damn frustrating that his arms were unable to reach his head, which was growing strained from hanging outside of his prison.
Warren had seen these sorts of body boxes at a magic show his mother had taken him and his brother to see when he was nine. The assistant would crawl in there and be sawed in half then the magician would miraculously piece her back together. Warren hoped whatever sick magician was pulling this prank didn't get any bright ideas.
As if on cue, the door swung open. Warren saw a man with a medium build and orange hair and mustache cross the room. He swung a walking stick beside him and was a little on the short side, but what snatched Warren's attention was the bold orange and yellow plaid suit the man wore, complete with equally ridiculous top-hat.
"Who the fuck are you? And where's Ororo!" Warren thrashed in his box but quickly ceased when the man burst into guffaws.
"Oh lordy, lordy, you mustn't do that ole chap. It's just too funny." He raced to the magician box and hopped joyfully onto it, just over where Warren's stomach was. "It's just too, too funny." He sat with his legs crossed, peering down into Warren's eyes. "Tell me something, ole sport. When do ya' think your friends will show up, hmm?" The absurd little man pretended to be interested in his nails. "'Cause I'm getting just a leeeetle bit tired of waiting around, ain't you? Well of course you are! Look at the predicament I've put YOU in?" He laughed uproariously as if he'd said something simply hilarious.
"Where's Ororo?" Warren managed through clenched teeth.
"Oh you mean the pretty lil lady you came in with?" He shrugged. "Not up yet."
"You don't know what you've done, buddy." The blonde warned.
His captor gazed at him blankly and then wordlessly brought the flower on his suit to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Ah, beautiful. Here take a whiff." He held it to Warren's passive nose and he squeezed, liquid spraying from the flower and splashing onto Warren's cheeks and nose. It dribbled down his chin in thin red streaks. Warren's eyes widened.
The man deadpanned. "Blood, ole boy. Blood."
**
Though Scott had switched the Blackbird to autopilot, he preferred staying seated in the pilot's seat in case something should go wrong. The endless expanse of sky growing boring, he turned his chair to look over his team. They were ready.
His eyes avoided Jean's much the same way hers avoided him. They were finally on speaking terms- after all, how could they pull off a silent treatment with each other without the others wondering when they'd found the time to even engage in a fight- but they hadn't had a little midnight rendezvous since she'd made him privy to what the rest of the mansion was just dying to know. Scott was beginning to really believe that it was over. Good. He was married. What he had with Jean was just a few nights of foolish fun with a few "I love you"s thrown in. That's it.
Scott gathered the courage to look at her. She was trying to doze but he knew her better than that. 'Look at her; she's... the Heartbreaker!' He tried to paint over the fact with pleasant images of her in his arms, first thing in the morning on a bed of fresh grass, dewdrops in her eyelashes and smiling but the truth bled through the dream like a crimson blot against a sheet of solid white.
Scott felt eyes boring into him and he turned to catch Logan glaring at him. No, he wasn't glaring. Logan always looks like that. Scott nearly nodded to himself. Yeah, he always looks like that. He could almost believe it until Logan produced a small scoff and closed his eyes, laying back into the seat.
A small scream of panic rang in Scott's ears. God all hell! Does he know?
**
"I'll do it." The taller man lifted Ororo easily in his arms and all but tossed her into a giant toy chest. She fell in a crumpled, unconscious heap.
"Man, she's pretty!" The shorter one noted with a slight Australian accent.
The taller one stood over her with decisive eyes. "Yeah, she is." He said finally. "Aw well," he said, starting away. Maybe the boss'll let us have a go at her when he's done with her, eh?" He laughed until the wind was knocked from him in one swift kick from behind. Storm grabbed his hair and slammed his face into a close giant building block.
The smaller one charged at her but she dodged him easily. She positioned her elbow to meet with his counterattack but arms swung her from behind.
"I wouldn't do that, gorgeous." An obnoxious voice rang from behind her. She wrenched to see a man with hair the color of ripe oranges.
"Who the hell are you?" She spat, already summoning the natural forced to her aid. Before they could answer her call though, she finally felt the sting of a needle plunged into her minutes ago by the carrot top psycho running the operation. She fell limp against him.
"That, my dear," he heaved her back into the chest, "is the million dollar question." Slamming the lock on it, he turned back to his remaining goon, the taller one still unconscious on the floor. "Get rid of him," he nudged his thug with his toe, "and bring this to the control room." He slapped the heavy wooden chest that contained Ororo. "I think I want her with me when they come."
**
The X-Men filed out of the jet, Cyclops staying behind to briefly make sure Emma was familiar with the controls. When he was satisfied she was, he joined his team in front of the towering gray stone building.
"Remy and Logan, I want you to circle the place and check out possible exits. Rogue, you get air born and see if there's anything up top."
The trio returned with no results. "Nothin', Cyke. Place is sealed up like a pickle jar!"
"Alright, thanks Rogue." He said, already acting as point as the team neared the apparently one and only entrance. On one broken glass door, the word 'enter' was painted on in crude white letters.
"Don't mind if we do," Logan muttered, the last to enter behind his team.
Inside, they founf themselves in a rather small, secluded center much like a lobby.
"Dis ain't like no mall I've seen cher, how 'bout you?" Rogue shook her head.
Before them stood three more doors, each one painted a bright, bold color. They were numbered 'one,' 'two,' and 'three.'
"Stay alert," Scott warned.
Logan rolled his eyes but bit back a comment. No ain't the time.
An intercom cackled above them and the team tensed like a live wire. The lights dimmed except for the bulbs flashing yellow and lining the ceiling. A jaunty ditty blared through the old black speakers in the ceiling.
"Step right up! Step right up! Ya' only live once, ladies and gents, take the plunge and choose a door. You got the guts? You got the brains? Well buddy, let's see just exactly WHAT you got!" The voice was swift and slick, the voice of a true carnival master. "What's it gonna be? Door number one, door number two, or door number three?"
The team exchanged glances and turned back to the three doors.
Scott's voice cut through the music, sure and strong. "Alright, split up. Rogue, Jean, and Gambit, you take 1. Wolverine and Iceman take 2. Wanda, you're with me in 3." They nodded once and divided into their individual groups.
But it really didn't matter. Every door led to a long hallway. Tentatively and unaware of each other, each sub-team crept forward. Only then was it apparent that the hallway had simply been a holograph- bait to lure them on until the doors could slam and lock behind them.
"No!" Jean cried, running to pry it open. The team members with more extreme powers dared not use them for fear of exploding the entire room and ultimately injuring a teammate. Before Rogue could ram the door or Wolverine could unsheathe his claws, gas seeped through the vents and filled their lungs.
The last to fall, Wolverine mused before he slipped into unconsciousness: "Oh I can already tell THIS is gonna be a fuckin' joyride."
**
In his control room, the man with orange hair smiled smugly and thought, "Round one to you, Arcade."
MY NOTES:
Alright, that's all for now but the next chapter is gonna be some serious coolness. There's action, drama, and even pie! Yes, pie, really! Now you just CAN'T miss it! But seriously, everyone's gonna find out everything in the next chapter.
Also, um, does anyone have any suggestions on what I should put in the funhouse? I already have a lot of ideas but if yours are better, I'm all ears!
And lastly, REVIEW! O please, REVIEW! And you know I love any review, but feel free to make it long if you want. Talk about anything you want- the direction it's taking, what's being dragged out too much, what needs to be elaborated on, who Ororo should end up with, who Bobby should end up with, if Wanda should do some evil, conniving thing, should the professor grow hair? You tell me folks. I'm your little slave-writer and if I had it my way, I'd lock myself in my dark basement/cave and frantically type your ideas out!!!