"Are they dressed?" Arcade asked.
His consort nodded, lifting a toy box very similar to the one Ororo was currently trapped in. Inside was an unconscious pile of Jean and Rogue. "Yes sir."
Arcade smiled. "Wonderful. You know what to do with them."
**
Emma Frost positioned a delicate finger at her temple. "Professor?" She called telepathically. "Professor!"
"Yes Emma, what is it?" His voice echoed hollow in her head, tight and worried.
"It's the team. I... I've lost contact with them. I don't know what happened. One minute I was connecting us all telepathically and the next, they're just... gone." Her voice was panicked. "Should I go in?"
"No," Xavier said quickly, fearing already for his team's safety. "It is best you stay in the Blackbird and prepare for an immediate liftoff if they should need it. I will try to contact them through Cerebro."
Emma sighed and broke the connection. 'Damn it.'
**
Being a considerably attractive man, Remy had never been precisely AFRAID of mirrors. But this room gave him more than enough reason to feel slightly uncomfortable before the tall, glassy, reflective sheets. They were your usual funhouse mirrors, distorting his image and the like, and at first he almost smirked, but as the coiling passages continued, every one lined with the tall mirrors making him uglier and uglier at every turn, he eventually came to the conclusion that it was just damned annoying.
He stood planted in front of one particular mirror, this one making him appear grotesquely tall, and waited for a hint of danger, a robot soldier, anything to take his mind off of the rows and rows of... reflection.
He would have jumped at the sound of the cackling voice through the intercom, except that Remy was notorious for his nerves of steel. "Whatsa' matter, Cajun boy? Don't like what you see?" The voice erupted into fits of ridiculous laughter. Gambit rolled his eyes.
"It wasn't that funny, homme." He spoke up, always one for playing with fire. "Why don't you quit hidin' behind dose speakers and show us all what a great and powerful Oz you REALLY are, eh?"
There was a split-second of pause before, "You know what I think, hmm? I think all that sassy wit is a cover-up for some deeper secrets you hide within- some secrets you maybe don't wanna share with the rest of us..." His voice grew low and an unseen, eerie energy flooded the room. Remy's hair stood on end. He'd asked for a little action, but he could already tell this was in no way going to be fun.
"What are you talkin' about, you sick bastard?" Remy's voice was sharp but he refused to sound in the least bit frightened, not for this crazy fuck. When the only response he received was an empty echo, Remy opened his mouth to call again before a flash of movement caught his eye. He jerked his head. "What the...?"
Something in the mirror... no. It couldn't be. Remy traveled on through the winding halls. Another flash of movement- this time slower. Remy peered at the mirror ahead and the reflection melted into another picture. Remy nearly swallowed his heart.
It was him, except it wasn't. He was younger, maybe a few years, back when he kept his hair very long and the burning embers in his eyes remained all ice and steel. Remy watched himself pocket the money of unsuspecting strangers- usually tourists- on the busy, loud streets of New Orleans. Men and women alike fell prey to his nimble fingers and silent approaches.
Remy gasped. "How d'you know about dis?" He hollered at the ceiling, but again, silence responded. Remy spun on his heel and stalked away from that mirror. He wouldn't turn back to that again; he'd keep that reflection behind him. Another mirror transformed before him.
He was seated at a small table in the center of a loud, pulsing club bathed in an artificial orange and red light. Across from him was a skinny kid only a few years his senior. His hand trembled from a starved addiction as he slid a wad of money across the table. Remy casually pocketed the money and slipped the man a brown package under the table in return. The man's eyes grew big. He tucked the package tight against his chest and slid out of the booth to scurry across the dance floor and straight home.
Remy's stomach fell. Again, he turned and pursued forward, never back. Another mirror changed and though he abhorred the thought, he couldn't force himself to wrench from the sight.
Though he'd seen it coming a mile away, this one sucker-punched him especially.
He was against a brick wall, arms crossed, cigarette between two fingers. When the young woman appeared, he smothered the smoke and straightened to regard her. They conversed amicably for a few moments. Remy couldn't hear what he and the girl were saying, but it didn't matter. He knew who she was and what she was doing. After a while, she reached into her bra and produced a few folded bills. Even then- in the dead center of his most miserable, shameful, disgusting time- he couldn't meet her eyes. He simply took the money and nodded, jerking his head to summon her inside.
Remy fought the looming rage and self-loathing that hovered around him as he watched himself. It wasn't a particularly memorable moment from that period in his life, just a glimpse of an every night routine. He remembered that girl, though, with stringy strawberry blonde hair and heavy blue make-up. AIDS. That was when he officially 'quit' the business. She died three months later.
Remy clenched his fist. "I'd turn dose off right now if I were you, homme!" He called. Nothing. "Bastard," he spat before throwing his foot into one of the mirrors. It shattered on impact, sending shards of glass to sprinkle Remy's hair and uniform. He retrieved a considerable-sized slice of glass and charged it kinetically- with more effort, he noted, than usual. The small piece of glass glowed with energy and Remy threw it into another mirror, uncaring of the slivers that dug into his skin with every mirror he destroyed.
He executed a similar procedure and shattered another, then another, and another until nothing was left of the long hallways but black walls. Spent of energy, Remy slid against a wall and collected himself, head in hands. Soon he'd find a way out of these dark halls but for now, he rested.
**
Arcade sat at his monitors, a grin plastered on his freckled features. That was fun, he thought, referring to Remy's breakdown.
He scanned the rest of his screens. His funhouse was designed as a maze with individual rooms in certain corners where he harbored the X-Men separately. Every twisting passage led to a central center, and in that focal point sat Jean Grey on a stool hovering above a large, almost ten foot deep tank of water. With her hands tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and her powers negated from the power inhibitor positioned also in the maze's center, balancing was an excellent feat for the telepath. Should she squirm to free herself from her bonds, she would most likely plunge into the water. Without her powers, Jean knew she would surely drown with her hands tied.
Arcade pressed a control button at his desk and leaned down to speak directly into it. "Hello Miss Grey. How are we today?"
Her eyes narrowed and he was met with a crude, muffled response. The truth was, she was glazed with fatigue and her head hurt- mental bomb exploding from the inside out hurt. She blamed it on the power inhibitor.
He grinned. "Wonderful. I thought it best you know that I am staring at the button that releases that bench as we speak. I'm going to press this button in precisely ten minutes. How I do hope your friends make it here in time."
Arcade chuckled lightly and commenced sifting through the rest of the screens. One was blank: Wolverine's. Arcade's face fell. "Damn," he muttered. He knew it had only been a matter of time. Glumly, he picked up a pen and began scribbling on a notepad.
**
Wanda's eyes blinked open. She stood shakily, the gas's effect still lingering in her foggy brain. She scanned the large room she centered. She was surrounded with giant children's building blocks, a pink or blue letter carved into the side.
"What the...?" She mumbled, her tongue big and clumsy in her still-dry mouth- another effect of the gas, she guessed. She approached one of the gigantic blocks nearly twice her size and gazed at it, dumbfounded. She brought her hand to it. Knock knock. The tiny echo told her it was hollow. Something stirred inside. She pressed her ear to the wooden paneling to decipher the scuffle. Suddenly, the other side of the block exploded open, throwing Wanda back to cradle her head.
She squinted to see various robots of approximately three feet in height slowly roll their way toward her. She stumbled back, incredulous with the small metal creations as they wheeled their way closer and closer. They cornered her against another giant block that's top panel slid open to produce five more of the small machines. Wanda's eyes widened. "What the hell are you?" She breathed.
Thinking them perhaps harmless, she dared to pause for a sigh of collection. She was unprepared for one of the robots to shake uncontrollably before its body detonated, sending pieces of debris to go whizzing past her head. She screeched and ducked, flinging her arms above her head in protection.
A second robot proceeded likewise, keeping her tucked to the ground. Before a third could explode, Wanda fired a hex bolt, killing four of the androids in one shot.
Shooting up from her spot on the floor, she ran frantically from one area to another, finding the room to be securely closed in. Every block she passed spouted another batch of the self-destructive machines.
The more of them she destroyed, the more that would come to fill their vacancy. "Don't you little bastards ever die?!" Frantic, she searched for an end to her vicious cycle.
"You're boring me, now." Arcade's voice boomed over the intercom, lazy and flippant. She shot the ceiling a vicious look. "One of those blocks controls the main circuitry. If you destroy it, they should stop." His voice was matter-of-fact, but a lopsided grin played on his features. "You have ten seconds. Ten, five, four-"
Wanda panicked. Her eyes darted around the room. Which one?
"Two."
She focused her energy on a distant block and shot a precise hex bolt into its center. It exploded in a flash of orange and black and an insanely huge, gray cloud of smoke appeared from the top. A small smile of triumph spread across her face. Her probability factor had not failed her.
In his chair, Arcade slammed a hand onto his control desk. "Impossible! Over fifty blocks in their and that little witch pinned the right one. I don't freakin' believe it!" He snatched the walky-talky at his side and fumbled with it, receiving only static from the other line. Half-annoyed, half-amused, he rose from his seat and stalked out of the control room. He kicked the giant toy box at his feet as he passed. "Be right back, toots." Where Ororo's wails and protests had been heard from inside, there was now only silence. Arcade didn't bother himself with it.
As he disappeared into the hallway, he didn't even notice his monitors go black on his desk.
**
Wolverine retrieved his claws from the mess of wires. "That should count for something,"he grunted, climbing the stairs from the basement. Having quickly and easily escaped his individual game room, he'd been on his own for some time, prowling the halls in search of the others. So far he'd only come across an unfortunate few of Arcade's hunch men and of course this little circuit box downstairs. Sheathing his claws, he slipped silently into one of the main halls. Taking note of the coiling corridors, he perked a black, bushy brow. "A maze. Well, bub, looks like I lucked out." He inhaled deeply. "I love mazes."
**
Rogue opened her eyes, paint caked on the lids. She looked down at herself and to her disgust, beheld her attire to be a many-skirted, ridiculously fluffy pink dress, flaring about her long legs like a gigantic bell. The ruffles itched her arms and chest. She clawed at the fabric while standing up and taking in her surroundings. "Cute," she muttered, still clawing at the gown. Arcade had obviously placed her in a giant dollhouse, pink on every wall and flowers and hearts in every corner.
Rogue was too infuriated to even second glance the insane décor. 'Ah sweah to Jesus Lawd, Ah'm going to kill Jean. That two-timing bitch bettah hope they find her befoah Ah do." She stormed to the window only to find its shutters did not open. She opted instead for the door, which, very much like a freak Barbie dream house, led to wide, plastic stairs. She scampered down them, mumbling that the 'sick pervert that kidnapped them had way too much time and money.'
The stairs ended with a tall wooden door. She swung it open to reveal a long, green-carpeted hallway that met with three others only five feet from her. She immediately recognized it as a maze and began following the passages. Each turn was a different colored carpet or tile type. 'It would almost be cool,' hs emused.
Turning the purple passage and making her way onto the cake-white corridor, Rogue stumbled across two large men, one with a thick black beard.
"Welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, well! Look what we got here, Po."
'Po' grinned voraciously. "Yeah, pretty lil thing." He put his hands on his knees, his tone patronizing. "You lost, lil honey? C'mere, I'll find your way."
Rogue scoffed. "Fuck you."
His syrup-smile melted and he straightened to regard her with steely eyes. "I know who this one is." Po inclined his chin toward Black Beard. "This must be the southern star." He chuckled dryly. "I'd be careful if I were you, princess. Don't wanna end up like the other one." She squinted at him menacingly. She'd had just about enough of this prick's shit. He continued. "Your little Cajun friend, the joker with the cards," Rogue found herself holding her breath. "He's dead." He spat the two words like he shouldn't even be bothering himself with these sorts of trivialities. But he said it with perfect clarity, unflinching truth.
Black Beard's voice was like black oil to her ears. "We sure made him hurt, didn't we, Po?"
Unconsciously, she clutched her stomach and nearly doubled over as if she'd been punched in the gut, her mind a jumble of frantic thoughts and seething rage. And oh God, the paint that swelled inside.
**
"You know something, I like pie." Arcade spun a pie on his fingertip with obvious difficulty. When he dropped it he only chuckled, watching as the cream filled pastry burned a whole in his tile.
On her bench in front of him, Jean's eyes grew wide over the gag.
Arcade picked another pie from the cart beside him. After that little incident with Wanda, he deserved a little fun. "Acid pie. It's quite extraordinary, really. My own recipe!" He erupted into another fit of giggles and Jean cringed. Did this stupid bastard ever shut up?
He slammed another pie onto the floor and laughed again when the cream ate through the tiles, all the way down to the plywood. Retrieving another from the rack, his eyes pinned Jean and he threw his arm back, taking aim.
She screeched against the rag on her tongue as he hurled it at her face. She ducked, her strong legs grasping onto the bench to steady her. But it was no use; the pie flew into the red bulls-eye behind her, triggering the bench to give way and causing Jean to go splashing into the tank. The top immediately sealed above a frantic, sinking Jean Grey.
Arcade snickered and waved a dramatic "bye-bye!"
**
Rogue charged Po, heaving her right shoulder at him. He stumbled backward and finally into a tripped up pile of limbs on the floor. Turning her attention toward Black Beard, she sucker punched him in the stomach and again across his jaw. Not satisfied with the sickening cracks her fists were making, she gripped his neck, unwilling to let go even when his own hands fumbled with hers, his bulging eyes begging for release as his pigment turned a pleasing plum.
"Make him hurt? Make him hurt! I'll make YOU hurt, you mother fucker!" She shook his hulking body under her weight. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" She didn't dare swipe at the tears streaking her cheeks because she wasn't about to let him go.
Finally, he went limp in her arms, his eyeballs fleeing to the recesses of his sockets.
Strands of cinnamon hair plastered against her damp cheeks and her ravenous eyes pinpointed the other man in the corner. He had stood by now and was inching his way down the hall. She flashed him a feral grin worthy of one of her partner, Wolverine. "Ah'm not finished. Get ovah heuh." Her tone was deadly and Po was no fool. He bolted down the hallway, Rogue quick on his heels.
The closer she got to what looked like to be the center of the winding maze, the weaker she noticed herself becoming. Slightly dizzy and with a sudden shooting pain in her head, she had to slow to a brisk walk until something just ahead caught her attention. Nearing it, she squinted and recognized her teammate Jean at the bottom of a considerable tank of water.
For a transitory second, their eyes met, Jean's begging and desperate, Rogue's furious and blazing. Jean lie helpless and dying and Rogue only steps from her. She hesitated.
The trap door beneath her gave out and her arms flew above her head as she went crashing six feet down into a pit, finding herself robbed of her flight ability.
Jean slipped into unconsciousness.
"No!" Came a distant voice, and then a crimson streak pranced across her vision before the glass shattered around her. Her body gushed out of the tank on the water. When her eyes opened again, she was cradled in Scott's arms, shards of glass in the skin of her arm and hair. He removed the gag. "Jean," came Scott's voice, fuzzy and drowned out by the water in her ears but at the same time commanding, strong, and not without a note of worry.
His rough fingers tapped her cheek and then he was applying pressure on her neck, feeling for a pulse. She chose that moment to sputter water and gasp. "I'm all wet," she said weakly, and she almost felt Scott's deep sigh of relief.
Jean looked past him to see the majority of her teammates assembled, including Wanda's cold visage. Her head hurt again.
Remy appeared behind them, a dazed Warren stumbling behind him. "Look what I found."
"Warren!" Bobby cried, rushing to his brother. The two engaged in a long hug. Bobby pulled away to regard Warren seriously. "You alright, Bratty?"
Warren nodded slowly, flexing his legs. "My feet are asleep."
"He was in some sort of box, like a magician's-"
"Remy!" The team went silent at the cry from below.
The Cajun tilted his head. "Rogue?" He followed her cries and eventually peered down into the pit. "Rogue!" The team quickly gathered behind him.
"Oh mah... Ah can't believe it! They told me... Ah thought you were dead! Ah thought you were dead!" She repeated, tears of relief and joy swelling in her eyes. She attempted to fly up and join her team but only hopped. Her face became annoyed. "Why can't Ah fly?"
Jean whipped her head around and scanned the room. "I think there's a power inhibitor in here, but I don't know where."
"Help me up!" She stretched her arms. Remy and Scott laid flat on their backs, reaching down until both her hands met theirs and they hauled her back onto their level.
Rogue immediately flung against Remy, but before his stunned arms could wrap themselves around her slim body, she'd already pulled away.
"Come on, team," Scott's voice was sharp. "We've still got to find Ororo."
Warren nodded enthusiastically and his brother gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder.
"And Logan," Jean added.
"Good point, chere. Where is Wolverine?"
**
The last time Wolverine unsheathed his claws, blood seeped through the wounds. That was not good.
Figuring his healing factor was being tampered with, he decided to hold off on whipping the adamantium advantages out unless it was dire. Fine, he thought. I'll take care of the fucker with my bare hands.
And looking at his situation- he lurking in the shadows of Arcade's main control room not four feet behind the ringmaster at his desk- his chances of winning were looking favorable.
He lunged an attack from behind, cradling Arcade's head between his two large hands, twisting his neck in just such a threatening way. "Move and I snap it," Logan growled. Arcade simply laughed out loud, a steely, metallic laugh that rang clear through the thick walls.
That's when Logan noticed that this guy's smell wasn't quite right, not quite... human. Effortlessly, Logan gave Arcade's neck a sharp twist. Wires and electric circuits spouted from his eyes and neck and the laughter droned on slowly before finally, slowly dying out.
Wolverine snatched a note pinned on a defective monitor and read it. Disgusted, he stuffed it in his uniform pocket.
A shift in the air current sent another scent to his nostrils. Spinning on his heel, Logan raced to the giant toy box in the corner of the room. Only as he neared it did he recognize the unmistakable tick-tick-ticking he'd come to know in his years working for the top-secret government division, the Opal Meridian.
The combination lock was shifting slightly with every second, slowly inching its way toward zero. Logan knew what happened at zero. Boom.
In one, swiftly painful reflex, he unsheathed his claws and slashed through the mahogany chest. Ororo lay unconscious inside. Logan immediately remembered her claustrophobia. He swept her up and bolted out the door, pinpointing his team in the maze's center and racing toward it.
Finding them about to divide into groups, no doubt to find him and Storm, he charged in and hollered a warning. "Let's move it! This place is about to blow!"
They reacted instantly, following Logan's lead and fleeing from the building.
Emma's heart leapt at the sight of them, alive. "Thank God," she breathed, clutching her chest. Taking notice of their haste, she revved the jet's engines and prepared for quick lift-off.
They piled into the Blackbird, Scott immediately taking the jet's reigns. "Nice work, Emma," he managed through haggard gasps.
They were twenty feet in the air when the funhouse exploded into a million flying pieces of wood and plastic and smoke and fire.
Wolverine settled into a chair and took a breath. Digging into his pocket for a cigar, his fingers fumbled across the small Post-It. He read it again and scoffed. 'Yeah we have, bub.'
"YOU MIGHT HAVE WON THE BATTLE, BUT YOU HAVEN'T WON THE WAR!"
A/N
Well I feel like an ass. As difficult as this chapter was for me to write, I was hoping it'd be longer. Live 'n' learn. The next chapter is one I've been eager to write for a while. I'm so glad it's finally here. ::Does a happy dance but then remembers can't dance so stops... immediately.::
And I hope none of you are confusing the Arcade in this story with the Arcade in the Evolution show. Arcade's a real Marvel villain. And so is Magneto, I mean, whoops! You didn't hear that last part!
For those of you who are reading, you know you rock like Led Zeppelin (a f*cking awesome band.)
For those of you who are reading AND reviewing, you rock like Fleetwood Mac (my all-time favorite band.)
And for those of you who are reading, reviewing, AND e-mailing me, you rock like Woodstock, man, like Woodstock.
His consort nodded, lifting a toy box very similar to the one Ororo was currently trapped in. Inside was an unconscious pile of Jean and Rogue. "Yes sir."
Arcade smiled. "Wonderful. You know what to do with them."
**
Emma Frost positioned a delicate finger at her temple. "Professor?" She called telepathically. "Professor!"
"Yes Emma, what is it?" His voice echoed hollow in her head, tight and worried.
"It's the team. I... I've lost contact with them. I don't know what happened. One minute I was connecting us all telepathically and the next, they're just... gone." Her voice was panicked. "Should I go in?"
"No," Xavier said quickly, fearing already for his team's safety. "It is best you stay in the Blackbird and prepare for an immediate liftoff if they should need it. I will try to contact them through Cerebro."
Emma sighed and broke the connection. 'Damn it.'
**
Being a considerably attractive man, Remy had never been precisely AFRAID of mirrors. But this room gave him more than enough reason to feel slightly uncomfortable before the tall, glassy, reflective sheets. They were your usual funhouse mirrors, distorting his image and the like, and at first he almost smirked, but as the coiling passages continued, every one lined with the tall mirrors making him uglier and uglier at every turn, he eventually came to the conclusion that it was just damned annoying.
He stood planted in front of one particular mirror, this one making him appear grotesquely tall, and waited for a hint of danger, a robot soldier, anything to take his mind off of the rows and rows of... reflection.
He would have jumped at the sound of the cackling voice through the intercom, except that Remy was notorious for his nerves of steel. "Whatsa' matter, Cajun boy? Don't like what you see?" The voice erupted into fits of ridiculous laughter. Gambit rolled his eyes.
"It wasn't that funny, homme." He spoke up, always one for playing with fire. "Why don't you quit hidin' behind dose speakers and show us all what a great and powerful Oz you REALLY are, eh?"
There was a split-second of pause before, "You know what I think, hmm? I think all that sassy wit is a cover-up for some deeper secrets you hide within- some secrets you maybe don't wanna share with the rest of us..." His voice grew low and an unseen, eerie energy flooded the room. Remy's hair stood on end. He'd asked for a little action, but he could already tell this was in no way going to be fun.
"What are you talkin' about, you sick bastard?" Remy's voice was sharp but he refused to sound in the least bit frightened, not for this crazy fuck. When the only response he received was an empty echo, Remy opened his mouth to call again before a flash of movement caught his eye. He jerked his head. "What the...?"
Something in the mirror... no. It couldn't be. Remy traveled on through the winding halls. Another flash of movement- this time slower. Remy peered at the mirror ahead and the reflection melted into another picture. Remy nearly swallowed his heart.
It was him, except it wasn't. He was younger, maybe a few years, back when he kept his hair very long and the burning embers in his eyes remained all ice and steel. Remy watched himself pocket the money of unsuspecting strangers- usually tourists- on the busy, loud streets of New Orleans. Men and women alike fell prey to his nimble fingers and silent approaches.
Remy gasped. "How d'you know about dis?" He hollered at the ceiling, but again, silence responded. Remy spun on his heel and stalked away from that mirror. He wouldn't turn back to that again; he'd keep that reflection behind him. Another mirror transformed before him.
He was seated at a small table in the center of a loud, pulsing club bathed in an artificial orange and red light. Across from him was a skinny kid only a few years his senior. His hand trembled from a starved addiction as he slid a wad of money across the table. Remy casually pocketed the money and slipped the man a brown package under the table in return. The man's eyes grew big. He tucked the package tight against his chest and slid out of the booth to scurry across the dance floor and straight home.
Remy's stomach fell. Again, he turned and pursued forward, never back. Another mirror changed and though he abhorred the thought, he couldn't force himself to wrench from the sight.
Though he'd seen it coming a mile away, this one sucker-punched him especially.
He was against a brick wall, arms crossed, cigarette between two fingers. When the young woman appeared, he smothered the smoke and straightened to regard her. They conversed amicably for a few moments. Remy couldn't hear what he and the girl were saying, but it didn't matter. He knew who she was and what she was doing. After a while, she reached into her bra and produced a few folded bills. Even then- in the dead center of his most miserable, shameful, disgusting time- he couldn't meet her eyes. He simply took the money and nodded, jerking his head to summon her inside.
Remy fought the looming rage and self-loathing that hovered around him as he watched himself. It wasn't a particularly memorable moment from that period in his life, just a glimpse of an every night routine. He remembered that girl, though, with stringy strawberry blonde hair and heavy blue make-up. AIDS. That was when he officially 'quit' the business. She died three months later.
Remy clenched his fist. "I'd turn dose off right now if I were you, homme!" He called. Nothing. "Bastard," he spat before throwing his foot into one of the mirrors. It shattered on impact, sending shards of glass to sprinkle Remy's hair and uniform. He retrieved a considerable-sized slice of glass and charged it kinetically- with more effort, he noted, than usual. The small piece of glass glowed with energy and Remy threw it into another mirror, uncaring of the slivers that dug into his skin with every mirror he destroyed.
He executed a similar procedure and shattered another, then another, and another until nothing was left of the long hallways but black walls. Spent of energy, Remy slid against a wall and collected himself, head in hands. Soon he'd find a way out of these dark halls but for now, he rested.
**
Arcade sat at his monitors, a grin plastered on his freckled features. That was fun, he thought, referring to Remy's breakdown.
He scanned the rest of his screens. His funhouse was designed as a maze with individual rooms in certain corners where he harbored the X-Men separately. Every twisting passage led to a central center, and in that focal point sat Jean Grey on a stool hovering above a large, almost ten foot deep tank of water. With her hands tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and her powers negated from the power inhibitor positioned also in the maze's center, balancing was an excellent feat for the telepath. Should she squirm to free herself from her bonds, she would most likely plunge into the water. Without her powers, Jean knew she would surely drown with her hands tied.
Arcade pressed a control button at his desk and leaned down to speak directly into it. "Hello Miss Grey. How are we today?"
Her eyes narrowed and he was met with a crude, muffled response. The truth was, she was glazed with fatigue and her head hurt- mental bomb exploding from the inside out hurt. She blamed it on the power inhibitor.
He grinned. "Wonderful. I thought it best you know that I am staring at the button that releases that bench as we speak. I'm going to press this button in precisely ten minutes. How I do hope your friends make it here in time."
Arcade chuckled lightly and commenced sifting through the rest of the screens. One was blank: Wolverine's. Arcade's face fell. "Damn," he muttered. He knew it had only been a matter of time. Glumly, he picked up a pen and began scribbling on a notepad.
**
Wanda's eyes blinked open. She stood shakily, the gas's effect still lingering in her foggy brain. She scanned the large room she centered. She was surrounded with giant children's building blocks, a pink or blue letter carved into the side.
"What the...?" She mumbled, her tongue big and clumsy in her still-dry mouth- another effect of the gas, she guessed. She approached one of the gigantic blocks nearly twice her size and gazed at it, dumbfounded. She brought her hand to it. Knock knock. The tiny echo told her it was hollow. Something stirred inside. She pressed her ear to the wooden paneling to decipher the scuffle. Suddenly, the other side of the block exploded open, throwing Wanda back to cradle her head.
She squinted to see various robots of approximately three feet in height slowly roll their way toward her. She stumbled back, incredulous with the small metal creations as they wheeled their way closer and closer. They cornered her against another giant block that's top panel slid open to produce five more of the small machines. Wanda's eyes widened. "What the hell are you?" She breathed.
Thinking them perhaps harmless, she dared to pause for a sigh of collection. She was unprepared for one of the robots to shake uncontrollably before its body detonated, sending pieces of debris to go whizzing past her head. She screeched and ducked, flinging her arms above her head in protection.
A second robot proceeded likewise, keeping her tucked to the ground. Before a third could explode, Wanda fired a hex bolt, killing four of the androids in one shot.
Shooting up from her spot on the floor, she ran frantically from one area to another, finding the room to be securely closed in. Every block she passed spouted another batch of the self-destructive machines.
The more of them she destroyed, the more that would come to fill their vacancy. "Don't you little bastards ever die?!" Frantic, she searched for an end to her vicious cycle.
"You're boring me, now." Arcade's voice boomed over the intercom, lazy and flippant. She shot the ceiling a vicious look. "One of those blocks controls the main circuitry. If you destroy it, they should stop." His voice was matter-of-fact, but a lopsided grin played on his features. "You have ten seconds. Ten, five, four-"
Wanda panicked. Her eyes darted around the room. Which one?
"Two."
She focused her energy on a distant block and shot a precise hex bolt into its center. It exploded in a flash of orange and black and an insanely huge, gray cloud of smoke appeared from the top. A small smile of triumph spread across her face. Her probability factor had not failed her.
In his chair, Arcade slammed a hand onto his control desk. "Impossible! Over fifty blocks in their and that little witch pinned the right one. I don't freakin' believe it!" He snatched the walky-talky at his side and fumbled with it, receiving only static from the other line. Half-annoyed, half-amused, he rose from his seat and stalked out of the control room. He kicked the giant toy box at his feet as he passed. "Be right back, toots." Where Ororo's wails and protests had been heard from inside, there was now only silence. Arcade didn't bother himself with it.
As he disappeared into the hallway, he didn't even notice his monitors go black on his desk.
**
Wolverine retrieved his claws from the mess of wires. "That should count for something,"he grunted, climbing the stairs from the basement. Having quickly and easily escaped his individual game room, he'd been on his own for some time, prowling the halls in search of the others. So far he'd only come across an unfortunate few of Arcade's hunch men and of course this little circuit box downstairs. Sheathing his claws, he slipped silently into one of the main halls. Taking note of the coiling corridors, he perked a black, bushy brow. "A maze. Well, bub, looks like I lucked out." He inhaled deeply. "I love mazes."
**
Rogue opened her eyes, paint caked on the lids. She looked down at herself and to her disgust, beheld her attire to be a many-skirted, ridiculously fluffy pink dress, flaring about her long legs like a gigantic bell. The ruffles itched her arms and chest. She clawed at the fabric while standing up and taking in her surroundings. "Cute," she muttered, still clawing at the gown. Arcade had obviously placed her in a giant dollhouse, pink on every wall and flowers and hearts in every corner.
Rogue was too infuriated to even second glance the insane décor. 'Ah sweah to Jesus Lawd, Ah'm going to kill Jean. That two-timing bitch bettah hope they find her befoah Ah do." She stormed to the window only to find its shutters did not open. She opted instead for the door, which, very much like a freak Barbie dream house, led to wide, plastic stairs. She scampered down them, mumbling that the 'sick pervert that kidnapped them had way too much time and money.'
The stairs ended with a tall wooden door. She swung it open to reveal a long, green-carpeted hallway that met with three others only five feet from her. She immediately recognized it as a maze and began following the passages. Each turn was a different colored carpet or tile type. 'It would almost be cool,' hs emused.
Turning the purple passage and making her way onto the cake-white corridor, Rogue stumbled across two large men, one with a thick black beard.
"Welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, well! Look what we got here, Po."
'Po' grinned voraciously. "Yeah, pretty lil thing." He put his hands on his knees, his tone patronizing. "You lost, lil honey? C'mere, I'll find your way."
Rogue scoffed. "Fuck you."
His syrup-smile melted and he straightened to regard her with steely eyes. "I know who this one is." Po inclined his chin toward Black Beard. "This must be the southern star." He chuckled dryly. "I'd be careful if I were you, princess. Don't wanna end up like the other one." She squinted at him menacingly. She'd had just about enough of this prick's shit. He continued. "Your little Cajun friend, the joker with the cards," Rogue found herself holding her breath. "He's dead." He spat the two words like he shouldn't even be bothering himself with these sorts of trivialities. But he said it with perfect clarity, unflinching truth.
Black Beard's voice was like black oil to her ears. "We sure made him hurt, didn't we, Po?"
Unconsciously, she clutched her stomach and nearly doubled over as if she'd been punched in the gut, her mind a jumble of frantic thoughts and seething rage. And oh God, the paint that swelled inside.
**
"You know something, I like pie." Arcade spun a pie on his fingertip with obvious difficulty. When he dropped it he only chuckled, watching as the cream filled pastry burned a whole in his tile.
On her bench in front of him, Jean's eyes grew wide over the gag.
Arcade picked another pie from the cart beside him. After that little incident with Wanda, he deserved a little fun. "Acid pie. It's quite extraordinary, really. My own recipe!" He erupted into another fit of giggles and Jean cringed. Did this stupid bastard ever shut up?
He slammed another pie onto the floor and laughed again when the cream ate through the tiles, all the way down to the plywood. Retrieving another from the rack, his eyes pinned Jean and he threw his arm back, taking aim.
She screeched against the rag on her tongue as he hurled it at her face. She ducked, her strong legs grasping onto the bench to steady her. But it was no use; the pie flew into the red bulls-eye behind her, triggering the bench to give way and causing Jean to go splashing into the tank. The top immediately sealed above a frantic, sinking Jean Grey.
Arcade snickered and waved a dramatic "bye-bye!"
**
Rogue charged Po, heaving her right shoulder at him. He stumbled backward and finally into a tripped up pile of limbs on the floor. Turning her attention toward Black Beard, she sucker punched him in the stomach and again across his jaw. Not satisfied with the sickening cracks her fists were making, she gripped his neck, unwilling to let go even when his own hands fumbled with hers, his bulging eyes begging for release as his pigment turned a pleasing plum.
"Make him hurt? Make him hurt! I'll make YOU hurt, you mother fucker!" She shook his hulking body under her weight. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" She didn't dare swipe at the tears streaking her cheeks because she wasn't about to let him go.
Finally, he went limp in her arms, his eyeballs fleeing to the recesses of his sockets.
Strands of cinnamon hair plastered against her damp cheeks and her ravenous eyes pinpointed the other man in the corner. He had stood by now and was inching his way down the hall. She flashed him a feral grin worthy of one of her partner, Wolverine. "Ah'm not finished. Get ovah heuh." Her tone was deadly and Po was no fool. He bolted down the hallway, Rogue quick on his heels.
The closer she got to what looked like to be the center of the winding maze, the weaker she noticed herself becoming. Slightly dizzy and with a sudden shooting pain in her head, she had to slow to a brisk walk until something just ahead caught her attention. Nearing it, she squinted and recognized her teammate Jean at the bottom of a considerable tank of water.
For a transitory second, their eyes met, Jean's begging and desperate, Rogue's furious and blazing. Jean lie helpless and dying and Rogue only steps from her. She hesitated.
The trap door beneath her gave out and her arms flew above her head as she went crashing six feet down into a pit, finding herself robbed of her flight ability.
Jean slipped into unconsciousness.
"No!" Came a distant voice, and then a crimson streak pranced across her vision before the glass shattered around her. Her body gushed out of the tank on the water. When her eyes opened again, she was cradled in Scott's arms, shards of glass in the skin of her arm and hair. He removed the gag. "Jean," came Scott's voice, fuzzy and drowned out by the water in her ears but at the same time commanding, strong, and not without a note of worry.
His rough fingers tapped her cheek and then he was applying pressure on her neck, feeling for a pulse. She chose that moment to sputter water and gasp. "I'm all wet," she said weakly, and she almost felt Scott's deep sigh of relief.
Jean looked past him to see the majority of her teammates assembled, including Wanda's cold visage. Her head hurt again.
Remy appeared behind them, a dazed Warren stumbling behind him. "Look what I found."
"Warren!" Bobby cried, rushing to his brother. The two engaged in a long hug. Bobby pulled away to regard Warren seriously. "You alright, Bratty?"
Warren nodded slowly, flexing his legs. "My feet are asleep."
"He was in some sort of box, like a magician's-"
"Remy!" The team went silent at the cry from below.
The Cajun tilted his head. "Rogue?" He followed her cries and eventually peered down into the pit. "Rogue!" The team quickly gathered behind him.
"Oh mah... Ah can't believe it! They told me... Ah thought you were dead! Ah thought you were dead!" She repeated, tears of relief and joy swelling in her eyes. She attempted to fly up and join her team but only hopped. Her face became annoyed. "Why can't Ah fly?"
Jean whipped her head around and scanned the room. "I think there's a power inhibitor in here, but I don't know where."
"Help me up!" She stretched her arms. Remy and Scott laid flat on their backs, reaching down until both her hands met theirs and they hauled her back onto their level.
Rogue immediately flung against Remy, but before his stunned arms could wrap themselves around her slim body, she'd already pulled away.
"Come on, team," Scott's voice was sharp. "We've still got to find Ororo."
Warren nodded enthusiastically and his brother gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder.
"And Logan," Jean added.
"Good point, chere. Where is Wolverine?"
**
The last time Wolverine unsheathed his claws, blood seeped through the wounds. That was not good.
Figuring his healing factor was being tampered with, he decided to hold off on whipping the adamantium advantages out unless it was dire. Fine, he thought. I'll take care of the fucker with my bare hands.
And looking at his situation- he lurking in the shadows of Arcade's main control room not four feet behind the ringmaster at his desk- his chances of winning were looking favorable.
He lunged an attack from behind, cradling Arcade's head between his two large hands, twisting his neck in just such a threatening way. "Move and I snap it," Logan growled. Arcade simply laughed out loud, a steely, metallic laugh that rang clear through the thick walls.
That's when Logan noticed that this guy's smell wasn't quite right, not quite... human. Effortlessly, Logan gave Arcade's neck a sharp twist. Wires and electric circuits spouted from his eyes and neck and the laughter droned on slowly before finally, slowly dying out.
Wolverine snatched a note pinned on a defective monitor and read it. Disgusted, he stuffed it in his uniform pocket.
A shift in the air current sent another scent to his nostrils. Spinning on his heel, Logan raced to the giant toy box in the corner of the room. Only as he neared it did he recognize the unmistakable tick-tick-ticking he'd come to know in his years working for the top-secret government division, the Opal Meridian.
The combination lock was shifting slightly with every second, slowly inching its way toward zero. Logan knew what happened at zero. Boom.
In one, swiftly painful reflex, he unsheathed his claws and slashed through the mahogany chest. Ororo lay unconscious inside. Logan immediately remembered her claustrophobia. He swept her up and bolted out the door, pinpointing his team in the maze's center and racing toward it.
Finding them about to divide into groups, no doubt to find him and Storm, he charged in and hollered a warning. "Let's move it! This place is about to blow!"
They reacted instantly, following Logan's lead and fleeing from the building.
Emma's heart leapt at the sight of them, alive. "Thank God," she breathed, clutching her chest. Taking notice of their haste, she revved the jet's engines and prepared for quick lift-off.
They piled into the Blackbird, Scott immediately taking the jet's reigns. "Nice work, Emma," he managed through haggard gasps.
They were twenty feet in the air when the funhouse exploded into a million flying pieces of wood and plastic and smoke and fire.
Wolverine settled into a chair and took a breath. Digging into his pocket for a cigar, his fingers fumbled across the small Post-It. He read it again and scoffed. 'Yeah we have, bub.'
"YOU MIGHT HAVE WON THE BATTLE, BUT YOU HAVEN'T WON THE WAR!"
A/N
Well I feel like an ass. As difficult as this chapter was for me to write, I was hoping it'd be longer. Live 'n' learn. The next chapter is one I've been eager to write for a while. I'm so glad it's finally here. ::Does a happy dance but then remembers can't dance so stops... immediately.::
And I hope none of you are confusing the Arcade in this story with the Arcade in the Evolution show. Arcade's a real Marvel villain. And so is Magneto, I mean, whoops! You didn't hear that last part!
For those of you who are reading, you know you rock like Led Zeppelin (a f*cking awesome band.)
For those of you who are reading AND reviewing, you rock like Fleetwood Mac (my all-time favorite band.)
And for those of you who are reading, reviewing, AND e-mailing me, you rock like Woodstock, man, like Woodstock.