I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written in here. But finally, here is Part 9, and
more parts will soon be on the way. Real life is slowing down again and I have more time to focus on writing.
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PART 9
"Angels Unaware"
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A week had passed, Psylocke had booked herself a room in a local Days Inn using the money given to her by Matsu'o, who Betsy could only hope still believed that she was Kwannon. Eventually, though, the woman whose body she was now inhabiting would get through to the crime lord and expose her. She sprawled herself out over the bed, eyeing the remote control, trying to build up enough energy to move her arm and lift it. She clicked the television on, half listening to it, most of her lost in a world of memories. She wished she could see Scott or any other of her teammates again, but she doubted that would ever happen. They were probably buried somewhere deep in the mansion's hidden basement areas, where the firemen might never find their broken bodies.
"...the mutant menace must be stopped! We have seen what they did to New York City, what is going to stop them from taking their efforts to other major cities," Betsy's ponderings were interrupted by a man shouting on the news. His grey eyes were wild with a passionate fury, "We must put money into the Sentinel project to keep our children safe. If we do not, there is no telling who may be the next victims of a mindless mutant attack." The image flashed to the pleasant face of a blonde-headed anchor at the news station.
"That was Graydon Creed, leader of the anti-mutant group the Friends of Humanity," the news woman went on, but Betsy no longer heard her. She hopped to her feet and stared out her second-story window at the crowded street below. She sighed softly, her violet locks framing her face, a random stray hair hanging over her left eye. Turning away from the street, Betsy looked at the katanas leaning against the wall and moved to pick one up. She adjusted her grip until the handle fit her hand perfectly and stood in front of the mirror, taking up various stances that were engrained in her mind, thanks to the psychic meld. The face in the mirror which had first seemed so strange to Betsy she had now grown comfortable with, and even began to like. She no longer saw her worst enemy, but a victory over a great foe. She swung the blade in a downward stroke, letting out a soft yelp as she accidentally hit the side of her own leg.
"That's something we're going to have to work on," she muttered to herself, wiping the blood off her wound. Betsy hadn't completely mastered the moves that presented themselves as being simple in her mind, but it was just another thing she would have to get used to. For now, though, she would just have to use the skills she already had if she ever found herself in a dangerous situation. She placed the katana beside the other one leaning against the wall and stepped out the door into the corridor. She made her way down the hall, smiling and nodding politely to the maid. So far, the cleaning service hadn't made any fuss about her two blades, she figured that they thought she was a collector or something, which suited her fine. Betsy stepped out onto the street, taking a deep breath of fresh air. She noticed that men who passed by her looked at her the same way she'd seen boys at school look at Jean, and it felt good. She allowed herself a happy smile, trying to forget about everything that had happened over the past few months, but every now and then hateful graffiti reminded her just who she was, a mutant, an outcast.
"Take that, ya mutie freak!" She heard from down an alleyway, Betsy turned to look, seeing three young men in leather jackets with the letters "FoH" stitched on the back attacking a teenage boy with aluminum baseball bats. One of the men swung, the makeshift club connecting soundly with the boy's knee, making him fall to the ground in pain.
"Hey!" Betsy shouted, before even realizing that the words were escaping from her mouth, "why don't you pick on someone who can fight back?" The three men turned, glaring at her, one kicked the fallen mutant in the ribs for good measure.
"Were you talking to us?" One of the men said, twirling his bat in the air.
"Yeah, I was," Psylocke said through clenched teeth, her hands balling up into fists and blades of violet psychic energy appearing out of thin air. She lunged towards the bald man, intending to drive her psi-blades through his skull, but was stopped by a blunt strike to her ribs, knocking her against a brick wall. There had been a forth man hiding in the shadows, also holding a bat.
"She's one of them, boys!" Said the forth man, who was tall, dark, and rather unattractive, "what do you say we kill two muties with one stone?" He took another swing, but Betsy was ready this time, catching the bat in mid-air. The force stung her hand, but she had learned how to block well from her Danger Room training. She swung her other hand at the attacker's head, her psi-blade entering his skull and disrupting his neural pathways. He sunk to the ground, knocked out cold. Psylocke was still trying to get her breath back after the rib-crushing blow delivered to her when the other three men converged on her, hitting with fists and bats. She tried to fight back, but was overpowered. She cursed herself for not bringing her katanas along. Blood trickled out of Betsy's mouth as she fell to the concrete, half of her face was numb, she only wished that the other half had lost feeling, as well. The pummeling stopped momentarily, and she looked up, seeing that the men were distracted.
"Hey, boss, it's another one."
"Look, we handled two of them before, we can handle another one." Although her vision was blurred, Betsy could see a form coming down on the remaining three thugs, she felt the brush of wings, and that was the last thing her mind registered as the darkness of unconciousness took her.
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TO BE CONTINUED
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more parts will soon be on the way. Real life is slowing down again and I have more time to focus on writing.
================================
PART 9
"Angels Unaware"
================================
A week had passed, Psylocke had booked herself a room in a local Days Inn using the money given to her by Matsu'o, who Betsy could only hope still believed that she was Kwannon. Eventually, though, the woman whose body she was now inhabiting would get through to the crime lord and expose her. She sprawled herself out over the bed, eyeing the remote control, trying to build up enough energy to move her arm and lift it. She clicked the television on, half listening to it, most of her lost in a world of memories. She wished she could see Scott or any other of her teammates again, but she doubted that would ever happen. They were probably buried somewhere deep in the mansion's hidden basement areas, where the firemen might never find their broken bodies.
"...the mutant menace must be stopped! We have seen what they did to New York City, what is going to stop them from taking their efforts to other major cities," Betsy's ponderings were interrupted by a man shouting on the news. His grey eyes were wild with a passionate fury, "We must put money into the Sentinel project to keep our children safe. If we do not, there is no telling who may be the next victims of a mindless mutant attack." The image flashed to the pleasant face of a blonde-headed anchor at the news station.
"That was Graydon Creed, leader of the anti-mutant group the Friends of Humanity," the news woman went on, but Betsy no longer heard her. She hopped to her feet and stared out her second-story window at the crowded street below. She sighed softly, her violet locks framing her face, a random stray hair hanging over her left eye. Turning away from the street, Betsy looked at the katanas leaning against the wall and moved to pick one up. She adjusted her grip until the handle fit her hand perfectly and stood in front of the mirror, taking up various stances that were engrained in her mind, thanks to the psychic meld. The face in the mirror which had first seemed so strange to Betsy she had now grown comfortable with, and even began to like. She no longer saw her worst enemy, but a victory over a great foe. She swung the blade in a downward stroke, letting out a soft yelp as she accidentally hit the side of her own leg.
"That's something we're going to have to work on," she muttered to herself, wiping the blood off her wound. Betsy hadn't completely mastered the moves that presented themselves as being simple in her mind, but it was just another thing she would have to get used to. For now, though, she would just have to use the skills she already had if she ever found herself in a dangerous situation. She placed the katana beside the other one leaning against the wall and stepped out the door into the corridor. She made her way down the hall, smiling and nodding politely to the maid. So far, the cleaning service hadn't made any fuss about her two blades, she figured that they thought she was a collector or something, which suited her fine. Betsy stepped out onto the street, taking a deep breath of fresh air. She noticed that men who passed by her looked at her the same way she'd seen boys at school look at Jean, and it felt good. She allowed herself a happy smile, trying to forget about everything that had happened over the past few months, but every now and then hateful graffiti reminded her just who she was, a mutant, an outcast.
"Take that, ya mutie freak!" She heard from down an alleyway, Betsy turned to look, seeing three young men in leather jackets with the letters "FoH" stitched on the back attacking a teenage boy with aluminum baseball bats. One of the men swung, the makeshift club connecting soundly with the boy's knee, making him fall to the ground in pain.
"Hey!" Betsy shouted, before even realizing that the words were escaping from her mouth, "why don't you pick on someone who can fight back?" The three men turned, glaring at her, one kicked the fallen mutant in the ribs for good measure.
"Were you talking to us?" One of the men said, twirling his bat in the air.
"Yeah, I was," Psylocke said through clenched teeth, her hands balling up into fists and blades of violet psychic energy appearing out of thin air. She lunged towards the bald man, intending to drive her psi-blades through his skull, but was stopped by a blunt strike to her ribs, knocking her against a brick wall. There had been a forth man hiding in the shadows, also holding a bat.
"She's one of them, boys!" Said the forth man, who was tall, dark, and rather unattractive, "what do you say we kill two muties with one stone?" He took another swing, but Betsy was ready this time, catching the bat in mid-air. The force stung her hand, but she had learned how to block well from her Danger Room training. She swung her other hand at the attacker's head, her psi-blade entering his skull and disrupting his neural pathways. He sunk to the ground, knocked out cold. Psylocke was still trying to get her breath back after the rib-crushing blow delivered to her when the other three men converged on her, hitting with fists and bats. She tried to fight back, but was overpowered. She cursed herself for not bringing her katanas along. Blood trickled out of Betsy's mouth as she fell to the concrete, half of her face was numb, she only wished that the other half had lost feeling, as well. The pummeling stopped momentarily, and she looked up, seeing that the men were distracted.
"Hey, boss, it's another one."
"Look, we handled two of them before, we can handle another one." Although her vision was blurred, Betsy could see a form coming down on the remaining three thugs, she felt the brush of wings, and that was the last thing her mind registered as the darkness of unconciousness took her.
================================
TO BE CONTINUED
================================
