Author's Note**
Okay, no more cryptic nonsense . . . well maybe just a little bit more. Oh, and I'm dipping deep into the comic gene pool, so if you're a little lost, don't worry. I am too.
Many, many miles away, surrounded by the cool dark fingers of nighttime, Pietro Maximoff was leaning up against a lamp post. In his hands was a map and he was trying his best to read the tiny names of streets in the dim light. He had two more letters to deliver and then he could return to the mansion for his next big assignment. So far his difficulties hadn't come from getting to the different post offices; his super speed came in handy for that. Probably why Magneto sent him to do it in the first place. The problem came from trying to find post offices that had the number five in their address. There weren't as many as you would think. Right now he was in Oklahoma and he was having a world of trouble finding a post office, let alone one with the number five in its address.
Oh boy, he couldn't wait to get back to the Institute to get his next super secret assignment! The thought of all those X-geeks running around searching after that stupid Mesmero guy while he was off doing the really important work just tickled him pink. He liked pink. It was a pretty color. Made him think of bunnies, and cotton candy, and . . . something else that was pink. Frowning, he glanced up from his map and stared off into the distance for a moment. No, he couldn't think of anything else that was pink except for . . . PEEPS!! Everyone's favorite marshmallows! Boy, he could sure go for some peeps right about now!
Just as Pietro was beginning to lose himself in the wonderful world of Easter candy, a cold and slimy feeling ran down the length of his spine. Giving a yelp, he straightened and leapt back from the street lamp, eyeing it with distrust. While he was glaring at it, wondering where it had gotten the nerve to try and attack him that same feeling crept down his back again. Shuddering, he turned and looked off in several directions, his gaze met each time by shadows. Fright began to slither into him, and that part of his mind that linked him to another person gave him the name to call out into the night.
"Wanda?" His voice shook lightly. "Are you there Wanda?"
The wind blew through the street, sending dust bunnies dancing along the way. Somewhere a door slammed and a gun fired, and anything else stereotypical of Oklahoma that you can think up happened. But there was no reply to his trembling question. Still, something pressed at the small object lodged inside his head. Wanda's gotten herself into something bad, he thought, unconsciously crumpling the map he held in his hands. As much as she appeared to dislike him and enjoyed scaring the shit of him, they were still twins. There was still a bond there somewhere. At times he really wished there wasn't because sometimes her freaky crazy thoughts meandered into his head and let me tell you, there's nothing more disturbing than watching yourself devour the poor helpless little bunny rabbits you had been dreaming about!
"I've got to get back to father and tell him about this," Pietro stated out loud. But then he remembered the letters that were still in his possession. Magneto had said that every one needed to be delivered. He'd be pissed if he came back and hadn't finished the job. But what if Wanda had gotten her real memories back and was going to try and kill their father again? What to do? Stretching his arms out wide, Pietro looked up and asked the one man who had always been there for him in his hour of need.
"God, what should I do? Send me a sign!"
As soon as the words left his lips he was thrown backwards when an unseen hand backhanded him across the face. Landing in a pile of garbage cans and sending them scattering, Pietro shook his head and put a hand up to his jaw. Confused, he tilted his head back up towards the sky.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're an idiot. And I obviously didn't hit you hard enough. There's a post office down the street on the right. It's got two fives in it, so you can drop off both the letters there. Then get your ass back to the Institute," came God's rumbling and holy exasperated voice.
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In the unwholesome underground, hiding in the pipes and tunnels built by man, the Morlock known as Plague turned restlessly in her slumber. Her frail bones shivered with a chill that never warmed, no matter how many rags she buried herself beneath. As she slept, her dreams were filled with visions of death and decay and disease, all things she had known nearly her entire life. She was tired. So very tired of life and her weak body.
Come. Come and I shall grant thee power unlike that thou hast e'er known. The words were like the gentle press of a lover's lips upon her mind. She opened her pale eyes to darkness and whispered into it,
"I come."
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Elsewhere, in an apartment that was both run down and broken like the man who lived in it, Abraham Lincoln Kieros sat in front of his busted television watching salt kick the hell out of pepper. His legs dangled uselessly in front of him; his gift for having risked his life for his country in the war in Vietnam. Alcohol sludged through his system, leaving him bordering on the edge of consciousness and he wished for God to just make it all go black.
Come.
With eyes bleary and bloodshot, Bram glanced about the room. The fact that voice was disembodied didn't seem to bother him.
"Wha?" he slurred to the empty room.
Come. I have need of thy service, warrior.
He snorted at that and reached for his beer. All he succeeded in doing was knocking it off the arm of his chair. "Warrior? I think you got the wrong place, pal. I can't come anywhere, my legs are busted."
There was silence, and then Bram felt a curious tingling in the limbs that had dead for so long. Looking down in amazement, he watched as he shifted the legs that he had not moved on his own in more than thirty-five years.
Come.
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Draped in robes that hid her shriveled body, Autumn Rolfson drifted through the night. Her mind was a mass of hate and self-loathing; all those that had ever called her a freak would soon enough find themselves writhing at her mercy. Of which she had none. She heard the call of the master and she walked to him now. There would be others, others who would help to bring down those who had laughed and those who had mocked so cruelly. Revenge would be as sweet as the scent of strawberries in the summer.
Come.