Ororo almost gasped as they came up from the platforms to the terminal at Central Station. She hadn't expected it to be so breathtaking and beautiful. Glass and marble were everywhere, held by a thin spiderweb of metal. A few graceful support columns, no more than an inch thick, touched ground here and there. It seemed impossible that they could support the weight, but somehow the overall impression was of suspended gravity, not imminent catastrophe.
Logan let out a low whistle. "You check out that kiosk, get oriented. I want to see something." Storm strolled over through the crowd and inspected the information available. She worked to quickly memorize the locations of key features - hospitals, police stations, major roads.
He rejoined her in a moment. "Either they've got a lot more money than anyone thought, or ultra-strong metal's cheap here," he reported quietly. "I nicked one of those columns with a claw - and I actually felt a little resistance." Storm absorbed that for a moment. Wolverine's claws were molecularly sharp and paper-thin. Anything that could put up a noticeable fight must be tough indeed.
"Let's keep moving. To the northwest there is a hospital, perhaps we shall dine in the cafeteria there." High-tech tended to make it to medical use fairly quickly, and hospital security was set up to inhibit disruptive patients and minimize theft, not to foil espionage. Since 'mutates' were apparently viewed as machines here, it seemed a likely place to begin.
As they left, they noticed a small group of the bald, brightly-clad people coming out of an unobtrusive door at the side of the terminal. In their conspicuous suits, it was difficult not to see them, though the citizens passing by seemed oblivious to their presence. This despite how one of them started stretching his arms several meters to pick up garbage and refuse on the street.
Ororo felt a chill as she looked in his eyes for a moment; the empty stare he returned was scarcely sentient. {Goddess, what did they do to him?} she thought with pity. The others placidly boarded an armored vehicle manned by obvious military types, and rode off.
At the hospital, Storm faked an ankle injury and was admitted to one of the emergency beds. While they were waiting, however, they had time to see the victim of a car accident rushed in. She had several broken ribs, and had lost several pints of blood.
The doctors began what appeared to the X-Men to be routine care in such a case, until one of the staff called out, "Get 1437 in here!" Shortly thereafter a mutate arrived; as the others, she was bald and clad in a skinsuit, her number prominent on her shoulder. She quickly held her hands over the patient as a bright glow surrounded the injuries. They shrank visibly, her skin knitting closed with amazing speed.
Storm was examined next, and the intern advised her to take some anti-inflammatories and baby the ankle for a few days. As she and Logan left, they noted the trauma patient, now conscious, thanking the doctors profusely. She didn't even look at the mutate that stood vacantly by the curtain, apparently awaiting orders.
As they walked the gleaming streets of the capital, they took stock. "It's as bad as we feared. Hell, it's worse," said Logan. "They've practically industrialized mutant opression."
"Obviously, I agree. But we need to know more - what are they doing to these poor 'mutates', and how?"
"Only one place to go now." They made their way to a building near the Magistrate HQ. Locks barely slowed Ororo, and they set themselves up in some unleased office space with a view of the facility. Several hours of monitoring the impressive building gave them few clues.
"Well, from what Greg saw, this is where they process 'em. But they don't seem unusually concentrated here. In fact, the most we've seen was back at the train station," Logan mused.
Storm called the Blackbird on a secure link, and asked the mutants to run some analyses. The reports came back quickly. "Kitty says the satellites show that a train runs in a circuit between there and a facility about 30 miles to the north, over the mountains. She can't be sure, but it looks like a prison - walls with guards, and so on."
Logan thought for a while. "Busting into this 'Citadel' is risky. It's too big, an' it's crawling with those schmuck thugs. We can probably learn just as much from that jail. We pinch a car, get there, wait for sundown. Sneak in, get some answers. Maybe liberate some mutants. I'll bet they could tell us a lot."
Rollo sat in the checkpoint booth, chilly and stiff. He'd been tied expertly, though, so his hands and feet had blood running to them. His head still ached, and the gag was starting to taste pretty sour, but overall it could be worse. And, of course, it would be, once they were found. He tried to remember what had happened. Maybe they'd go easier on them if he could give a complete report.
Guard duty on this road was a punishment detail, given to Magistrates who'd pissed off the officers. Civilians never drove up this way, they knew better. Most traffic went into the Highlands by rail, so there was little action to break the monotony. Rollo and Mike had almost been happy to see a private car gliding up to their gate. At least they'd get to yell at some people and let the crap roll downhill a little.
The couple in the car made an odd pair. A short, thick man with bushy sideburns, and a tall, colored woman with a white mohawk and striking blue eyes. The mohawk was pretty unusual; most people took some trouble to avoid baldness. No one wanted to resemble the mutes.
He'd come up to the passenger side, as Mike started yelling through the window at the driver, "Where do you think you're going? This road is restricted, authorized personnel only."
The man replied gruffly, "Never saw the mountains before, bub. Wanted to look around." He didn't seem too cowed by Mike's tone.
That, of course, was unacceptable. "Out of the car, both of you, now!" Mike said, pulling up his rifle. Rollo happily matched him. Sending home a disrespectful civie with a few lumps would do him good.
The woman got out, glancing at Rollo with cool disdain. "What do you think you're lookin' at, chickie?" Rollo had asked, glaring. He wasn't particularly in to hitting women, but she was just asking for it.
"An ill-mannered thug," she replied, sounding almost bored. Rollo angrily yanked out his truncheon, advancing on her. Then a grunt from the other side of the car drew his attention.
Mike was down. Down and very out, it looked like his jaw was broken. He whirled, lashing out with the truncheon. He'd knock this stupid bird out and shoot that runt fast. Maybe he wasn't the best Magistrate on the force, but all of them got lots of combat training.
After that things were fuzzy. She wasn't there when he swung. Something swept his legs out from under him, and something else grabbed his head on the way down and smashed it into the road. Then an entire truck landed on his stomach.
By the time he'd stopped vomiting and could turn his head without blacking out, he'd been stripped, bound, and stowed in the guardpost, and the couple was driving off in a Magistrate jeep. Rollo wondered what his commander would do to punish someone who'd already screwed up a disciplinary assignment. From Mike's worried frown, he was considering that question, too, between pained groans.
Wolverine looked out over the plain towards the prison camp. There could be no doubt as to its nature at this range. It was late, but a few mutates could be seen milling about. Magistrates held guard positions on the walls. Storm was on her way in, taking advantage of the occasional scrub growth for cover. She was good; even with his enhanced senses, he was having trouble following her progress.
They hadn't seen any sign that Genosha posessed mutant-detecting technology like Cerebro. From clues like the ID cards, it appeared that citizens were given DNA tests to find signs of mutation. Even so, Storm's presumed immunity to such equipment made her the logical choice for infiltration. Logan was close enough to provide backup if needed, though of course they hoped to do this quietly. The other X-Men were on alert at the Blackbird, which had moved a bit closer without jeopardizing its cover. They were ready to break cover and charge in if called.
The camp seemed lightly manned, and actually not terribly secure; apparently they weren't expecting any trouble from the inmates or from outside. Of course, most prisons weren't set up to prevent break-ins. Storm slipped like a ghost over the south wall, and moved silently toward what appeared to be the 'administration office'.
Searchlights suddenly turned on and alarms blared. More Magistrates appeared from inside the guardhouses. Wolverine was already sprinting in, tossing a couple of captured grenades and whipping up his rifle. They were obviously outnumbered, but not as bad as he'd feared. If they could move quickly they would almost certainly get out and away.
Storm whirled and dodged some crackling stun beams, broken-field running to relative cover near a wall. She didn't get next to it, of course; too easy for an enemy to lay a gun flat on the surface and send shots that hugged the wall. A lot of novices made that mistake. She turned and began firing a pistol; two searchlights went dim.
The south wall was basically clear by the time Wolverine arrived. His claws glided out with a quiet snikt and he slashed an exit into the concrete. Then a whine and bright lights overhead made him turn.
Five aircars shot over the wall above him. Three were landing, cutting off their line of retreat. Two more circled overhead, casting searchlights on Logan as he backed through the hole he'd just cut, directing covering fire at the oncoming troops. Storm would have to watch his back. {Cripes, we walked right into a trap. Did we miss some kind of surveillance at that checkpoint?} He squeezed off a couple of shots, but the fire was coming in thick and he had to dodge. {Or maybe earlier. Here they can take us out without risking civlians. And where the hell did those aircars come from?}
Storm was busy herself. Some quick moves had procured her a pair of energy rifles, which she was using with grim efficiency on the guards in the courtyard. Then a flash of light overhead drew her attention. Aircars materialized out of nowhere, headed over the wall. She saw a man on top of one of the walls, guarded by a pair of Magistrates, tapping on a computer of all things. {That is too strange. Nothing good can come of it,} she thought, attempting to get off a shot.
Too late. The courtyard was suddenly filled; at least thirty Magistrates appeared with a flash of light. {A teleporter!} Storm thought, despairingly. At least she could cut off more reinforcements; a shot from her rifle destroyed the computer the man was using. The explosion nearly knocked him off the wall. She began blasting at the new troops even as they returned fire. {Logan will have to watch my back,} she thought.
It was over rather quickly. Neither had time to even trigger the alarm to call for rescue.