Everything was in slow motion. The only thing he could hear was the steady thumping of his own heartbeat. He could feel the flesh between his knuckles being sliced open, giving way to the six daggers jutting out from his clenched fists. *Kill*, the only coherent thought his mind could discern. *Kill*, his muscles tightened as he prepared to launch himself at his target. With a fluid blur of motion, he was airborne, lethal knives hurtling at the exposed belly of his next victim. Blades connect with flesh, pressing against abdominal muscles, pushing against skin and hair.
…But they don't penetrate… Not even a scratch.
A hand grabs his neck and squeezes. The universe is moving in real time again. The sounds of other voices, the smells of other people, friends and foes alike, assault his super-human senses. His eyes finally focus on the one who has his neck. The one who should be lying in a pool of his own blood and entrails, with life seeping away from his cooling body. The man, who should be dead, begins to speak.
"Nice try white-boy", said the tall brown-skinned man. "Betcha' didn't know nothin' can hurt me, huh? Yo Static, tell these mutha-f*ckaz what they win!"
"Right-o Wise", replied Static in his best 'game-show host' voice. "You five lucky contestants are the proud winners of an all-expense paid, non-refundable, one-way trip to HELL! Brought to you courtesy of the Blood Syndicate!"
"Wait", Jean said. But it was too late. All the young men standing behind the front four had already pulled out various firearms and had them aimed right at the X-Men. Cyclops gave her a mental command, and Jean stretched out her arms just as the first gun barrels began to pop. The cacophony of powder explosions echoed in the dimly lit street. Small marble sized objects glided through the air at the leather-clad targets, but slowed to a crawl, and then halted – suspended in mid air. The strain was clearly evident on Jean, as a bead of sweat coursed down her porcelain face.
"What the fu….", that's all one of the young men was able to say before they were all hurled some twenty-five feet back and slammed against a wall across the street. Hard. The only one standing was Wise-Son, still holding (and choking) an almost unconscious Wolverine with his left hand.
"No!", Rogue yelled. "Let go of him!" With a speed that betrayed her lithe frame, she raced past Cyclops, baring her lethal hands. "Drop him or I'll drop you… NOW!" Wise-Son couldn't believe his eyes, and stifled a laugh.
"And what are YOU gonna do 'bout it? Cry until let go?"
"No moron", replied Rouge, raising an eyebrow in very Wolverine-like fashion. "This…" and with that, she simply placed her hand on Wise-Son's cheek. His clean-shaven skin felt warm under her hand. Smooth too. But after a couple seconds, there was still no tingling sensation that foreshadowed the onslaught of memories and emotions that accompanied the transfer of power and consciousness from her victims.
"Ummm, is that it?", asked a puzzled and bemused Wise-Son. In one motion, he grabbed Rouge's hand with his free right hand and yanked on it – bringing her face close to his own. Before she could protest, he closed the tiny distance between his lips and her own, pressing hard, but not hurting her in anyway. Her first reaction was to jump back, but a part of her completely hesitated. At four seconds, this was the longest kiss she had ever had in her life. In fact, it was Wise-Son who pulled back and gave her a smirk and sly wink. "I was expectin' you to slap me by now." The still-stunned Rouge barely collected her thoughts enough to lift her hands and slap him across the face. Her hand lingered on his face, still utterly shocked at the fact that she could touch another human being.
"Rouge, step back!" Cyclops dialed up his visor, and a stream of crimson energy shot out of his eyes… striking Wise-Son dead-on in the chest, and hurling him across the street against the same wall that had previously greeted his fellow gang-members. Luckily, he had let go of Wolverine as he flew across the street. "Wolverine, are you ok?"
"Been better One-Eye…" Across the street, most of the gang-members began to clear out and run in different directions. The X-Men thought that this fight may be ending already, but then they noticed that four of the young men hadn't left. It was the same ones that stood in front of the others. Wise-Son, the one called Static (who still wore his Dakota Bulls cap over his mop-top dread-locks), the tall young man with the cornrows, and the bald, stocky tattooed young man.
"This ain't over, b*tch!", yelled the one with corn-rows. "We just told 'em this one's bang-babies only." Without warning, plumes of flames shot from the young man and engulfed the prone Wolverine.
"Logan!" Jean and Rouge yelled in unison. Jean waved her hand and Wolverine's burning body was yanked back across the street. The flame resistant uniform protected most of his body, but his exposed skin and hair was burned, and already beginning to heal.
"Static", said Wise-Son, picking himself up off the wall, 'You and Holocaust pour it on! Don't let up!" On cue, Static looked at a steel trash-can lid. It began to shake and jerk around, and then lifted up and flew at him. He jumped on top of it, his feet sticking to the metal surface. With his make-shift aerial skateboard, he glided up in the air above the X-Men. Holocaust simply walked across the street. The ambient heat radiating from his body was ferocious. The X-Men began to sweat heavily in their uniforms.
Storm's eyes clouded over, as clouds rolled in, bringing rain, and the wind picked up. Then suddenly, the temperature dropped to freezing as the rain turned into ice and snow. The localized snow storm bore down on the heat-radiating young man. The snow and ice became hot steaming vapors all around him, heavily clouding his vision. Static, now almost above Storm, launched two electrical bursts at her. But instead of striking the weather-mutant, they were deflected by bolts of lighting that shot from the storm cloud. Static shot another electric burst, stronger than the previous two, but as it was deflected by another lightning bolt, he caused a metal manhole cover to rise up, fly over and strike Storm in the head – hard - causing her to fall forward, barely conscious. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, as the snow storm began to dissipate.
As Holocaust came walking out of the mist cloud that enveloped him, Cyclops let loose with another optic blast. Holocaust was hit by the beam, which picked him up and slammed him into the now familiar wall across the street. Cyclops suddenly dove for cover as several electrical arcs shot past him, leaving scorch marks on the concrete sidewalk. Static glided by on his trashcan lid, zeroing in on him. "All good things come to an end…" he said.
"You got THAT right kid", Jean said as she pointed a hand at him and with a wave, sent Static hurling toward a light post. The light post suddenly bent out of the way, at Static's manipulation, but he couldn't do anything about the next building that he smacked dead-on. Jean thought she could hear a muffled curse as he bounced off the building and landed on the street below. She smiled slightly, and then noticed that someone threw some sand at her. "What?" she looked as the sand on her uniform and around her feet began to glow. Before she could telekinetically brush the sand away, it all exploded. The last thing she saw was a bright flash; the last things she felt were the hard concussive shockwaves and sudden heat against her body, before drifting into unconsciousness. Had it not been for her Kevlar-composite uniform, she would've been blown to pieces. The young tattooed man stepped forward, grinning widely.
"Nice one X", Wise-Son told him. "That girl was da BOMB."
"True, true", replied Commando X. He shot a look at Wolverine, who was now fully healed. "I owe you one cracka!" And he reached into one of the pockets in his cargo pants and pulled out some cat's eye glass marbles. He rolled them across the floor at Wolverine, who jumped into the air and rolled away as the glowing marbles exploded with a loud BOOM – leaving scorch marks and a small crater in their wake. Rouge silently walked behind Commando X, and placed a hand on his neck. "What the f…" X's eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled on the floor, unconscious.
After a brief moment assimilating the gang member's persona, "Yo Logan, you ok mutha-f*cka?" Rouge said.
"Watch your mouth Marie, even if that IS that gangsta scum talkin', darlin'."
"Sho-nuff white-boy. We need's ta raise up our cracka asses outta here."
"Ummm, yes Marie, quite", said Cyclops, who was over near Jean and Ororo as they were becoming conscious. Across the street Static had rejoined his fellow Syndicate bang-babies. Wise-Son scowled at the X-Men, as did Holocaust.
"Yo Holly, you down?" Wise-Son said.
"You know it", Holocaust said. Facing the X-Men, he yelled, "Yo, ya'll mutha-f*ckaz wanna play with fire? Time for ya'll b*tches to BURN!!!" He stretched out his arm at the X-Men, but no flames shot out. Nothing seemed to be happening at all. Until Wolverine felt it. It started like a fever, the kind you get when you have the flu, but then there was a sudden warmth in his torso, his legs, and even his hands. He looked at his hands for a moment, and he saw the sweat running down into his palms. In fact, his entire body was dripping with sweat under his uniform, and then the burning agony struck him like a freight train. He doubled over clutching his stomach, his face a mask of twisted pain. He looked up at a wild-eyed Marie, Jean, and Ororo… all doubled over in the same position and beginning to scream in terror. The heat was beginning to rise. He saw Scott and Jean reach for each other, clasping hands in a tight grip. Marie and Ororo were already unconscious. He heard a voice scream "NO!" It was not his own.
A ghostlike hand protruded out of Holocaust's stomach, and made a waving motion. In a second, Holocaust doubled over in a fit of nausea, cursing loudly as he went down. "What the f*ck are you DOING Fade!?!?" Commando X, who had just gained consciousness seconds ago, was being restrained by Wise-Son. "What's your problem? You turnin' traitor, you punk-a** Puerto Rican b*tch!"
"No I'm not goin' soft you sh*t-for-brains," Fade replied, "And that's punk-a** DOMINICAN b*tch to you!"
"Fade, explain yourself, and do it fast brother." Wise-Son said.
"They're not trying to kill us Wise. I've been watching the fight, and every time they could have really hurt us, they just settled for smacking us around." Wise-Son, still holding Commando X back, began to process the information. "They could've put the hurt on us bad, but they just kept deflecting our attacks and pushing us back."
"Speak for yourself, desperado", said Static, still rubbing his head. "That building hurt me plenty."
"But she could've snapped your neck on that building just as easily. You saw that red-head stop fifty bullets in mid-air. She could've thrown all of you so hard against the wall that none of you would have gotten up… except Wise of course." Wise-Son let Commando-X go, who stumbled a bit at first, still feeling the effects of Rouge's brief touch. He got up and was about to berate Fade some more, when Wise-Son shot him a "back-down" look. He settled for going over to Holocaust and helping him to his feet.
Holocaust pushed X aside and glared at Fade with glowing eyes. His clenched fists ignited into flames as he slowly said, "This. Better. Be. Good."
"It is", said Wise-Son. "Calm yourself down. Hold up." Wise-Son walked over across the street, where the X-Men were beginning to get up. Wolverine was the only one who was on his feet, and he had Marie cradled against his body. Wise-Son could see the anger drip off of this man, and as he approached them, Wolverine gently lowered Rouge to the ground and popped his lethal claws. Wise-Son stopped and held up his hands. "Hold up dog. We could keep this up and kill ya'll… or you could just raise up out o' here right now. Take your peeps with you. Your choice."
"We weren't here to hurt you in the first place", Scott managed to get the words out under the strain of his abdominal burns. He touched the X insignia on his uniform, which signaled the Blackbird to home in on their position. "We just wanted to talk, to see if the reports of mutant activity were real."
"We ain't mutants", said Wise-Son, a worried look briefly crossing his face.
"That may or may not be true. But you're definitely different", Scott dragged Jean up, and then went over to Ororo, who needed help as well. The Blackbird hovered over them, and then gently set down on the street a few dozen feet away. Scott motioned for everyone to board. As he walked near Wise-Son, he suddenly said, "Ummm, Mr. Wise, maybe you should accompany us and help Wolverine fly the jet. It needs two people, and I'm in no condition to pilot a jet right now."
"What are ya talkin' about, this thing can", a sudden thought entered Wolverine's mind *Shut-Up LOGAN and go along with Scott*. "I mean, err… yeah this thing can't be flown by me alone. Somebody's got to be at the other controls. And since YOU guys want us out, AND you're the reason we can't fly the plane…"
"Bullsh*t!" replied Wise-Son (sounding like Samuel Jackson). "You got to be out o' yo GOD-damn mind if ya think I'm going to…" Fade had already walked (floated) over and whispered in Wise-Son's ears.
"I know it might be a trap, but this is a great opportunity to find out who these dudes and who sent them." Wise-Son gave Fade a look that said 'You got to be out o' YOUR god-damn mind'. As if reading his mind, Fade continued in hushed tones, "No, I'm NOT out of my god-damned mind. Take some of the guys with you. If it's a trap, kill 'em all."
"Ooh-Ooh, LET ME GO WISE! This plane looks cooler than Star Trek! Please, let me go!" Static's full-geekiness was oozing out.
After rolling his eyes, and thinking *this might be a trap*, Wise-Son said, "Go ahead and go Static. You and Holly, and X too."
"What about you Wise?" asked Holocaust as he approached the X-Men – with an ecstatic nerd running up behind him.
"I'll stay here and…"
"Wise, you should go too", Fade interrupted. Before Wise-Son could respond he continued, "I'll holla at Templo and Third-Rail. They'll help me hold it down 'til you get back." Fade then whispered "Plus, you trust Holly and X to be your eyes and ears? Come on, Mr. Invulnerable. Don't worry, we'll keep it together 'til you get back."
"Ok, I'll go Fade, but call up DMZ and Masq too. You'll need their help."
"Damn, Wise. You always got to stack the crew with Paris Bloods, dontcha'?" Fade flashed a smile. He was only half-joking – since Wise-Son really did seem to always want to hang around ex-Paris Bloods bang-babies more than anyone else.
"Old habits die hard man. Anyhow, I'm outty. I'll holla at ya when I get to wherever the hell we're going", turning to the others he said, "Holly, X, Static… you're with me. Let's roll." Static pumped his fist in the air repeatedly when he was told they were going to ride the Blackbird – looking like Jar Jar Binks in the process. As the X-Men got loaded, Wise-Son leaned over to Holocaust and whispered, "Anything happens, anything at all… I want you to go NUCLEAR on these mutha-f*ckaz. Ya feel me? I want them cooked in an instant – none of that slow burn sh*t!"
"I feel ya homie, I feel ya." The four Blood Syndicate members boarded the Blackbird behind the internally injured X-Men. Fade looked on intently as the Blackbird's engines roared, and it lifted up into the Dakota night sky. After hanging there for second, the Blackbird's engines flashed bright, and it was gone.
"There goes the neighborhood", he said, and faded out.