Well, I had a nice long chat with Stan Lee the other day and he agreed to
share his treasures and so you must now as me first if you can to use
Wolvie, Gambit, Deathstrike or Mystique or . . .(*sees Stan running in the
room holding a baseball bat*). Okay . . . okay . . . I simply *borrowed*
them. And so Gambit and Wolvie and the rest don't belong to me (*Stan Lee
smiles and walks out, followed by his attorneys that had appeared thanks to
Nightcrawler*) . . . I'm back on the cranberry juice, if you didn't notice.
Now here is a very, very long chapter just for all of you. ^_^
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Chapter 3: Phone Calls
France, Nice . . .
The sun shone bright in the clear sapphire sky, illuminating the Côte d'Azur with a spectacular radiance. The tortuous roads contoured the emerald hills, mountains and abrupt cliffs under which glorious blue waves hit the shore, moving pebbles and rocks ever time they came and went, providing some of the most beautiful and dignified views of France.
The roads were divided in three ranks, each having a different height in the mountains. The first was at sea level, and was mostly punctuated by circulation signs, and having heavy road traffic at specific times. The second level was the medium cornice, and was much higher in the hills, bordered by magnificent villas, gardens and a lovely countryside. The highway was at the same level, built on high bridges that passed through mountains by long tunnels.
The last type of road, located nearly at cloud level, was called the high cornice, and wasn't very commonly used by people, sometimes because of the frightening height, or the strong fog before or after hot rainy days, or even maybe because of the strong tortuousness, making the road even more dangerous and unsafe than it already was with the high humidity.
It was on that specific road that a car was racing, it's wheels screeching loudly on the pavement, marking it with black trails every time it turned, ignoring the signs and driving in the right middle since it was the only vehicle in the surroundings.
The car, a topless red Ferrari simply made to catch the eye, turned rapidly as it followed the path. The driver was young, definitely younger than twenty, and manipulated the car with extreme precision. He was missing everything from the scenery he was passing since all he could see was a green or blue blur, passing his car speedily. A smile plastered on his face, the black-haired teenager turned the wheel again, visibly enjoying his little race. He had tanned skin, which was normal seeing that he was in a country in which the temperature could easily reach forty degrees, thanks to the scorching sun. His eyes were a deep blue, hidden under a pair of back shades. He was tall for his age and well built. His shoulders were rather large, adding a look of strongness in his built. He was wearing a grey suit, without a tie or a bow, just a simple, yet stylish suit used for good occasion.
Many curves later, he decided to slow down lightly, not wanting to pass the stop he wanted to pause at. He soon found it, empty, as always. It was a parking place near the road, mostly for tourists who wanted to admire the view.
He jumped out of his vehicle, grabbing a water bottle from the passenger seat as he walked towards the ledge, from where the principality of Monaco could be seen at the foot of the mountain. He admired the sight for a while, leaning on his car's hood, smiling to himself.
Some time later, he jumped back into his car and started the engine, ready to run off again. Right when he was about to press on the gas pedal, his cellphone rang.
His eyebrows rose as he passed a hand through his naturally messed up hair. He picked up the phone and flicked it open, bringing it to his ear.
". . . Yes?" he asked in a normal tone, a little accent, maybe English, rolling on his tongue. A smile reappeared on his face and a sparkle was visible in his eyes when he heard the voice at the other end.
"When and where?" he asked, and a moment of silence was heard as his interlocutor answered him. "I'll be there in a day. I'm leaving from Nice. Give me nine hours."
He hung up, and pressed on the gas pedal as he through the phone on the backseat.
~~~~~~~~~~
France, Paris . . .
It was noon in Paris too, but unlike the Côte d'Azur, it was raining cats and dogs. The Parisians crazy enough to be out in this weather were hidden under large umbrellas, mostly being covered by large colourful designs. All didn't seem to like the temperature one bit, and they didn't mind complaining about it out loud. The traffic immobilized half the population, and so honks could be heard every minute or so.
A medium sized boy could be discerned in the crowd of people squirming on the sidewalks. He was leaning on a lamppost, admiring what could be seen of the Eiffel tower on the other side of the Seine, and smoking a cigarette. He must have been standing there for quite a while since his brown trench coat was totally drenched with water, showing long darker trails on his shoulders and back. He didn't even seem to notice the pouring rain falling on his uncovered head, soaking his hair with the cold liquid, and making large, uneven bangs fall across his forehead, hiding his eyes from the view of others.
In fact, when you looked closer, you noticed a particularity about this boy slowly reaching his twenties. His eyes, as well hidden as they could be, were an awfully eccentric colour, even if they could only be seen partially, and that made people suggest that he was a mutant, thus making them ignore him as he was never pushed by anyone on the sidewalk, left in his own little space. The fact was that the people who noticed the shimmer in his eyes when they came in their direction, immediately froze for a moment, gasping a little, before moving on. They were afraid.
The boy himself was fairly attractive: tall, brown hair, fair complexion, good built, and maybe even something charming and intriguing in the way he looked at you, making girls blush immediately but there was one thing that gave it all way. His eyes were a deep, unforgiving red.
Seeing that he was starting to get too noticeable, the boy started walking towards the bridge, far less crowded than the sidewalk, and once he reached the side, he leaned on it, looking at the dirty water flowing beneath the crossing.
He pulled out a deck of cards absentmindedly and started shuffling it. Time passed and he visibly had nothing better to do than simply waist his time on a rainy day.
Finally, he started to feel cold, because of the water that had finally reached his skin through his layers of clothing. He sighed and started walking away.
Some time later, he arrived in a local French pub, where he decided to stay, to warm up. He hailed a pretty waitress and asked for a coffee, sitting at the far end of the bar, to avoid making eye contact with other people.
The young woman came back a few moments later, a mug on her serving dish. She placed it in front of the boy, gave him a shy smile that he returned, and walked back to the counter, where a sturdy bald man was serving beer to older men. Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was already quarter to one, and he sighed.
Like everywhere else, time passed in the pub as men and few women came and went, getting drinks, chatting, then leaving again. The boy watched them from his corner, occasionally asking for another drink and flirting with the waitress a little. As he was finishing his third coffee, the phone rang through the pub and the man from the counter picked it up, stopping the ringing immediately. He introduced himself in French as Milo's café, and asked what he could do for his interlocutor, but he frowned a few moments later, asking him to wait a moment. His eyes glided around his pub.
He asked in French if there was someone named Remy Lebeau in his pub, saying that there was a call for him.
Surprised, the boy frowned. Who could know that he was here at that precise moment? He rose from his seat and walked to the man, telling him that he was the one for who the call was directed. The man handed him the phone.
"Gambit speaking," he said, a French accent being clearly heard in his voice. "To who do I 'ave ze honour of speaking to?"
His face was expressionless for a moment, but he soon smiled mischievously, vaguely looking around the pub to make sure no one was listening. He stayed in silent for a moment, listening to the instructions he was being told.
"Good," he finally said. "I'll take the first flight out of here. I'll contact you when I arrive."
He hung up and smiled slyly at the barman, pulling out a couple of euros from his pocket, to pay for his drinks. He immediately walked out, and disappeared into the rain.
At his table, the waitress found an ace of heart card, probably forgotten by purpose. It glowed in her had before disappearing in a puff of red smoke.
~~~~~~~~~~
California, San Francisco . . .
Due to the time shift, if was midnight in San Francisco, but the city was still brightly illuminated. This time, it was in an apartment giving a wonderful view of the Golden Gate Bridge that a phone call was made. The apartment was of medium size, with plain white walls and had a lot of place to move around. The floor was of wood, there were a few tables, chairs and sofas for furniture, historical movie posters taped on the bare walls here and there, but besides that, the apartment was slightly empty. It was in a room further in the back, with a large tinted window from which we could see the city that there were more interesting things. This room wasn't very big compared to the others, and was filled with machines. Most of them seemed very modern, but some seemed to have been used for quite a while. There were colourful wires passing on the walls, many computer screens turned on to different web pages, things that looked like televisions and DVD players, other things that looked broken; and between all of that, there was a boy, seeming lightly younger than the two first ones that had been contacted in France, and so seemed fifteen or sixteen.
He was sitting cross-legged in a chair, his face being illuminated up by the intermittent light coming from the big computer screen he was sitting in front of. His skin was of a tanned tone, but his face was still strangely pale, owed to his time passed inside, sitting in front of the computer or the television.
His blond hair was somewhat short, spiked up with gel and his eyes were grey. He was thin, and didn't look too strong. With one look at his clothing, he was evidently a skater, even though he didn't seem to spend much time on a skateboard. He had a neutral look on his face as he looked at the screen, the web page reflecting in his eyes as it rolled down, allowing him to read further on. He didn't even need to use the mouse, since the machine seemed to be controlled by his simple thought.
His eyes narrowed as the information on the screen changed and he started to read again. It was at that moment that his phone rang. He turned around, looking at the piece of machinery on the other side of the room and raised his hand towards it. The ringing stopped and he picked up a headset placed beside him, and slipped it on his head.
"Hello?" he asked. " . . . No, it's Darren. Charlie's down town," he said, his eyes moving away from his screen. "What I'm doing up at this time? Reading FBI reports. Rather interesting to see how little they know about everything going on with us . . ."
There was a long moment of silence as he just listened.
" . . . Yes, of course we're in," he said finally. "Give me two hours to clean up the place and we're both out. We'll arrive tomorrow."
He hung up and started shutting down his computers.
~~~~~~~~~~
Venice, Italy . . .
Like in Paris, it was raining. The only difference was that it was only raining in small mist-like droplets, and weren't strings of water pouring down from the sky. The streets were empty as the city on water was of a deadly silence, waiting for the sun, and thus people, to come back outside. Boats were covered and parked in front of houses, the sky was enlightened but grey and the cafes were nearly completely empty. This time, the call was made to a fancy hotel, room two-o-seven, to a certain Miss Cartier.
At the moment, she was in the penthouse, taking a bath. Sitting in hot water, covered in white strawberry scented bubble bath. Her long brown hair was tied in a messy twist on the top of her head to prevent it from getting wet, but still, excluded curls fell on her wet shoulders. Her eyes closed, she was savouring the contact of the warm water to her skin.
The ringing of her phone broke her concentration and she frowned, her hand reaching for a towel to clean off the water, and then to grab the white telephone placed next to the tub.
"Yes?" she asked in French, lightly irritated about being disturbed. "Don't call me that, my name's Coral."
She stayed silent, listening, as her eyes widened, before she frowned deeply.
"No!" she exclaimed finally. "But I'm so well here! And we're supposed to lay low, remember? . . . ah . . . Yes. Fine, I'll be there tomorrow, but I want you to know that I'm not exactly pleased about you shortening my vacation."
She hung up, held her breath and plunged under the thick layer of bubble bath.
~~~~~~~~~~
Spain, near Valencia
Gigantic waves dived towards the shore, spraying the sunbathers with cold haze. Teenage surfers were waiting for the best moment to throw themselves behind some of the mountains of water, while others watched further away, sitting near large fans and drinking cold drinks. The weather was beautiful, and yet terrible as the sun seemed to burn four times hotter than on regular days and seeing that the wind was completely missing in action. Some people were even wondering how come the waves could go so high when they weren't helped by a very strong breeze, but no logical answer could be given.
Two teenage girls one wearing a blue bodysuit, the other a red one, were pushing their surfboards towards the water. Both were about eighteen. One was American, the other definitely part Hispanic. The American wearing the red suit had dark crimson hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. She wasn't tall but definitely not short and seemed like the kind of girl that followed fashions as they came and went. There were noticeable scars on both her wrists.
The second girl was slightly smaller than the first, had thick, shoulder length brown hair tied in a ponytail like the other girl and had strange auburn eyes. Her skin was darker than the American and she somehow seemed to be enjoying herself more. Her eyes simply seemed to flicker wildly each time she dived under the water.
"Let's go over there!" the redhead yelled over the noise the water was making. "Give me a strong low one, to start."
The other girl smiled and dived under the water, pulling her board with her. Verifying that no one was looking in her direction, she let go of her board and headed deeper in the water. Once she was a good ten metre downwards, she blew the air out of her lungs, the palm of her hands in front of her. She closed her eyes, concentrating and soon felt the water around her spin softly. She opened her eyes and felt the urge to accept the call and let her powers take control, but she knew it was better for her not too. She looked up, seeing her friend's legs dangle on either side of her board, waiting for a good wave to come.
~Here it goes,~ she thought, directing her palms upwards.
The redhead felt the water beneath her move and a wave soon formed itself. She smiled, lowering herself on the board and starting to push herself towards it. She got up on her feet and followed the water's path, giving her a superb glide through the waves.
The girl controlling the water was now back on her board, giving herself a gigantic strong wave that she took immediately.
Both girls really seemed to enjoy themselves, until the American saw that her friend had mislead one of the waves and that a rather big one was coming straight at her. She panicked, but was too afraid to move as the gigantic wave got closer and closer. Fright activated her mutation and soon enough, the wave reached her level. She closed her eyes and waited for an impact that never came. Seconds passed and sensing that the wave was gone, she opened her eyes. The sea was calm.
What she didn't see was that the wave had split in two when she hit contact with it. The part that had been supposed to hit her had evaporated in a cloud of vapour. Panting a little, she looked around, looking for her friend. She saw her board and the water manipulator not far behind, half of her head poking out of the water. But she wasn't the same anymore. Her body seemed . . . *made* of water.
"Holly . . . your power . . . its . . ." the redhead whispered, hoping the people on the beach hadn't seen her friend yet.
Holly disappeared under the water, only to come back out a few moments later, looking human.
"I think we should leave," she said, seeing that a few of the other surfers and people on the beach were looking in their direction.
The two girls swam to shore and carried their boards through the crowded beach they reached the parking lot, more precisely a white jeep. While Holly tied the boards in the back of their car, the redhead started to dry herself.
What was strange was that she didn't use a towel. He simply stood there, her hair loosing its wetness just like her clothes did. Her power was obvious: she controlled the heat molecules in the ambient air.
A phone rang inside the jeep. The American reached inside the vehicle and grabbed the phone.
"Bliss speaking," she said. " . . . finally, we were wondering how long we needed to stay away . . . sure. We'll be there."
She hung up and turned to Holly.
"We're back in the game," she said.
~~~~~~~~~~
England, London . . .
The sky was lightly clouded by white and greyish cotton-looking clouds and the wind was blowing hard, but the streets were dry, proving that it hadn't rained, and the sun, peeking between the clouds, proved that he wasn't intending to let bad temperature take over the city.
In the middle of the city was a warehouse used as a circus school. Many boys and girls were there, being thought by adults. A group were learning how to juggle on large coloured tubes while wearing a clown costume, others were on the trampoline, but one boy was being given a personal class at the trapeze. A middle-aged woman was standing on the side, shouting him what to do.
The boy in question looked nineteen, wasn't very tall or strong, but was slim and seemed extremely fast and agile. One of his 'particularities' was that he had wild blue hair.
"Jump to the next bar!" the woman shouted, watching the boy obey immediately, swinging to the next pole.
The lady smiled contently as the blue-haired teenager swung himself to the ground.
"Perfect," she said. "We'll take off at forty five feet next time."
She left the platform, leaving the boy alone to practice by himself. He sighed once she was gone, jumped up, leaned on a pole and reached the first trapeze, making it swing until he reached the next one, on which he jumped. He looked down at the ground, and smiled seeing it so far below.
He didn't move, letting his weight balance him from side to side on the trapeze until he heard someone shouting his name from the ground, telling him there was someone on the phone at the reception for him. He thanked the boy and waited until no one was looking. He let go of the trapeze and fell to the floor, on his feet. He was obviously a mutant, to have landed untouched after jumping down fifteen metres.
He walked to the reception, nodding at a few folks, and picked up the receiver that had been left on the table.
"Hello?" He asked, this boy having an English accent in his voice.
Like all the others who had received the call, he stayed silent, listening.
"Did you call the others?" he asked after a while. "Did they accept? . . . Okay, I'll be there. Bye."
~~~~~~~~~~
Calls went on all night, reaching people, mutants, all across the world. Some more were located in Europe, and the others across the U.S. The next day, they were all together in New York, ready to try to conclude their unfinished Business.
~~~~~~~~~~
All was silence in this room. Well, if it could be considered a room, because it was in fact more like a glasshouse. You couldn't see the inside from outside because of the type of glass that had been used, even if there was nothing much to see indoors. There was a desk and a chair, maybe a few stools on which tiny plants were growing, but besides that, there was nothing. This glasshouse was located on the top of a tall building, in the middle of New York, and thus was surrounded by other buildings, some much taller than the one it was standing on, and so it did not receive much light in the morning, or even during the whole day.
A beautiful -well, gorgeous was more the word- woman was sitting in the chair, her feet leaning on the side of the desk, her stunning green eyes vaguely staring at the drops of water hitting the glass panel in front of her. Her brown hair was tied into a high ponytail and fell in light curls slightly under her shoulder blades. She was wearing a black trench coat under which was a leather cat suit and had on high-heeled boots, made of the same material. Her top had a low v-neck and her whole ensemble fitted her so perfectly, it could have been made to measure. Her pierced ears had silver hoops and a single chain was hanging around her neck. Her manicured nails were playing with it absentmindedly, but not even the faintest glimpse of a smile could be visible on her face.
The man with white hair entered the room, but she didn't take her eyes off the glass and didn't pay any attention to anything else.
"I'm pleasantly surprised not to find you in the lab again," he said, walking towards her.
She didn't answer anything, still playing with what was around her neck, maybe slightly more violently at the man's mention.
"It's time," the man continued, and this time, he was given a glance by the woman. "There all here and ready to move out. Come. We need to finish this."
"Tell me, Alex," the woman finally said, after a long moment of silence. "If you were given a chance to erase everything wrong you've done in your life, would you take it?"
The man didn't answer, he just looked at her.
"Would you?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "If we could erase all that we'd done wrong, you know they'd be nothing left of our lives."
She smiled, still looking at the rain.
"Well then, lets go have some 'fun', and clear out our 'business'," she said, finally getting up from her seat, walking to the glass panel.
Alex just stayed where he was, waiting. The woman let go of her chain, pressing both her hands on the cold glass where her reflection could be seen. For a moment, she stared at her reflection, before looking, into the glass, towards the man in the back of the room.
"Yes, let's go," she said making a step backwards.
The man walked out as she turned around, watching him leave before turning towards her reflection again, looking at her face. She passed her fingers on her eyes' reflection, sighing deeply. She closed her eyes for a moment, and reopened them. Now, instead of being green, they were violet, a crazy shade of amethyst.
Growling in an inhuman way, she made a step back, turning to walk towards the exit, holding her chain one last time. Letting it go, she made it visible to see that hanging on the end of the chain was a single dog tag. Written on it were a serial number and a name. A codename, signifying what she was, an alias, given to her by her mutation, a pseudonym she had been given long ago: Foe.
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YES. The guy in London and Bliss, the redhead girl in Spain are two of the tree teenagers that were spying on Nate in chap 40.
Foe is a part of myself, no touchy to her. All the others (*sees Stan Lee poking his head at the door with his baseball bat*) euh, except Gambit, are mine. That means the anonymous guy, Darren, Charlie, Coral, Holly, Bliss, the guy with blue hair and Alexander.
Now here is a very, very long chapter just for all of you. ^_^
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Chapter 3: Phone Calls
France, Nice . . .
The sun shone bright in the clear sapphire sky, illuminating the Côte d'Azur with a spectacular radiance. The tortuous roads contoured the emerald hills, mountains and abrupt cliffs under which glorious blue waves hit the shore, moving pebbles and rocks ever time they came and went, providing some of the most beautiful and dignified views of France.
The roads were divided in three ranks, each having a different height in the mountains. The first was at sea level, and was mostly punctuated by circulation signs, and having heavy road traffic at specific times. The second level was the medium cornice, and was much higher in the hills, bordered by magnificent villas, gardens and a lovely countryside. The highway was at the same level, built on high bridges that passed through mountains by long tunnels.
The last type of road, located nearly at cloud level, was called the high cornice, and wasn't very commonly used by people, sometimes because of the frightening height, or the strong fog before or after hot rainy days, or even maybe because of the strong tortuousness, making the road even more dangerous and unsafe than it already was with the high humidity.
It was on that specific road that a car was racing, it's wheels screeching loudly on the pavement, marking it with black trails every time it turned, ignoring the signs and driving in the right middle since it was the only vehicle in the surroundings.
The car, a topless red Ferrari simply made to catch the eye, turned rapidly as it followed the path. The driver was young, definitely younger than twenty, and manipulated the car with extreme precision. He was missing everything from the scenery he was passing since all he could see was a green or blue blur, passing his car speedily. A smile plastered on his face, the black-haired teenager turned the wheel again, visibly enjoying his little race. He had tanned skin, which was normal seeing that he was in a country in which the temperature could easily reach forty degrees, thanks to the scorching sun. His eyes were a deep blue, hidden under a pair of back shades. He was tall for his age and well built. His shoulders were rather large, adding a look of strongness in his built. He was wearing a grey suit, without a tie or a bow, just a simple, yet stylish suit used for good occasion.
Many curves later, he decided to slow down lightly, not wanting to pass the stop he wanted to pause at. He soon found it, empty, as always. It was a parking place near the road, mostly for tourists who wanted to admire the view.
He jumped out of his vehicle, grabbing a water bottle from the passenger seat as he walked towards the ledge, from where the principality of Monaco could be seen at the foot of the mountain. He admired the sight for a while, leaning on his car's hood, smiling to himself.
Some time later, he jumped back into his car and started the engine, ready to run off again. Right when he was about to press on the gas pedal, his cellphone rang.
His eyebrows rose as he passed a hand through his naturally messed up hair. He picked up the phone and flicked it open, bringing it to his ear.
". . . Yes?" he asked in a normal tone, a little accent, maybe English, rolling on his tongue. A smile reappeared on his face and a sparkle was visible in his eyes when he heard the voice at the other end.
"When and where?" he asked, and a moment of silence was heard as his interlocutor answered him. "I'll be there in a day. I'm leaving from Nice. Give me nine hours."
He hung up, and pressed on the gas pedal as he through the phone on the backseat.
~~~~~~~~~~
France, Paris . . .
It was noon in Paris too, but unlike the Côte d'Azur, it was raining cats and dogs. The Parisians crazy enough to be out in this weather were hidden under large umbrellas, mostly being covered by large colourful designs. All didn't seem to like the temperature one bit, and they didn't mind complaining about it out loud. The traffic immobilized half the population, and so honks could be heard every minute or so.
A medium sized boy could be discerned in the crowd of people squirming on the sidewalks. He was leaning on a lamppost, admiring what could be seen of the Eiffel tower on the other side of the Seine, and smoking a cigarette. He must have been standing there for quite a while since his brown trench coat was totally drenched with water, showing long darker trails on his shoulders and back. He didn't even seem to notice the pouring rain falling on his uncovered head, soaking his hair with the cold liquid, and making large, uneven bangs fall across his forehead, hiding his eyes from the view of others.
In fact, when you looked closer, you noticed a particularity about this boy slowly reaching his twenties. His eyes, as well hidden as they could be, were an awfully eccentric colour, even if they could only be seen partially, and that made people suggest that he was a mutant, thus making them ignore him as he was never pushed by anyone on the sidewalk, left in his own little space. The fact was that the people who noticed the shimmer in his eyes when they came in their direction, immediately froze for a moment, gasping a little, before moving on. They were afraid.
The boy himself was fairly attractive: tall, brown hair, fair complexion, good built, and maybe even something charming and intriguing in the way he looked at you, making girls blush immediately but there was one thing that gave it all way. His eyes were a deep, unforgiving red.
Seeing that he was starting to get too noticeable, the boy started walking towards the bridge, far less crowded than the sidewalk, and once he reached the side, he leaned on it, looking at the dirty water flowing beneath the crossing.
He pulled out a deck of cards absentmindedly and started shuffling it. Time passed and he visibly had nothing better to do than simply waist his time on a rainy day.
Finally, he started to feel cold, because of the water that had finally reached his skin through his layers of clothing. He sighed and started walking away.
Some time later, he arrived in a local French pub, where he decided to stay, to warm up. He hailed a pretty waitress and asked for a coffee, sitting at the far end of the bar, to avoid making eye contact with other people.
The young woman came back a few moments later, a mug on her serving dish. She placed it in front of the boy, gave him a shy smile that he returned, and walked back to the counter, where a sturdy bald man was serving beer to older men. Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was already quarter to one, and he sighed.
Like everywhere else, time passed in the pub as men and few women came and went, getting drinks, chatting, then leaving again. The boy watched them from his corner, occasionally asking for another drink and flirting with the waitress a little. As he was finishing his third coffee, the phone rang through the pub and the man from the counter picked it up, stopping the ringing immediately. He introduced himself in French as Milo's café, and asked what he could do for his interlocutor, but he frowned a few moments later, asking him to wait a moment. His eyes glided around his pub.
He asked in French if there was someone named Remy Lebeau in his pub, saying that there was a call for him.
Surprised, the boy frowned. Who could know that he was here at that precise moment? He rose from his seat and walked to the man, telling him that he was the one for who the call was directed. The man handed him the phone.
"Gambit speaking," he said, a French accent being clearly heard in his voice. "To who do I 'ave ze honour of speaking to?"
His face was expressionless for a moment, but he soon smiled mischievously, vaguely looking around the pub to make sure no one was listening. He stayed in silent for a moment, listening to the instructions he was being told.
"Good," he finally said. "I'll take the first flight out of here. I'll contact you when I arrive."
He hung up and smiled slyly at the barman, pulling out a couple of euros from his pocket, to pay for his drinks. He immediately walked out, and disappeared into the rain.
At his table, the waitress found an ace of heart card, probably forgotten by purpose. It glowed in her had before disappearing in a puff of red smoke.
~~~~~~~~~~
California, San Francisco . . .
Due to the time shift, if was midnight in San Francisco, but the city was still brightly illuminated. This time, it was in an apartment giving a wonderful view of the Golden Gate Bridge that a phone call was made. The apartment was of medium size, with plain white walls and had a lot of place to move around. The floor was of wood, there were a few tables, chairs and sofas for furniture, historical movie posters taped on the bare walls here and there, but besides that, the apartment was slightly empty. It was in a room further in the back, with a large tinted window from which we could see the city that there were more interesting things. This room wasn't very big compared to the others, and was filled with machines. Most of them seemed very modern, but some seemed to have been used for quite a while. There were colourful wires passing on the walls, many computer screens turned on to different web pages, things that looked like televisions and DVD players, other things that looked broken; and between all of that, there was a boy, seeming lightly younger than the two first ones that had been contacted in France, and so seemed fifteen or sixteen.
He was sitting cross-legged in a chair, his face being illuminated up by the intermittent light coming from the big computer screen he was sitting in front of. His skin was of a tanned tone, but his face was still strangely pale, owed to his time passed inside, sitting in front of the computer or the television.
His blond hair was somewhat short, spiked up with gel and his eyes were grey. He was thin, and didn't look too strong. With one look at his clothing, he was evidently a skater, even though he didn't seem to spend much time on a skateboard. He had a neutral look on his face as he looked at the screen, the web page reflecting in his eyes as it rolled down, allowing him to read further on. He didn't even need to use the mouse, since the machine seemed to be controlled by his simple thought.
His eyes narrowed as the information on the screen changed and he started to read again. It was at that moment that his phone rang. He turned around, looking at the piece of machinery on the other side of the room and raised his hand towards it. The ringing stopped and he picked up a headset placed beside him, and slipped it on his head.
"Hello?" he asked. " . . . No, it's Darren. Charlie's down town," he said, his eyes moving away from his screen. "What I'm doing up at this time? Reading FBI reports. Rather interesting to see how little they know about everything going on with us . . ."
There was a long moment of silence as he just listened.
" . . . Yes, of course we're in," he said finally. "Give me two hours to clean up the place and we're both out. We'll arrive tomorrow."
He hung up and started shutting down his computers.
~~~~~~~~~~
Venice, Italy . . .
Like in Paris, it was raining. The only difference was that it was only raining in small mist-like droplets, and weren't strings of water pouring down from the sky. The streets were empty as the city on water was of a deadly silence, waiting for the sun, and thus people, to come back outside. Boats were covered and parked in front of houses, the sky was enlightened but grey and the cafes were nearly completely empty. This time, the call was made to a fancy hotel, room two-o-seven, to a certain Miss Cartier.
At the moment, she was in the penthouse, taking a bath. Sitting in hot water, covered in white strawberry scented bubble bath. Her long brown hair was tied in a messy twist on the top of her head to prevent it from getting wet, but still, excluded curls fell on her wet shoulders. Her eyes closed, she was savouring the contact of the warm water to her skin.
The ringing of her phone broke her concentration and she frowned, her hand reaching for a towel to clean off the water, and then to grab the white telephone placed next to the tub.
"Yes?" she asked in French, lightly irritated about being disturbed. "Don't call me that, my name's Coral."
She stayed silent, listening, as her eyes widened, before she frowned deeply.
"No!" she exclaimed finally. "But I'm so well here! And we're supposed to lay low, remember? . . . ah . . . Yes. Fine, I'll be there tomorrow, but I want you to know that I'm not exactly pleased about you shortening my vacation."
She hung up, held her breath and plunged under the thick layer of bubble bath.
~~~~~~~~~~
Spain, near Valencia
Gigantic waves dived towards the shore, spraying the sunbathers with cold haze. Teenage surfers were waiting for the best moment to throw themselves behind some of the mountains of water, while others watched further away, sitting near large fans and drinking cold drinks. The weather was beautiful, and yet terrible as the sun seemed to burn four times hotter than on regular days and seeing that the wind was completely missing in action. Some people were even wondering how come the waves could go so high when they weren't helped by a very strong breeze, but no logical answer could be given.
Two teenage girls one wearing a blue bodysuit, the other a red one, were pushing their surfboards towards the water. Both were about eighteen. One was American, the other definitely part Hispanic. The American wearing the red suit had dark crimson hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. She wasn't tall but definitely not short and seemed like the kind of girl that followed fashions as they came and went. There were noticeable scars on both her wrists.
The second girl was slightly smaller than the first, had thick, shoulder length brown hair tied in a ponytail like the other girl and had strange auburn eyes. Her skin was darker than the American and she somehow seemed to be enjoying herself more. Her eyes simply seemed to flicker wildly each time she dived under the water.
"Let's go over there!" the redhead yelled over the noise the water was making. "Give me a strong low one, to start."
The other girl smiled and dived under the water, pulling her board with her. Verifying that no one was looking in her direction, she let go of her board and headed deeper in the water. Once she was a good ten metre downwards, she blew the air out of her lungs, the palm of her hands in front of her. She closed her eyes, concentrating and soon felt the water around her spin softly. She opened her eyes and felt the urge to accept the call and let her powers take control, but she knew it was better for her not too. She looked up, seeing her friend's legs dangle on either side of her board, waiting for a good wave to come.
~Here it goes,~ she thought, directing her palms upwards.
The redhead felt the water beneath her move and a wave soon formed itself. She smiled, lowering herself on the board and starting to push herself towards it. She got up on her feet and followed the water's path, giving her a superb glide through the waves.
The girl controlling the water was now back on her board, giving herself a gigantic strong wave that she took immediately.
Both girls really seemed to enjoy themselves, until the American saw that her friend had mislead one of the waves and that a rather big one was coming straight at her. She panicked, but was too afraid to move as the gigantic wave got closer and closer. Fright activated her mutation and soon enough, the wave reached her level. She closed her eyes and waited for an impact that never came. Seconds passed and sensing that the wave was gone, she opened her eyes. The sea was calm.
What she didn't see was that the wave had split in two when she hit contact with it. The part that had been supposed to hit her had evaporated in a cloud of vapour. Panting a little, she looked around, looking for her friend. She saw her board and the water manipulator not far behind, half of her head poking out of the water. But she wasn't the same anymore. Her body seemed . . . *made* of water.
"Holly . . . your power . . . its . . ." the redhead whispered, hoping the people on the beach hadn't seen her friend yet.
Holly disappeared under the water, only to come back out a few moments later, looking human.
"I think we should leave," she said, seeing that a few of the other surfers and people on the beach were looking in their direction.
The two girls swam to shore and carried their boards through the crowded beach they reached the parking lot, more precisely a white jeep. While Holly tied the boards in the back of their car, the redhead started to dry herself.
What was strange was that she didn't use a towel. He simply stood there, her hair loosing its wetness just like her clothes did. Her power was obvious: she controlled the heat molecules in the ambient air.
A phone rang inside the jeep. The American reached inside the vehicle and grabbed the phone.
"Bliss speaking," she said. " . . . finally, we were wondering how long we needed to stay away . . . sure. We'll be there."
She hung up and turned to Holly.
"We're back in the game," she said.
~~~~~~~~~~
England, London . . .
The sky was lightly clouded by white and greyish cotton-looking clouds and the wind was blowing hard, but the streets were dry, proving that it hadn't rained, and the sun, peeking between the clouds, proved that he wasn't intending to let bad temperature take over the city.
In the middle of the city was a warehouse used as a circus school. Many boys and girls were there, being thought by adults. A group were learning how to juggle on large coloured tubes while wearing a clown costume, others were on the trampoline, but one boy was being given a personal class at the trapeze. A middle-aged woman was standing on the side, shouting him what to do.
The boy in question looked nineteen, wasn't very tall or strong, but was slim and seemed extremely fast and agile. One of his 'particularities' was that he had wild blue hair.
"Jump to the next bar!" the woman shouted, watching the boy obey immediately, swinging to the next pole.
The lady smiled contently as the blue-haired teenager swung himself to the ground.
"Perfect," she said. "We'll take off at forty five feet next time."
She left the platform, leaving the boy alone to practice by himself. He sighed once she was gone, jumped up, leaned on a pole and reached the first trapeze, making it swing until he reached the next one, on which he jumped. He looked down at the ground, and smiled seeing it so far below.
He didn't move, letting his weight balance him from side to side on the trapeze until he heard someone shouting his name from the ground, telling him there was someone on the phone at the reception for him. He thanked the boy and waited until no one was looking. He let go of the trapeze and fell to the floor, on his feet. He was obviously a mutant, to have landed untouched after jumping down fifteen metres.
He walked to the reception, nodding at a few folks, and picked up the receiver that had been left on the table.
"Hello?" He asked, this boy having an English accent in his voice.
Like all the others who had received the call, he stayed silent, listening.
"Did you call the others?" he asked after a while. "Did they accept? . . . Okay, I'll be there. Bye."
~~~~~~~~~~
Calls went on all night, reaching people, mutants, all across the world. Some more were located in Europe, and the others across the U.S. The next day, they were all together in New York, ready to try to conclude their unfinished Business.
~~~~~~~~~~
All was silence in this room. Well, if it could be considered a room, because it was in fact more like a glasshouse. You couldn't see the inside from outside because of the type of glass that had been used, even if there was nothing much to see indoors. There was a desk and a chair, maybe a few stools on which tiny plants were growing, but besides that, there was nothing. This glasshouse was located on the top of a tall building, in the middle of New York, and thus was surrounded by other buildings, some much taller than the one it was standing on, and so it did not receive much light in the morning, or even during the whole day.
A beautiful -well, gorgeous was more the word- woman was sitting in the chair, her feet leaning on the side of the desk, her stunning green eyes vaguely staring at the drops of water hitting the glass panel in front of her. Her brown hair was tied into a high ponytail and fell in light curls slightly under her shoulder blades. She was wearing a black trench coat under which was a leather cat suit and had on high-heeled boots, made of the same material. Her top had a low v-neck and her whole ensemble fitted her so perfectly, it could have been made to measure. Her pierced ears had silver hoops and a single chain was hanging around her neck. Her manicured nails were playing with it absentmindedly, but not even the faintest glimpse of a smile could be visible on her face.
The man with white hair entered the room, but she didn't take her eyes off the glass and didn't pay any attention to anything else.
"I'm pleasantly surprised not to find you in the lab again," he said, walking towards her.
She didn't answer anything, still playing with what was around her neck, maybe slightly more violently at the man's mention.
"It's time," the man continued, and this time, he was given a glance by the woman. "There all here and ready to move out. Come. We need to finish this."
"Tell me, Alex," the woman finally said, after a long moment of silence. "If you were given a chance to erase everything wrong you've done in your life, would you take it?"
The man didn't answer, he just looked at her.
"Would you?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "If we could erase all that we'd done wrong, you know they'd be nothing left of our lives."
She smiled, still looking at the rain.
"Well then, lets go have some 'fun', and clear out our 'business'," she said, finally getting up from her seat, walking to the glass panel.
Alex just stayed where he was, waiting. The woman let go of her chain, pressing both her hands on the cold glass where her reflection could be seen. For a moment, she stared at her reflection, before looking, into the glass, towards the man in the back of the room.
"Yes, let's go," she said making a step backwards.
The man walked out as she turned around, watching him leave before turning towards her reflection again, looking at her face. She passed her fingers on her eyes' reflection, sighing deeply. She closed her eyes for a moment, and reopened them. Now, instead of being green, they were violet, a crazy shade of amethyst.
Growling in an inhuman way, she made a step back, turning to walk towards the exit, holding her chain one last time. Letting it go, she made it visible to see that hanging on the end of the chain was a single dog tag. Written on it were a serial number and a name. A codename, signifying what she was, an alias, given to her by her mutation, a pseudonym she had been given long ago: Foe.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
YES. The guy in London and Bliss, the redhead girl in Spain are two of the tree teenagers that were spying on Nate in chap 40.
Foe is a part of myself, no touchy to her. All the others (*sees Stan Lee poking his head at the door with his baseball bat*) euh, except Gambit, are mine. That means the anonymous guy, Darren, Charlie, Coral, Holly, Bliss, the guy with blue hair and Alexander.