Author's note: Need to take a step back and let the other characters catch up. Sorry if this is back tracking a little bit but need to set up the events about to unfold. Ooooo….that sounded all serious.
PS – WolfKyr, your statement made me curious so I timed a fleeing giraffe and realized that's pretty damn fast. I've tried to be that fast when writing, but my fingers get all cramped. I can only reach about the speed of a runaway orangutan, though I've heard that's still nothing to complain about when it comes to words per minute.
Ah, there, seriousness averted! :-)
***
Chapter Nineteen:
As Rebecca Malloy was meeting the Brotherhood, Jeremy Malloy was meeting his date for dinner. Something had been bothering him for about an hour, though he was not sure what it was. Like a nagging in his mind, a strange warning he knew he could not ignore.
"Excuse me," he said to the woman (the much older woman) whom had accompanied him to the restaurant, "I just need to make a phone call."
The woman nodded, and smiled warmly at him as he left. She did not know him as 'Sid,' a nickname shared only by his family and closest friends. And, if she had known the debonair gentleman was barely in his twenties, and also a mutant, she most likely would have had a much different attitude toward him. However, Jeremy Malloy was a charming, if not a little bit arrogant, man of society who frequented many prestigious parties and restaurants wooing the upper classes of Chicago's ladies.
Sid used this alternate identity to make a name for himself both in the financial world and, more importantly, the technological world. His true passion, other than those of the feminine persuasion, had always been computers and technology. He had developed and sold many designs for aircraft already to various sources, and planned to open his own company as soon as his income capital allowed.
But, Sid also had his other life, his real life. Hidden under a facade of wealth and intelligence, he was still a young man who had family and friends in much less favorable places in the world. And in that family was his sister, his other and opposite self, and usually when the warning feeling filled his mind, it had something to do with her.
Sid approached the restaurant's main host and asked politely to use a private phone. The host escorted him to a quiet back hall and directed him to several small cubicles, each with a desk and phone.
Sid thanked the host and tipped him well, before sitting down and dialing his home phone number quickly. His movements were smooth and solid, beautiful but hard as the glass he could control. He ran one hand reflexively through his blonde hair and felt his heart begin to pound as the phone rang again and again.
Something's wrong, he mind insisted, but Sid hung up and dialed Rebecca's cell phone. She could still be out, she has late nights at the Library sometimes, and tonight...
Tonight, there's something wrong, that inner voice insisted again, as the new number rang, She can't get to the phone…
Sid slammed the receiver back into its base and moved quickly back into the main lobby of the restaurant. His hand was in his pocket, flexing a small ball of glass as he walked. He could feel heat there and his gripped it in his palm tightly.
As he reached the host's platform, he smiled up at the man, struggling to keep his cool demeanor.
"I'm afraid an emergency has just come up," he said and the host nodded, "Please see that my lady friend is well taken care of."
"Of course, Mr. Malloy," the host said with a gracious smile and headed in the direction of the table.
Sid's face melted from one of professional grace to a nervous and worried child. He knew something was wrong, he never questioned how he knew, but he knew. Him and Becca, they always know where they are, and they always know if something is wrong. Call it instinct or ESP or whatever else, they always just know.
She's at home, he thought as he headed out the door, his mind racing with the precision of a machine, Becca, if you can hear me…I know.
As Sid walked past the large display windows of the restaurant, the glass rippled and fogged. When a renovation crew arrived the next day to make repairs, the windows would still be viscous and pliable and they would have no idea what made the glass so unstable.
***
As the Lady Deathstrike stepped out the front door, she only took a few steps before she paused. She glanced around the dark street warily and inhaled deeply through her nose. There was a scent in the air she recognized, and a vicious grin spread across her face.
The Wolverine. She was not sure how it was possible but she had no doubt that he was nearby.
Quietly, moving like a learned predator, she made her way around to the back of the house. She glanced at the ground and noted several sets of fresh footprints leading across the lawn.
Deathstrike peered around one corner, and saw five figures in the darkness. Magneto had explained to her about those who followed Charles Xavier, how they interfered with his plans to make the world better for mutants. They were a danger to her leader and their mission.
But, in this moment, her eyes locked on only one of them. They were facing away from her, speaking in low voices as they tried to see into the dark house. She approached slowly, and smiled again as she heard the Wolverine sniffing the air.
That's right, she thought, Remember, you son of a bitch. Out of all those you have killed…remember my scent...Because I'll be the one who kills you.
***
"They're inside," Wolverine said confidently. The other three X-Men, and one Cajun trainee, lingered outside the dark house and debated their next move.
Iceman stared up at the charred windows of the home with a stony expression. He had been well trained over the past eight months, but he doubted any amount of training could have prepared him for this first encounter with the Brotherhood. He had met Magneto and Mystique before, and knew what to expect from them. He had even learned the most evasive techniques for dealing with the powers of other mutants loyal to Magneto.
However, the second floor had obviously been damaged by fire, and he wondered if John Allerdyce, now simply referred to as Pyro by his former teachers and mentors, had been the cause of the flames they had seen from the jet.
Cyclops turned to face Wolverine, and frowned, "How many?"
"All of them," he replied. Wolverine glared through the dark windows with his hand clenched into fists.
Iceman looked over at the ferial man with trepidation, his cool exterior betrayed by his own anxiety. His own hands suddenly felt very cold, very heavy; the burden of his mutation had not weighed on him this heavily since the abrupt departure from his family on the day before Alkalai Lake. The last day he had considered Pyro a friend.
"All of them," Storm repeated softly, "The Professor was right about Magneto not wasting his time getting the Brotherhood back to full strength."
"So," Iceman asked quickly, "There're four of them?"
Storm looked at him sternly, but not without a measure of sympathy.
"Five," she corrected him and then turned back towards Cyclops, "I doubt they've realized we're here…"
"You sure about that?" Wolverine said darkly, sniffing the air and frowning.
"I think we would know if they knew," Storm said, thinking back on Liberty Island, "Killing is a game they like to play…"
Cyclops shook his head, "Yeah, but if the Professor's right about their motivations tonight, I don't think their here to harm those kids, just acquire them…"
Wolverine listened to the others vaguely, and suddenly focused on something else. It was familiar, dangerous, what his keen senses were warning him about. It was the same sense he had in that abandoned base in the Colorado Rockies. A passing scent…a presence…like a ghost from his past…
"Shit," he said softly and stepped away from the house.
"Logan, what is it?" Cyclops asked as Wolverine unsheathed his claws.
"I'm not sure," he lied and then looked at the other X-Man and continued, "Go…Do what we're here to do…I'm gonna watch this side."
Cyclops frowned, but nodded. There was no time to argue here. He lead the others around the corner and Wolverine turned back to face the shadows. The yard was quiet and he walked toward the front of the house slowly.
The wind was blowing softly and the scents in the air lingered. The peaceful night was suddenly betrayed by a very familiar noise. Metal against metal, opening upon itself, such a delicate sound compared to the harsh tearing of his own claws, but no less dangerous.
It's impossible, he thought, and then added cynically, Don't think that, bub. Irony hates you…
He heard a footstep and spun viciously around as figure, no longer a ghost or memory, stepped in front of him and smiled. She had not changed in form from the woman he had battled at Alkalai Lake, but in her eyes he saw the hunger of the beast, and any trace of Stryker's caged slave had disappeared.
"Hello, Brother," Lady Deathstrike announced in a clear tone, the first time Logan had heard her speak. She was flexing her fingers as far as her long adamantium claws would allow with wild anticipation.
"You're alive…" he said, almost to confirm the fact for himself. She laughed, her voice almost melodic, yet so full of hatred it seemed hardly possible that both sounds came from the same throat.
"You're right…" she agreed.
A series of explosions could be heard from within the home, as the other X-Men and Brotherhood members began to clash.
Deathstrike regarded him for a long moment, the vicious smiled fading from her face. She clicked her metallic fingertips together rhythmically, setting the beat, counting down, to the tempo of her own heart. Wolverine could hear both sounds becoming faster and when the Lady spoke again, her voice was a low growl.
"This time, you'll be the one who dies," she said and sprung from the ground toward him.
Wolverine braced himself for impact and swung his fist toward her as she lunged. Deathstrike landed in front of him, her long claws meeting his own with the screech of grinding metal. They held a moment when the torn flesh of their fists touched, standing face to face, each equal in strength and power, made to be death's most effective purveyors.
Deathstrike brought her legs up and shoved Wolverine away by his chest; their momentary stand off ended as she lunged at him again. As they struggled, another weapon, made by the same madman who gave them their claws, was approaching their companions.