Part Five

Dark Designs





Awakening in a dark place, cool air and a thin sickly mist rolling across the floor, wasn't

Brennan's idea of fun. Nor did he like the sight of the metal security door in front of him or the

bars over the only window. A dull pain resonated from his spine, just above his broad shoulders.

He reached back and felt alloyed steel and plastic. Rounded edges with sharp bits on back. It

wasn't the first subdermal governor he'd had on him, but something about waking up to the damn

thing made him angry.

Groaning as he moved, Brennan rose to his knees, then to his feet. He swayed for a

moment but quickly steadied himself. His head ached terribly. "Man, what hit me?"

"Want the short version or the Letterman List?"

From nearby shadows, someone had spoken. Turning toward that voice, a grin formed on

Brennan's lips. "Adam? Good to see you're okay. Not so good to see you're stuck in here with

me. I was hoping for a surprise rescue."

A wry smile on his face, Adam stepped closer, entering the cell's meager light. He moved

slowly, favoring the right side of his body. Dry blood stained his right pant's leg in a disturbingly

large swath. Seeing his friend and teammate's eyes go wide with concern, Adam shook his head.

"It's not as bad as it looks. I'm going to limp for a while, but I'll heal."

"Good to hear." Brennan said as he turned his eyes back toward the only visible door.

"Have they been around since we got snatched? The last thing I remember, goons with guns were

kicking our butts." He rubbed at the side of his head as he spoke, grimacing slightly at the dull,

resonating pain. It might have been new or it might have been a recurrence from his earlier

injuries. Either way, Brennan felt awful.

A sardonic tone came to Adam's expression. "Our hosts," the older man said as he

stumbled closer, "haven't bothered to ask if we liked the accommodations, no." He snorted.

"Maybe someone hung a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door."

"Yeah. Probably."

Adam shook his head. "Sheckt's people did a damn good job catching us. Their tactics

were perfect, as if they were expecting us. Maybe the bastard has a Psionic on the payroll, not

much else makes sense." He staggered toward the nearest wall and leaned against it, taking a

deep breath as he did. "Can't decide if my leg was an accident or someone's idea of a funny

joke." Another snort and a raised eyebrow. "Considering how vicious these bastards are, I'm

leaning toward joke."

"Ha, ha. Tell me another one."

"I can't get your governor off. Not without some kind of tools."

"Really big ha, ha."

"Brennan, I'm serious."

He grinned, "I thought you were Adam."

With a deep sigh, Adam pushed himself away from the wall. "Get serious. We're in deep

here. They took our comlinks, you've got a subdermal governor, and we have no idea if they're

going to keep us alive long enough for the others to rescue us." He paused, the color suddenly

leaving his face. "Oh no. Emma."

"Yeah. We called her." Brennan closed his eyes, wincing as pain filled his body. Reeling

sideways, he almost hit the floor before Adam caught him.

"Here. Rest, try not to move." Gently, he set the younger man down, careful to keep his

head steady. Concern ruled his features. With practiced movements, he drew back Brennan's

eyelid and watched the pupil. "I think you might have a mild concussion. Just sit here and wait.

That's all we can do now. Emma's probably already on her way. She's smart. She won't let them

catch her off guard and even if they did, she's tough. She'll be okay. She will."

Brennan chuckled, though it sounded much like a stuttering gasp. "I guess I know where

I stand on your list of concerns." He waved away Adam's beginning of a response. "Don't. It's

cool. You should be worried about her. You do love her, right?"

"More than I ever thought possible."

A smile formed on Brennan's face. "I wasn't sure I believed you before. Now, I know I

do. You and Emma." He laughed, his chest jerking in pain, face turning paler. For a few

moments, he said nothing. When color came back, along with strength, he sat up straighter and

smirked. "Saw it coming. Believe it or not, I saw it coming. When she didn't go for Jesse or me,

I knew. She'd go for you." He reached up, hand fumbling around, before finding his right temple.

"My head really hurts."

"You're going to be okay. We've just got to wait for help to come. She will come for us

Brennan. Emma won't let us die here. Together, we've gotten out a lot worse situations than this,

right?"

"Yeah. Right."

Adam tried to smile bravely. "Could you try saying that with at least a little hope, my

friend? We've done the impossible before. What's one more time?"

From behind them came the sound of metal scraping ponderously across metal. Adam

turned around, his eyes falling on four men standing loosely grouped together like a pack of lethal

wolves. Each held a large caliber machine gun and was dressed in a uniform, the cut much like

army surplus.

At the center of the pack was a man. He smiled coldly. "Under any other circumstances,

I'd appreciate such talent for escaping unpleasant situations. Unfortunately, Mr. Kane, I am very

much displeased by your team's performance so far. I was expecting much more of a challenge."

The man came into the cell, flanked by his guards. Behind them, two more men carried an

unconscious blonde woman. Without preamble, they heaved her into the cell, where she rolled

slightly before laying face up.

"Shalimar!" Brennan gasped and nearly got himself killed when he leaped forward to

make sure she was alright. Only the man who'd spoken, the seeming leader of these wolves,

prevented the tragedy by giving a simple hand gesture. That gesture kept hair triggers untouched,

death sheathed. It was easy to believe that an equally uncomplicated motion would have resulted

in bloodshed.

On the floor, Shalimar was breathing, but she was beaten and bloody. Streaks of

darkening crimson stained everything. Her clothes were torn slightly, which nearly prompted

Brennan to a suicidal impulse before he realized the damage was superficial, probably the result of

being dragged around. He carefully examined her for any injuries invisible to nature's optical

prototype, the Mark I Eyeball. No broken bones that he could feel, no signs of internal bleeding,

although there were terrible bruises already forming. There didn't seem to be any permanent

damage, not even simple scarring. Still, as his finger gently touched her face, Brennan felt a wave

of homicidal rage. Though she was alive, Shalimar had been tortured and nearly killed.

Tears temporarily blurred his vision as he set his hate-filled gaze on the man. "Why? Who

the hell are you people? Why are doing this? What the hell do you want?" Brennan asked, his

fury barely in check. He would have risen and grabbed the man's shirt collar, or maybe just

strangled him, if not for the guards that kept their guns trained on him.

For his part, the man simply shrugged. "Though it might be a cliched answer, I have to

say it." He dispassionately smiled, the countenance one of absolute unfeeling evil. His eyes met

Brennan's and then twitched to Adam, who's hands were clenched into fists at his side. He

turned, walking back toward the one door out. Just before he reached the threshold of the cell,

five chilling words were carried over his shoulder, as disturbing in their message as their delivery

in an emotionless discourse. "I was just following orders."

Pack leader and his loyal guards started to leave.

"Wait! Are you Sheckt?" Adam called out, stepping forward.

Before he could get an answer, two of the bodyguards were slamming their rifle butt's

into his stomach and face. He went down hard, so much of his weight falling on his injured leg

that he cried out through clenched teeth. Brennan didn't leave Shalimar's side to help, because

another guard had swung a rifle into his head. He lay beside his friend, teammate, and lovely

companion, just as unconscious.

Adam coughed and tasted blood. Hurt came from everywhere at once, tearing and

groping his sanity. He shoved himself up on one arm, tried to show some defiance. Out of the

corner of his eye, he saw a guard check Brennan for a pulse.

If the younger man lived through all of his head trauma without some kind of lasting

damage, it would be a miracle.

Maybe it already was.

Groaning, Adam tried to turn onto his side, desperately hoping to make some attempt to

stop what was happening. He was their leader, their friend. "Leave them alone." He hissed

through teeth clenched and wet with blood. Immediately, someone came forward and kicked him

in the face, loosening a few of his teeth. Another guard slammed his rifle down on his wounded

leg, prompting another gasping cry. He tried to strike back at his attackers, but they pummeled

him with blows. Rifle stocks rained down along with metal toed boots to the spine and guts. As

Adam gathered himself into the fetal position, a loud click filled the room. A guard pointed his

rifle at arguably the world's greatest brain.

Expecting to die, Adam chose to remember Emma's beautiful face as his last memory.

He wished they'd had more time.

"Stop." The cold command froze the kill shot. Having spoken, the guarded man turned

back to Adam, watched him spit blood. With deathly cold eyes, he glared down. "My master

isn't here yet. I am just a servant, a messenger." A gesture sent his bodyguards filing out of the

cell ahead of him.

Before following them, the man returned to Adam's side and knelt down. He grasped one

of his prisoner's ears and violently twisted, bringing a scream of pain. "My name is Duncan Ladd.

And that, my dear Mr. Kane, was the message."





*************************************************************************





As Katherine left the garage and entered Sanctuary proper, she found herself stopping in

mid step, awed into stunned shock. "Wow," she said as Jesse and Charlotte followed her inside,

"this place is amazing. Do you really live here?"

"Sometimes I ask myself the very same question." Jesse said with a slight smile. He

walked over to a table and drew two wheeled chairs. "You two lovely ladies sit while I try to get

a hold of someone. Hopefully, whatever's glitching in the system, my superior brain will be able to

figure it out." A weak grin took hold of his face. "Put your trust in me, I've got an honest face."

"You're pretty cheery for a guy who's entire team seems to be missing." Charlotte said

quietly as she sat down.

Jesse turned back to her. "Brennan's first rule of dealing with a bad situation is to keep

your sense of humor. You'll need it." He turned back to the communications computer and

started to remove the side panel. Guilt made his stomach cringe. Before they'd left to save

Charlotte, he and Shalimar had heard the system give forth a horrible sound. Later, they'd been

unable to contact anyone with their comlinks. On the way to Sanctuary, Jesse was certain his ring

had made a sound, as if trying to give him a signal, but it hadn't lasted more than a second.

Though he could not be sure, he had a terrible suspicion that he was to blame for the

problem. Ever since Adam and Emma returned from the future, ever since she gave him

Charlotte's book, he'd been spending hours reading. Hours that broke into scheduled

maintenance and stole away sleep.

Every word of the book Hope, every nuance, kept him rapt because of it's message. The

story of falling down into despair only to rise and work to make amends. Now that Jesse knew

who had written it, he was surprised by the courage she'd displayed in putting her pain into

words. The last chapters were so brutally honest, so bitingly self-deprecating, that Jesse could

scarcely reconcile his early ideal of Charlotte Cooke with the woman who'd written this book.

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze falling on her as she sat quietly beside Katherine.

She was still the same dark-haired and dark-eyed young woman who'd once struck out against

him and Mutant X. She wore the same sort of clothes as before, down to the open faux fur coat

she'd taken from her bags. The way she spoke with a dark warmth and moved with an

unconscious slink remained mirrored to memory. When he stole a glimpse of her, her soft smile

still held a trace of both sadness and seduction.

And she was still attractive.

Very attractive, actually.

The way she walked and talked, that feisty wildcat side of her personality, it put him in

mind of a less serious, more fun loving version of Shalimar. The slinky-sexy-seductive aura was

especially similar. She gave that off in megawatt doses. Even now, having faced a horrifying

tragedy, when their eyes met, there was a come hither quality to her gaze that left him feeling

somewhat breathless.

Charlotte's lips twitched up into a one-sided smile, as if silently asking if it were really

okay to be happy after what had happened. The question was plain in her eyes. She wanted an

answer, needed one, from him.

For the time being, Jesse just nodded toward her. He didn't have any answers. He was

too busy trying not to think about all the things that had gone wrong since the morning. His

attentions on the computer, he had an image of Charlotte's face when she caught him watching

her. 'How long was I staring,' Jesse wondered as he removed the access panel and stuck his

head inside the jungle of wiring and cooling pipes. 'Probably a lot longer than I should have been.'

He poked around inside the machine. A few circuits seemed burned. Several wires were

disconnected. A stench of ozone permeated the stagnant air.

A blush colored his cheeks. His negligence was to blame for some of the problems. There

were shorts everywhere. Yet, the main system had obviously been repaired, albeit in a somewhat

slipshod and perfunctory manner. It would hold for a while but not forever.

As he backed out of the machine, someone tapped his shoulder. Turning, he found

Charlotte, her softly brown eyes focused on him. Her face, very close to his. "So, what's the

problem? Why can't you call anyone on that all-in-one ring of yours?" Leaning against the side of

the computer, she might have smiled, but the expression was very faint. "It is just a problem with

this machine, right?"

Jesse was touched by the worry in her voice, since it could only have been for the missing

members of Mutant X. "Actually, it looks like whatever was wrong, someone fixed it. Probably

Emma, since I taught her how a while back." He grabbed the heavy metal access panel he'd

removed to gain access to the computer's innards and quickly replaced it. "Or, at least, she fixed

most of it. Some of our systems are still down."

"Well, then, we've got to get them back up. Sooner we find out what happened to the

others and where everyone is, the better. If that psycho Ladd has Shalimar. . . well, I don't really

know what that means, but it won't be good for her." Charlotte ran a hand through her long,

brunette locks. "Just thinking about him and his partner, what they did. . . what they almost did, it

makes me feel cold."

Jesse touched her face. The impulsive act was as much a surprise from him as it was for

her. "You're safe now. And we're going to find the others."

She met his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah. Trust me."

Charlotte's eyes glimmered in the light of Sanctuary. They bore into Jesse, seemingly

touching his soul. Suddenly, she started talking. "You said it was a long story, that you'd tell me

everything when we got here. Quoting my book, calling me wildcat. . . Jesse, how did you know

things about me I never told anyone. Ever." As she spoke, Charlotte gently grasped his arm.

"You want me to trust you, I need to know." Desperation and longing were in her eyes.

The only answer Jesse gave was to reach into his pocket and draw out a single sheet of

folded paper. He held it out. After staring at it curiously, she took it. The edges were worn

rough, she wondered how many times his stare had passed over this document. How many times

had he read it's words, whatever they were?

In silence, she unfolded the paper one more time. Her eyes immediately went wide. They

rose to meet Jesse's own.

"This is my handwriting. What the hell is this?"

He let out a slow sigh. "Two weeks ago, Adam and Emma were sent into the future. I

know that sound's insane," as he spoke these words emphatically, he reached out and seized her

arm, "but you have to believe it's the truth. That's where I got the letter from." Releasing

Charlotte's arm, he drew a steading breath. "Emma brought it back. You. . . well, the future you,

gave her the book Hope. Hidden in the book was that letter. Your letter." Again, he met her eyes

and something powerful passed between them.

It was a deeply Dickensesque sensation, as if they were sensing the shadows of things that

might have been, though without a shadowy spirit's help. For one brief instant, each saw the

other with haunted eyes and the faintest signs of aging. Thirty years of desperate battles for

survival, yet time had left barely a mark upon them.

The vision lasted no more than a second. When it passed, the letter was once more the

object of Charlotte's attention. First, she read the words in stunned silence. Then, as if to force

herself into believing that the letter's contents were real, she spoke them aloud.

"Dear Jesse," she glanced at him for a moment before returning to the words, "I know

that, ever since your father's betrayal, you've felt alone and useless. At night, you spend long

hours wishing for a purpose, praying for reason. It's why you joined Mutant X. But a purpose in

duty isn't enough. I know you wish for something to live for, Jesse."

Charlotte drew a deep breath. She knew the script was her own, but what now came in

the letter far exceeded that simple revelation. "I was your purpose and you were mine. We found

each other in the darkness, in this world of might have been. We completed each other's souls."

Another breath. "I know that, when the machine is ready, Adam and Emma will go back

and all that I have known for the past thirty years will cease to exist." She waited for a heartbeat,

wanting Jesse to say something, anything, but he was silent. Her mind swirled with questions, ten

thousand and more. Only the words before her might yield answers, yet the letter frightened her.

It wasn't meant for this world and what it spoke of was yet to be real. "I guess I'm selfish. I'm

spending what seem like the last moments of my life writing this letter. I don't want us to have

never happened. You were always the only man who ever made me feel like I mattered. And that

I was loved."

A tear slide down Charlotte's cheek. Though she'd never admit it, the words of the

woman who might have been affected her deeply. By what she was reading, this future self would

never be. Her heart ached for the woman that existed only now in her hands, in a final message to

a past that was this Charlotte's present. What had she felt thirty years forward as she wrote?

Fear? Resignation? Or some sense of hope that the joys of her life might be repeated if this letter

was read and taken to heart?

"I don't know if this letter will change anything. Thirty years ago, the only contact we'd

had was purely adversarial. Although, I did think you were very sexy." She laughed, pressing her

free hand to her mouth as the mirth nearly turned to despondency. "Look me up. In the darkness,

you were my light. Maybe I could be yours again. No fate but what we make, right?"

The very last part of the letter came as she folded it back and held it out to Jesse. "Yours

in time, your wildcat Charlotte."

Without a word, Jesse slipped the letter into his pocket. "That's what I read two weeks

ago. When you called, I knew I had to save you, no matter the cost. I'm not sure if we could

have any kind of relationship in this time. Maybe it would be crazy to even try." He sighed and

shook his head. "Yeah, crazy's the right word. The letter, the dark future, all of it's insane. But

no matter how nuts my life is, I know one thing for certain."

"What?" Charlotte asked quietly.

Jesse reached out and took her hands in his. "I want to know you." He paused. "This

must all seem strange to you, huh?"

She sighed. "Yeah, it is pretty weird. Kinda cool though." The tone of Charlotte's voice

held equal parts longing and uncertainty. Ever since they first met, she'd thought about Jesse.

Now, this discovery of a future spent together, it spun her world upside down for the second time

in less than twenty-four hours. She wasn't sure she could take another surprise.

"I'm sorry to bother the two of you, but I need to tell you something."

At the sound of Katherine's voice, they turned to look at her.

Jesse smiled.

Without warning, Katherine Bowden launched a spin kick. Driving her flat heeled shoe

into his stomach, she grabbed Jesse's shoulders and vaulted over him like a champion gymnast,

twisting to face his back. Moving almost faster than the eye could follow, she reached into an

ankle holster and drew a subdermal governor implanting device. It thrummed to life easily.

The snap of the machine unfroze Charlotte. She turned toward the control console for the

communications computer, desperately trying to send an emergency signal.

Before she could do anything, something sharp stabbed into her neck and sent a current of

pain throughout her spine. Charlotte yelped and tried to turn. She wanted to strike her attacker,

fight fast before it was too late.

The torment came instantly. No defense was possible when your blood was on fire.

Agony exploded within her, a dark blazing inferno splashed with electric gasoline. Slavery in

suffering. Domination on demand. How could anyone fight against what had once been the

weapon of choice for the GSA? The answer was simple, a cold equation in the devil's arithmetic.

Subdermal governor, plus mutant, equals victory every time. She had no chance once that vile

metal predator penetrated the tender flesh of her neck and spent it's unholy barbs in her tender

spinal cord.

Charlotte gasped when the pain ended. Her nerves were misfiring, causing sudden jerking

spasms. Her pulse had become arrhythmic briefly. If Katherine had kept it up for only a second

longer, she would have had a heart attack. Instead, she got to enjoy the floor.

Towering over, barely visible, Katherine Bowden used Mutant X's communications

system. Oblivion was creeping closer, drawing Charlotte's vision into a narrow tunnel, now a tiny

circle, but voices followed her as she drifted toward a silent darkness.

"Bowden reporting, I've captured the Cooke woman and Mr. Kilmartin. Requesting a

transport at the following coordinates."

She typed something, then turned and stared down at Charlotte.

"Nothing personal."

Cold laughter followed Charlotte into unconsciousness.





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Gabriel Ashlocke lounged in repose. For the first time since awaking from his unwelcome

slumber, he felt truly at peace. His naked flesh glistened with the fresh sweat of exertion. Kelly's

body was draped over his chest, one hand stretched up, her fingers curled in his long ebony hair.

He could feel her heart beating contentedly, a rhythmic pulse feeding an unquenchable hunger for

adoration and reverence. She was breathing even, sweet fairy sighs, sleeping the sleep of the truly

innocent. As usual, Gabriel had exhausted his favorite. The moment felt perfect.

Far and wide, the members of the Strand were out searching for new recruits. He had

ordered them to do so upon returning to his museum base. Being good little sycophants, they'd

obeyed without hesitation. By morning, he expected to have nearly doubled the size of his forces,

a necessity given the half formed plans of revenge that swirled within his all-knowing skull. So

much insolence needed payback.

Gabriel rose reluctantly from the nest of pillows that had surrounded and concentrated his

sexual indulgence of mere moments ago. Naked, he walked to a large wardrobe, an antique

affair that predated Columbus. Though a god, Gabriel still felt chilled by the drafts that whispered

through the building, thus he cloaked himself in a robe of an imperious royal hue. The day was

just beginning to wan outside. Afternoon had given way to early evening.

His stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten for some time.

Not food anyway.

A twinge in his chest made him grunt slightly, vague grimace clouding his countenance.

"Must have pulled a muscle." He muttered, glancing back at Kelly, who shivered now that she

was alone on the pillows. "Worth it though."

Gabriel passed through an open doorway, leaving his bedroom for the wide and dimly lit

corridors of the museum. All along the hall hung priceless works of art left behind when the

museum was abandoned; pieces of sculpture stood sentinel on all sides. His eyes drifted from

one piece of antiquity to another. Each item was superb. He'd learned their pedigrees and could

recite them chapter and verse.

It pleased him to know things that others didn't. Gods were supposed to be omnipotent

after all and he was a divine being. Their value also pleased him. Every one was his, and through

them, financial power.

"Erh!" Gabriel gritted his teeth so hard that he tasted blood. Pain flooded his chest for

just a second, then ceased completely. It left him feeling weak. He stumbled for a few steps,

then regained his usual self-assured swagger. "Damn Kelly. Whatever muscle I pulled, it's her

fault for being so flexible."

He chuckled at that for a moment.

An office had been converted into a kitchen months ago by his followers. Gabriel walked

in, stretching tentatively. His stomach felt hollow, bottomless. He made himself a sandwich.

Before he took the first bite, a fit of laughter overcame him.

"What an image. Gabriel Ashlocke, god among insects, making himself a sandwich. Don't

I have people who do this sort of thing for me?" He shook his head and ran his fingers through

his long hair. "Maybe I should wake Kelly up. Let her enshrine this thing."

Still smiling, he ate until not even a single crumb remained. Unsatisfied, he raided the

supply cupboard and devoured someone's store of chocolate bars and peanut butter cups. He

flipped on a monitor set across from him on a card table before plopping down in a folding chair

with a box of cereal in hand. Munching contentedly, Gabriel passed from channel to channel

before settling on a news program.

The woman on the screen looked far too young to be a highschool senior, let alone a

national news anchor. "Good evening. I'm Eve Frost with your evening news." Regardless, she

seemed competent, speaking of tragedy and terror with a disturbingly pleasant demeanor. Her

hair was neck length, sweet wheat colored yet streaked naturally with a darker auburn; wisps

curled forward toward her slight chin. In her chocolate eyes, Gabriel could see a singleness of

vision and drive, tempered with a certain moral ambiguity and apathy. She seemed focused on

him as he snacked.

"I see why they hired her," he said around a mouthful. "The lady could get a dead man's

motor running." He glanced out into the hallway. "Hm. Maybe I will wake Kelly. Another round

might be fun."

First, Gabriel decided to watch Eve's news report. It would help get him in the mood.

She seemed to be looking into his eyes as she spoke. "Law enforcement sources are

calling today's attacks acts of domestic terrorism. A warehouse belonging to Dr. David Clark

was burned down early this morning. Witnesses claim to have seen two jets leave the area, but no

one can confirm." Her face vanished as footage from the site appeared. Fire raged high into the

air, like the devil's fingers beckoning all downward. Eve's voice came through the speakers,

clear and honeyed. "Remarkably, no one was hurt in this stunning display of carnage.

Unfortunately, that cannot be said of what followed only a few hours later."

An image of Clark's mansion, or the ruins of it, filled the screen as large as life. "This was

once a stunningly beautiful estate, home to Dr. Clark and his daughter Tiffany. More than a dozen

people died here. Among them, Tiffany Clark, whose remains were identified only with the help of

the latest DNA analysis software from Syria Systems Supply. Also killed were numerous private

security guards, hired that very day to protect Dr. Clark and his family. Only two of the guards

survived. Lenny Franks and Thadeus Owens were barely alive when police found them, trapped

inside the charred remains of their mobile headquarters. Viewers may remember Franks from our

coverage of a July incident in Tel Aviv. Both men are expected to recover."

Eve reappeared on the screen. Her brown eyes glimmered in the overhead studio lights

and her face seemed to glow warmly, lending an ironically angelic sense to an otherwise gruesome

broadcast. "Dr. Clark is said to have had ties to numerous Neo-Nazi organizations and was

rumored to have played a part in a recent terrorist plot involving a genetically engineered toxin. It

was believed that. . ." The woman's voice trailed off as someone came on screen from the side,

handing her several sheets of paper.

After glancing over them, and sharing a few words with the man before he left, she turned

back to the cameras. "I'm sorry for that delay, but we've just received news that the body of Dr.

David Clark has been identified at Jacob's Memorial hospital. Apparently he died there several

hours ago. Though a security guard was unable to recall his arrival, a receptionist claims to have

seen Clark arrive in the company of an as yet unidentified man."

Gabriel started to smile, recalling the doctor fondly for curing him, but he ended up

choking on a handful of cereal. As he coughed, he stared at the screen. A grainy image in black

and white was sharing space with Eve Frost's lovely face. Though inferior in quality, the film was

clear enough to identify the man calmly leaving the hospital.

Under any other circumstances, Gabriel would have been more than pleased to share space

with such an attractive woman.

"This is footage of the unidentified male as he left the building. Sources inside Jacob's

Memorial have stated that there was evidence of several drugs being combined and they have

asked that the man turn himself in immediately for evaluation, as several of the chemicals in

question were poisonous."

Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest. "Poison? No, that's not possible!" He rose from his

chair so quickly it toppled backward. The sound reverberated throughout the museum, the echo

carrying all the way to his bedroom and Kelly's ear. He didn't care.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Clark had played him. He'd pretended to be upset at what he was doing. Maybe he

believed that once restored, even temporarily, that his enemy would rid himself of the poison.

Even now, something black oozed through Gabriel's blood, killing him while making him feel

good, designer drugs burning all to ash. Pain started to form, an opera of agony building to a

stunning crescendo. . . the death of a god. Gabriel felt dizzy with fear and revelation. How could

he have been so blind?

Unlike the first two times, this sudden explosion of torment held nothing back. It clutched

his heart and squeezed so hard, he knew in an instant that Dr. David Clark was going to have the

last laugh, watching from hell with his daughter in his arms.

Gabriel's legs buckled beneath him.

The floor met his body with a powerful thwack.

Eyes squinting, breath coming in quick gasps, he could not move.

He tried desperately to force his body to heal itself. His cells did not respond. Gabriel

could feel a strange icy sensation spreading throughout his entire body, beginning with his toes

and finger tips. Aware of his body's every function, he knew that death was coming. A natural

survival mechanism was sending blood to his brain to slow the seemingly inevitable.

In a burst of strength, Gabriel managed to stand up. His entire left side was numb, that leg

almost useless, but he still stood. Arrogance had vanished with the pain. Blinded with insight, he

knew that his only hope was to reach the medical lab Harrison had set up long ago.

He managed only a single step before collapsing, one arm stretched toward the doorway.

One step closer to hell, though he'd never before thought himself food for infernal flames. Death

neared. With it came insight.

He was damned. A dark soul. Nothing but a pretender to power. "Help me," he

whispered desperately, raising his right shaking hand, reaching for the thing he'd never given.

"Help me."

When Kelly came into the kitchen wearing a white nightgown, kneeling down and taking

his hand in hers, he thought for a moment that she was an angel. Gabriel wept at the sight of her.

Pain brought even more tears. "Clark." He groaned, the effort to speak taking more than he

could imagine. "Poison."

Kelly had tears in her eyes too. Even she could tell it was hopeless. Still, she knew that

wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Don't worry, it will be alright. I promise." The lie was sweet.

Honey on wounds that could not be sealed.

Then, suddenly, the lie became truth.

Men and women appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Kelly screamed and raised her

hands, obviously intending to make a wall of flames to protect her master. One of the women

held a rifle. The weapon made an odd popping sound. Gabriel saw a small dart with a bit of red

fluff on one end embed itself in Kelly's arm. She lost consciousness instantly.

A man caught her just before she hit the floor. "This one's going to be out for a while.

She'll have a hell of a headache but she'll live."

"What about Ashlocke?" The question came from a familiar man in a white lab coat. He

was the mysterious informer who'd given Gabriel the letter with Dr. Clark's address and a double

helix symbol made from two S's. Now, he stood over him, scratching his chin beard. His bulging

toad eyes fixed on the fallen god and his twisted angel.

Clipped to his lab coat was a new piece to the puzzle. An identification security card,

inscribed with the name KING, JAMES R. Gabriel read it just before his vision failed.

"Can't be sure. Look's like that reporter had her story straight." This came from the

woman who'd shot Kelly. She was kneeling beside him, checking his pulse. Her skin was dusky

yet faint; her hair was jet black and flowed around her face like the wings of a soul ferrying

sparrow. "Clark must have administered a cocktail with some sort of time release element. Too

bad he's not around to tell us how he did it. He was a damn good scientist. Loco, but brilliant."

The Latina doctor gave Gabriel a shot of bluish green ooze. "This should stabilize him

until we can reach our base. Tell Mr. Darroch to teleport us back."

"Right." The mysterious James King put a cell phone to his ear and spoke a few words

Gabriel couldn't follow. An instant later, he felt as if he were being yanked upward. He closed

his eyes for a heartbeat and opened them not on the familiar museum but seemingly on another

world. Machines were everywhere. Dozens of people were walking about with clipboards, file

folders and all manner of sundry lab equipment.

"Dr. Guevara, please take Mr. Ashlocke to a recovery room. I'll make sure the higher ups

don't get curious. McCandless has been breathing down my neck ever since I started handing

R&D my 'discoveries.' If he comes down here, tell him those rooms are off limits. If he insists on

taking a peek, kill him."

"Sir, what about this woman?" The man carrying Kelly asked. "Should we put her in

recovery too or give her to analysis?"

Gabriel gave his best shot trying to ask them to leave his favorite alone, but he could only

gurgle out a load of gibberish. Regardless, Mr. King smiled. "It would seem Mr. Ashlocke

wants her spared. Put her in Iso-Lab Four. I want subdermal governor's on both of them. And

Guevara, make sure he lives. Our leader thinks he's important. She wants him happy."

"Whatever." Dr. Guevara said with a shrug. "As long as I get paid, my day's bright and

shiny." Gesturing for some of the men to help her move Gabriel, she turned down a hallway,

leading the way to a nearby treatment area. She looked down at her special charge as he

watched others taking Kelly away.

"Don't worry about your bed bunny. We'll take fine care of her."

Helpless, dying, the situation struck him as perfectly appropriate. He was once again at

the mercy of ordinary humans.

He hoped these people wouldn't stuff him back in a pod.

He hoped.





*************************************************************************





Emma hoped she was wrong about Katherine. Ever since she'd broken into Devon's mind

and found the image of his own wife commanding him to go out and kill, her thoughts had been

desperate attempts to find fault with the vision. She wasn't infallible. Unlike a true telepath, a

telempath more often picked up on visual representations of feelings rather than real events.

Though she'd never mistaken one for the other before, Emma couldn't shake an instinctive feeling

that there was more to this ever spiraling situation than she knew.

Beside her, Devon was oblivious to her inner unrest, lost as he was in his own. He stared

out the window beside him blankly, watching as great clusters of trees blurred into a single line of

verdancy. Ahead, looming high in his thoughts, Frost Lake. It was all coming to an end. Every

action in his life had been mere preparation for this day.

A strange calm had descended on him some time ago. His nerves were still now.

Truthfully, he wasn't expecting to live to see tomorrow. There were no illusions. The battle

ahead would not be easy. Devon had never killed before, but he knew that today that would

change. Part of him still wasn't certain he'd done the right thing, risking his wife's life for three

strangers.

Yet, all he had to do was turn his head and look at Emma to know that no matter the

cost, he never could have murdered anyone.

Somehow, that thought wasn't comforting. Katherine could be dead right now, he didn't

know. He'd failed her by not killing. He'd failed her by letting Emma live, by telling Brennan and

Adam where to find Duncan Ladd and by helping now to stop Sheckt. It was horrifying to think

that she might be dead because he was a good person.

Driving slower now as the car passed from a desolate stretch of highway to an old paved

road, Emma was plagued by a sense of impending doom. She was missing a critical piece in the

bizarre puzzle: the motive behind Sheckt's attack. Hidden from her, destructive and inevitable,

this last fragment of the mystery was all too likely to be the last issue resolved. When the final

piece was in place, it would end. An image popped into her head, an old urban legend she'd

learned as a child. She saw herself completing a jigsaw puzzle. At the end, the image that stared

up at her was of herself completing the puzzle, a wild-eyed killer behind her.

The image made her shudder. The closer they came to Frost Lake, the more a dark feeling

of abysmal emptiness nettled the edges of her mind. She sensed a collection of dark souls ahead.

If she closed her eyes and concentrated, their self-indulgent desires and sick needs would have

flooded her mind.

She wished she could kill them all.

Her connection with Adam grew as well with every millimeter lost between them. From

his mind radiated pain, fear, and a deep longing. He wanted the woman he loved most in all the

world. She wanted to reach out and let him know she was near, but instinct warned her to hold

back all psionic scans. Something wasn't right.

Emma glanced sideways at Devon, caught him glancing at her. He looked away, an

embarrassed twist to his mouth. She sighed softly. Turning the wheel to bring the car onto a

dusky dirt road, she spoke quietly, "I'm not offended by men staring at me, Devon. If I was, I'd

have sworn off the whole gender long ago." The sun was falling toward the horizon. Night was

coming on swift clawed feet.

Emma tried not to be afraid of it.

Joking with Devon helped.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about this afternoon." He said, moving uncomfortably in his

seat. His voice held a musing tone that caught her ear.

"What's on your mind?" She asked quietly, a faint smile forming on her lips. "Or should I

try to guess?"

"Why did you trust me so quickly? I tried to kill you."

"No, you missed on purpose. I could tell. Your emotions were all over the place, but I

could still tell. Woman's intuition." Emma eased down on the brake, the sensation of a cold black

blanket wrapping around her insides temporarily making her unable to focus. Ahead lay Frost

Lake and some kind of base, ruled by Aaron Sheckt. She could sense many men and women

there, every one a ruthless killer, yet nothing of their leader. "I've got very good instincts."

Devon saw something change in Emma's mood. He didn't like it.

"There are a lot of very bad people ahead." Her voice had gone very still, lost most of its

natural warmth. When she set the car into park, Emma turned to Devon and her eyes were still

and dark. "It'd probably be best if you just stayed here. You're a good man Devon. You may

not be sure about that, but I am."

He watched her, uncertain how to respond.

Emma smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "I'm going to go rescue my

friends. I'm not going to ask you to come. I'm not going to look back. Do you understand?"

Devon nodded.

"Here. I want you to take this." She drew the silenced pistol he'd once pointed at her and

handed it back to him. "I won't think any less of you if you stay with the car."

Without another word, Emma opened her car door and stepped out. She started moving

immediately, heading straight into the trees around Frost Lake, letting her mind guide her toward

her target. She never glanced back, but her ears caught the sound of Devon opening his door,

hesitating, then running after. Emma was grateful. She was also afraid.

On every mission she'd been a part of for Mutant X, Emma DeLauro had never exactly

been afraid. It was odd, but the emotion had never really been there. Certainly she'd been

concerned many times, just never really fearful. In the dark future, she met fear. Now, it walked

beside her. Mutant X was in danger of being broken apart by Aaron Sheckt. Unlike any other

enemy, this mysterious and still unseen man menaced them.

His actions thus far were master strokes, each systematically removing another member of

the team from the others. Emma could sense nothing of his thoughts or emotions, yet instinct

railed at her, screaming that he was inside, waiting like a coiled mamba.

The image of a den of serpents seemed all too perfect.

She could taste the evil radiating off the military base, a sensation that grew worse when

she saw it. The place had once been home to a training camp for marines. Now, though

abandoned by the government, it was still very much in use. High fences surrounded the

perimeter, barbed wire strung from post to post glittered in the almost absent light of eve.

Four watchtowers lorded over the domain of the beast, each maned by a single stone

killer. Emma could sense them, four men in four watchtowers, their long hours spent enthralled

by a dark music played by their murderous hearts. The very act of barely brushing their minds to

learn of their presence left her feeling filthy.

They seemed unaware of her presence, but her mind wasn't set at ease. Sheckt's people

were too good to not expect a rescue attempt. Unless. . . Emma drew a sharp breath, terror

freezing her heart. Reaching out with her gifts, she searched for Adam's mind.

He was alive.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes turned toward the nearest watchtower. The

guard had just stepped outside, his head moving back and forth. Perhaps he'd somehow noticed

her gentle probing. Maybe he'd heard her. "Or maybe he's just paranoid." She muttered to

herself, focusing her attention on the man as she did.

Despite a dramatic increase in her powers of late, Emma needed line of sight for her psi-

bolts. She launched one and the guard fell immediately into an extremely deep unconsciousness.

The other three remained ignorant of intruders.

It seemed far too easy





Within the Frost Lake base, inside a hidden room, a man sat watching everything on

security monitors. A twisted smile formed from his dry lips as Emma DeLauro appeared against

a backdrop of trees and evening gloom. He smiled. He thought she was beautiful as she struck

down the guard. She reminded him of an archangel. Purity with power, a warrior of faith and the

sword. He watched her speak to the man with her, Devon Bowden, the hapless husband. He

thought little of the black man, save that there was a role for him to play in this game.

"Like lambs to a slaughter." He whispered to himself as they entered the base, having no

idea that a trap lay ahead.

He reclined in his leather, wingback chair, making a steeple of his finger tips. Much

planning had gone into this operation. Many hours had been spent gathering intelligence,

watching in secret as Mutant X fought against Gabriel Ashlocke. He was glad the planning and

waiting were finally over and victory was so nearly in hand. Oddly, a pang of regret plagued him.

He would miss the spying. It had been enjoyable and educational.

"Yes. Very educational." He muttered, rubbing his chin.

For instance, he'd learned of the love affair between Adam Kane and Emma long before

anyone else. His bugs in Sanctuary had even recorded a secret rendevous. He was surprised

they were sleeping together. By all accounts, their relationship had started merely two weeks

ago. The two acted like lust sick teenagers. Still, he couldn't fault Adam for lacking restraint.

Who could possibly resist such an agreeable woman?

"Unfortunate that their courtship should end like this." The end game had begun. His

men would allow Emma and her partner to wander about for a little while longer, just until the

last guests arrived for the party. He was annoyed by the time taken to capture Charlotte Cooke

and Jesse Kilmartin. He sighed and shook his head. "Good help is so difficult to come by. I

suppose it's my own fault, sending a Trojan Horse into a place I could easily have captured on

my own. But, then again, where would the fun be in frontal assault? And there would be that

terrible mess to clean up after." He stretched. A yawn escaped his lips.

"Perhaps when this is over, I'll convert Sanctuary to my new base of operations. It would

be fitting."

A phone sat on his desk, beside the monitors. It started ringing, a gentle rhythmic pulse

that soothed nerves or flayed them deep to bone. His mood dictated the result. Right now, the

sound felt good. It meant the last pieces of the chess game were moving into place.

He answered with silence.

Let the caller speak first.

"Mr. Sheckt?" The voice was Duncan Ladd's. "Sir, are you there? If you are, I've just

received word from Katherine. She's captured Cooke and Kilmartin. Your plan is working

perfectly. She'll be here with them in a few minutes. DeLauro didn't have much of a head start."

There was a pause. "Sir, are you there? I'm not reporting to myself, am I?"

He laughed. "That is a question best answered by a philosopher. Perhaps we all merely

tell ourselves what we've done. Perhaps all is but a hopeless dream from which there is no

awakening. Coma not continuance."

There was a pause on the line. It grew long. After almost a minute, Duncan broke the

silence. "Sir, during our last conversation, you gave me specific orders regarding DeLauro. Given

the nearness of victory, I thought I should ask if they remain in place. In the past, we've seen

Mutant X gain the upper hand over enemies with only a single member free. You wanted to play

games with Ms. DeLauro, but that was before you had her in the palm of your mighty hand. Do

you wish to proceed as previously ordered or should I have her collected?"

He considered for a moment. Should he change the plan now? Everything seemed to be

going fine, but of all the would-be destroyers of Mutant X, none knew better than he how

resourceful they were Was it worth the risk that they would manage to pull off a miraculous

escape just to watch their hopes be shattered a final time? Was that extra suffering worth such

terrible risk?

The questions were serious; his decision was swift.

"Maintain discipline. Keep to the plan. Handle Emma carefully. She is far more dangerous

than she appears." He paused, wondering if he should reveal more. How much did Duncan

really need to know? Did it matter? It seemed that on the eve of victory, he was being plagued

with self-doubt and questions. He didn't like feeling uncertain. "Do not fail me."

"I never have."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes. What of DeLauro's accomplice? Mr. Bowden is, by all accounts, a non-threat. Still,

is it wise to afford Mutant X any assistance?" Duncan paused. "We could also use him as a test

for Katherine."

A chuckle. "You still don't trust our dear turncoat?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"Shortly before our special guests reach the central security station, there is a room specifically set

up to watch the garage and prison areas. Notify our assets to neutralize Mr. Bowden. Note that I

want him alive, not unharmed."

"As you command, sir."

He closed his eyes. "One more thing. Leak our location to CIA as soon as Mutant X has

been terminated. This base has seen too much traffic as of late. I highly doubt we can remain here

hidden much longer as it is. Best to let the fools think they found us on their own than to give

them a chance to truly find us."

"It shall be done." Duncan cleared the line.

He leaned back in the chair again, watching the monitors. "Emma." He whispered, his

gaze falling on her newly fiery red hair, her sensual curves, her luscious and lust inducing

qualities. She was inside the base, moving cautiously. She had no clue that he was watching her.

He was pleased by that. He liked the feeling of seeing without being seen. It put him in mind of

God, though before recently he'd never held much credence in faith.

Everything changed two weeks ago. He was free to act upon his plans because of

something that could only be described as divine intervention. Again, his fingers pressed together

in a steeple, he closed his eyes. His bugs had brought him voices from Sanctuary, even video,

from which he'd learned of the strange mission against a modern mutant Bonnie and Clyde team.

He wasn't certain what had become of Portia Klein and Darius Monaco, but he felt certain that

they were no longer important. Somehow during the battle, by a fluke of coincidence, Adam and

Emma had been cast into the future. Once home, they no longer fought against their desires,

except to keep their love hidden from the others.

The things they did speak of, he beheld in dreams.

He could see much of what lay ahead in that future with a clarity that stunned the senses.

From the visions, he'd learned of what they'd seen in the dark place thirty years ahead. In

dreams, he was haunted by a woman. She was dark and colder than a harlot's heart. Her eyes

were coal, her hair mop-like, her skin warmly pink, her body petite at five feet and two. To him,

she was pretty. Not beautiful, not plain. Just pretty. She could have been lovely, had she smiled.

The natural state of her face was an emotionless straight-lined mouth and dead gaze. Of all his

visions, she haunted him most. More than the armies of ivory clad soldiers who did not die, more

than the death camps, this woman gripped his mind.

Most would have said he had a chance to right future wrongs, to prevent the sorrows and

slaughters to come. Indeed, pangs of conscience did on occasion pester his sense of well-being.

There would be changes. Some. He wanted the world ruled by a single supreme leader, himself,

but he wanted to exterminate resistence before it could be born. His time was at hand. In less

than two weeks, his future knowledge had granted him the unlimited resources of Duncan Ladd's

terrorist network. All of that power he now wielded as a weapon against Mutant X.

He was working to prevent the mistakes that would lead to failure.

He had faith now where before there had been only emptiness. Faith in his own power, in

his destiny. Where Mason Eckhart had failed, Aaron Sheckt would triumph.

Adam and Emma believed that their presence was the key to keeping the future from

turning dark. They were wrong. He knew the truth. Yes, their loss would likely devastate

Mutant X. Without Adam's brains and Emma's heart, each more important than some might

think, he knew Mutant X would lose itself to the lies of pretenders and fall into dark deeds.

He also knew they all had to die. The dark future could not be averted by Adam and

Emma's return. In fact, their return had hastened its arrival. He knew. He saw. He alone knew

the threads fate now pulled to take humanity toward a second holocaust. The dreams showed

him that, if Mutant X lived, his dream of conquest would fail, for an evil more powerful than any in

history would rise and scour from the earth all life.

Mason Eckhart was no longer a factor. He would not become emperor.

This was certain.

A new evil claimed his place in the future. The face was still blurred in his latest dreams,

but he knew that, somehow, this new enemy would become unstoppable by claiming the powers

of Mutant X. He could see them in a final battle, facing the faceless destroyer. Their talents

turned against them, they die one by one, until only Adam and Emma remain to be slain. He

dreams of their last act, born of desperation, to stop the enemy. He dreams of their failure.

Eckhart would have ruled for decades. The new enemy that would come, he saw in the

dreams, might rule for centuries. With the power of Mutant X extending to unnatural lengths this

dark soul's life, humanity would enter an age black with evil and pestilent with sorrow.

He could not let this come to pass.

He was the man who should be king. His the hand to strike down all enemies. The dark

evil on the rise knew only devastation. In an amusing way, he realized then, he was working for

the greater good. Better to enslave a world than to murder it.

He watched Emma on the monitors.

He felt tired. The game had been long. This day had drained him. It would be over soon,

which brought an odd melancholy on the heals of mirth. He should have been rejoicing. He

sighed and rubbed at his eyes, feeling fatigued. Two long weeks of preparing had come to this

night. Mutant X would fall, he would win. It was inevitable.

Yet their deaths would leave a hole in his life. He did not know how he would fill it.

How long had he lusted for this moment, this triumph? He'd forgotten.

A least two weeks.

At least.





It was too easy.

Standing with her back to a wall, Emma sensed something suspicious. Together with

Devon, she'd taken down four of Aaron Sheckt's soldiers. Every man went down quickly and

quietly, exactly according to plan. Had she been facing the GSA of yesterday, Emma wouldn't

have found herself worrying. Her breath coming in deep, slow inhalations, she could not accept

that terrorists capable of capturing Adam and Brennan were this easy to fight.

Everything was happening according to plan. The problem was, she didn't know if it was

truly her plan or if Sheckt's turn had begun. Before they'd entered the former military base,

Emma had joked to Devon about woman's intuition.

Now, she'd stopped laughing.

The joke was all too real and only a dead man could chuckle at the logic of Sheckt's cold

as gunmetal plot. She knew what the mystery man wanted. Death for Mutant X. Only

peripheral questions remained: how and when and where.

Directly across from here was an unreinforced wood door. Beyond that, two men talking

back and forth, joking. She imagined they might be cleaning guns or perhaps passing back and

forth the latest issue of Maxim magazine. Each laugh she heard made the hair on her neck stand

at attention. It sounded slightly false, almost staged. Somehow, those men knew she was out

there but they planned to let her enter.

It was a trap.

Emma glanced over at Devon. He was standing beside the door, waiting to kick it in.

He'd surprised her. For a private detective, the man had skill. If everything kept going smoothly,

there was a chance he might survive. If she could figure out how to counter Sheckt's still unclear

strategy, she might save her friends. There were far too many if's.

Her muscles were tense and adrenaline was flowing through her veins. She felt pumped

and primed and ready to fight. The uncaring men on the other side couldn't stop her. Nothing

could. Emma felt powerful. Her spirit was strong, her love made her unstoppable.

"If only it were that simple." Maybe in a dream or a television show. In fiction, heros

typically won and villains usually got their butts kicked massively. Unfortunately, this was the

real world. A place where cruelty and evil ruled more than charity and virtue, where the innocent

rarely lived past the long twilight of their screams and sobs. Emma believed she had a chance,

even against Sheckt. His plan had lead her to this moment, but no matter how clever the bastard

was, she knew Adam was more so. Through the connection they'd shared since first making love

in the ashes of the future, she drew her strength. From him, from love, she had hope.

For whatever twisted reason, Sheckt wanted her deep in his territory. Emma closed her

eyes and focused her attentions for a moment. If the big man was on base, she still couldn't feel

him. She turned to Devon.

"I've got a bad feeling. Things are going way too easy."

Devon looked back the way they'd come. "You think we've got company coming?" He

asked quietly, a nervousness bringing to his voice a darker basso edge. His handsome African

features showed that he, too, was questioning their success.

It shouldn't be so easy.

"Sheckt had things planned. Not just with you and your wife. Adam, Brennan and maybe

the rest of Mutant X, he's been five steps ahead the whole time. Almost as if. . . ." Emma

blinked. "Almost as if he could see into the future."

"That's not possible. Right?" Devon asked uncertainly. Before she could answer, he held

up a hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Just tell me what you want to do. Keep going

and hope we can avoid the monster's trap doors or cut and run? There's only two of us. Maybe

we could call in the FBI or something." He watched her face turn slightly dark and sighed. "Not

a good idea, right?"

"There's no way to be sure the government would help us. Sheckt might have connections

or at the very least, he might have informants. Double agents placed in the intelligence services."

Drawing her thoughts together into a coherent ball of psychic force, Emma prepared for a fight.

"We are on our own. Kick the door."

Devon didn't waste time before obeying. He spun around and shattered the door with a

mighty thrust of his leg. On the other side, two men dove for cover, one narrowly dodging the

psi-bolt Emma launched before jumping to the side. A stuttering rush of machine gun bullets

smashed into the wall half a heartbeat behind her. She saw Devon jerk backwards and almost

fall. After so many easy victories, things were getting interesting.

From inside the room, one of the men shouted, "Surrender!"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Right, because I want to die today. God, they can't really think

we're that dumb."

Another burst of lead drowned out all other sounds. If not for her gifts, Emma wouldn't

have known that it was cover for one of the soldiers to rush the door. She rolled under the

barrage, hit the man with a psi-bolt before he could reach the door, and leapt back to her feet

beside Devon. "Now that," her ally smilingly said, "was something."

"You should see my friend Shalimar. By now, she'd have disarmed them both." Closing

her eyes to concentrate, Emma focused on the second gunman. He was crouched behind

something, she'd seen him as she put down his buddy. His cover was too good, his ammo far too

plentiful. Emma had to do something drastic or risk losing everything. She had to do something

dangerous and very unpleasant.

Now, her mind reached out to the second gunman. Line of sight was necessary for most

of her abilities. Not all. She felt power building inside her mind. "Devon, I want you to brace

yourself. This is going to be a bit messy."

Before the man could answer, Emma let loose.

Dark psionic force rushed out from her mind in all directions for a short distance. Her

enemy dropped his weapon to grip at his head and whimper. More power tried to push out, but

Emma held back, caught it and wrenched the telempathic energies back into herself. The effort

required to do only the bare minimum, just to disarm her enemy, made her head throb with pain.

Had she been around Adam or any of the others, she wouldn't have used this aspect of her

power except as an absolute last resort.

"Holy mother, what was that?" Devon asked from the floor. He lay there, shivering, his

weapon forgotten.

Emma didn't bother to answer him. She stepped calmly into the room and glared at the

soldier who'd moments before been shooting at her with intent to kill. Her eyes glimmered with

energy for a second then were normal. A psi-bolt rushed out and knocked him unconscious.

Only when she was certain that no one else lay in wait did Emma collapse into a chair. She

needed to catch her breath, scan the area to make sure that no one caught even an echo of the

pulse she'd used.

Moments later, as she stood again, Devon stumbled through the door. His coffee skin

seemed faintly pallid. "Emma, what was that? Did you do that?"

"Yes. Now forget." She turned her head toward him and used a psi-bolt to scrub away

the thing she had done, cleansing his memory of the last few minutes. He squinted then rubbed

his left temple with his free hand.

"I get knocked out or something? How did we get in here?"

"Doesn't matter." Emma said as she walked over to a bank of computer monitors. "I've

got a visual feed on the prison. My team is there. My friends." Her voice trembled slightly with

fear. Sheckt had been more thorough than she thought. In addition to Adam and Brennan, he

had Shalimar too.

None of them looked to be in the best of shape. She saw Adam limping; her heart ached

at the sight. "Oh, your leg." She whispered gently, her hand reaching out and softly touching the

screen image.

She tapped at the controls, applying everything she'd learned from Jesse Kilmartin and a

few tricks her old friend Michelle Bigelow taught her. The system was simple and straight

forward, a security station set up to monitor only two areas: a garage area for vehicles at the back

of the base and the prison. Emma didn't bother to try and remember the proper military terms as

she breached a computer firewall to run through other cameras. She left one monitor on the

garage area, just incase Sheckt had reinforcements coming.

So far, things seemed to be safe.

Before she could do much more than make a cursory scan of hallways and offices, a truck

appeared on the garage screen.

Devon let out a gasp. "That's Katherine!" He drew close and leaned in, dwarfing the

screen with his bulk, hoarding the unimaginable sight of his wife stepping calmly down from that

truck. The driver followed swiftly. Both went to the back and opened it with twin keys. Even

before Jesse was shoved out by an unseen guard, Emma knew.

"What's going on?" Taking a step backwards, Devon seemed to be shaking, almost as if

having a seizure. He looked so confused, his eyes dead set on the screen as his wife's image

moved toward Jesse and kicked him in the belly.

Silently, Emma read her lips as she spoke. She imagined in her mind a voice for this

beautiful woman who seemed too angelic to be the beast. 'Get up freak,' Katherine hissed at

Jesse before sweeping his hands from beneath him as he tried. 'Is this the great Mutant X? Felled

by a mere mortal?' She reached down and bodily hauled Jesse to his feet before shoving him into

waiting guards.

Following him came Charlotte, cast out of the truck by one of three men who'd ridden in

back. Katherine faced her, face twisting as if at a putrid scent.

'Mr. Sheckt has business with you, Ms. Cooke.' The silence of the monitors broken by

the words playing in Emma's mind and the gasping of Devon. Charlotte was given to the other

guards as well, then both were marched away. On their way to the prison and their deaths, if

Emma failed.

"Devon, we have to leave here. This room isn't safe."

No response came and Emma turned to the man. His eyes were on the screen, on his wife,

as a man came out to meet her. They were talking. He knew what they were saying, as Emma

did. He was reading lips too. The actions and the words came to him. Unlike his partner, he

spoke aloud what was said.

"Hello my dear Duncan, come to congratulate me?" He said as Katherine's lips moved.

"No. More to grant a mixed review. Your service to Mr. Sheckt is recognized, however,

and as such, we will maintain our end of the bargain. Your husband's fate is yours to decide."

These, the words of Duncan, came also from Devon's lips.

"Fine," Katherine mouthed, "I owe Sheckt my allegiance, the least he can do is give me

my fun."

Now, Emma felt her mind piecing the puzzle together at last. It was not Devon who had

been intended as a weapon against her team. He was nothing more than a simple pawn in a chess

game of infinite stakes. The real weapon of choice, the queen sliding to checkmate, was

Katherine. Her mind whirled with sudden revelation. Everything that had happened, all of it, was

according to Sheckt's plan.

Her heart stopped beating for one instant in time. She spun around, hoping to prevent

what she suddenly knew was inevitable. Someone slammed a fist into her jaw, loosening several

teeth, driving her to the floor where she spat out a red froth.

A whoosh of air and a terrible snapping noise filled the room as an injector was pressed

against her neck and the governor bit deep. It filled her briefly with a terrible pain, like the weight

of all man's sins. Crushing.

"That should keep you from making any foolish choices."

Devon never got the chance to turn. Two of Sheckt's guard's grabbed him and slammed

his head against the monitor he'd been enslaved by. His face shattered the glass. Blood drizzled

from a dozen cuts as they heaved him into a wall, uncaring, cruel, and with malice.

"You must be the infamous Emma DeLauro."

From the floor, Emma turned her head and looked up. The man standing over her wasn't

anyone special. His name was unknown. He was nondescript in face, form, and function. He

was just a flunkey. A no one.

Emma broke into laughter.

She couldn't help herself.

It was funny.

Only after the man landed a blow that bruised several ribs, only as she was being dragged

by the roots of her hair out of the room, did it occur to her how much a laugh sounds like a sob.

Mutant X was done for. Nothing left but the dying.

"Adam," she sputtered through blood stained lips, "I'm sorry."





He'd chosen the office in which he stood, head bowed slightly, for three reasons. First, it

was largest of all his base's rooms. Second, it was already furnished to his tastes, new but with a

decidedly regal antique feel. Third, and most importantly, a helicopter landing pad lay but a

stone's throw from the spot on which he stood. He smiled. His eyes tracked to the chopper that

waited to take him away from this place.

"The game is over. All that remains are the pretensions of my executioner." He reached

out toward what seemed bare wall and touched a hidden screen. A biometric scanner triggered

at the pressure. Red light glowed beneath the false wood illusion.

An electronic voice bellowed, "state password."

He drew a deep breath. The rules were still in play, even if the game were nearly at its

inevitable end. No more moves were left for Mutant X now. He hesitated only a moment, then

said "Checkmate."

The sound of a mechanical lock shifting seeped from the wall. "State name." The

machine commanded.

"Aaron M. Sheckt."

"State command."

He licked his lips. The game would end with his next words. He glanced over to his desk,

to the phone there. Should he warn Duncan of his plan before going? Should he save his most

loyal servant?

"Perhaps not," he muttered coldly. "He built the armies I now control. Best to put him

away before he grows bold enough to try to reclaim them." Eyes growing dark, lips curling to a

deeper yet more malevolent smile, he focused on the machine and spoke in a loud and clear

voice. "Command: Scorched Earth. Set for one hour."

"Command acknowledged, Aaron M. Sheckt. System complying. Initiating lockdown

protocol Omega." The computer voice went silent with that. It would be silent forever. Now, in

a matter of minutes, everything would be sealed.

He wondered if he should warn Duncan, grant him a chance to continue serving.

"Perhaps not. A man so trusting, yet masterful in the arts of torture and terrorism, is far

too unstable to make the proper long-term ally." His face darkening with cold determination, he

activated a simple transmitter built into the computer terminal. "Mr. Ladd, this is Sheckt. I need

you to coordinate our forces and prepare them for a full review. Inform our men that anyone

outside the base after five minutes will be dealt with harshly. I'm locking us down for the next few

hours. Sheckt out."

He drew his hand away and the wall seemed innocent again. "Thus ends the endgame.

Surprisingly, I feel some hesitant remorse." He brushed a mote of dust from his otherwise

impeccably clean black suit. "Give the reaper my regards mister Ladd."

He walked calmly outside. Everything seemed cloaked in a murky softness that made all

the harsh lines of things blend together in a harmony. He paused mid step, struck to stillness by

night's beauty. A poem sprang to mind, but he refrained. The time for such things was later,

when his safety was assured.

The helicopter waited, perched upon its private place, blades slowly revving up. Bits of

dry dead things whirled as an ersatz tornado was born. Out upon the lake, moonlight reflected in

a beautiful display of nature's wonder. The scent of night blooms carried to his nose. He let

himself breath in deep, even as the rotor blades sent up plumes of dust. Victory smelled sweeter

than he'd ever imagined it could.

He climbed aboard at last. Once inside, he used a remote to cause blast doors to seal the

way behind him. There was no way out now. The base would soon fulfill a purpose it had never

been intended for, but would serve well.

It would be a tomb.

All his past buried in one pillar of flame and fear.

The helicopter rose into the air and faded into the night, carrying Aaron Sheckt, master of

the game. He was secure in the knowledge that nothing would go wrong now. Every precaution

had been taken, every governor used. No one remained free to oppose him. His soldiers were

loyal to the point of idiocy. They would all die believing he'd intended to take them with him to

his new base, that he'd genuinely cared about their lives.

"Poor delusional fools." He muttered as the chopper continued to distance itself from the

base that would soon be little more than a faded memory. "They remind me of Adam Kane's

people. Never questioning their leader or his reasons. Always trusting, always certain of the

rightness of their cause and all too willing to risk everything for it. I've never been a man to risk

everything for anything. My life is precious to me."

He smirked and found himself chuckling quietly. Then he was laughing softly. "Strange

how our perspectives change, isn't it? How we mistakenly hate our lives only to realize, as death

draws us to his eternal kiss, that we don't wish to die yet. . . it is an oddity of humans that we

have such complex paradoxes within us."

The words were directed toward the front of the helicopter. It was the first time since

entering that he'd acknowledged a pilot. An outside observer, focused only on him, might have

failed to see her.

Even seated she was tall, almost forced to crouch to fly. Almost. Her hair was very long

and fell out across broad shoulders. A permanent expression of calm self-assurance claimed her

face. When she heard her master's voice, her ears perked up and a reptilian third eyelid slid

closed then reopened. Reflexes honed by thousands of hours training kept her focus on flight

while her attention turned to him.

"Isn't it just bewildering how our lives can change in an instant Ms. Isley?"

"Yes, sir. It certainly is." The woman said as she turned the helicopter slightly, keeping it

perfectly on course. She wanted to face him but dared not. She could risk no harm to him, not

even for a glimpse of his face. "When I worked for the GSA, I thought my life had meaning.

When I managed to escape Gabriel Ashlocke's attack, I nearly died of self loathing before you

found me."

She visibly shivered. "I can still remember the screaming."

His hand rose to her face, the back of a finger tip brushing down the side of a sculpted

cheek. "Memory now. Unimportant." He withdrew to the darkness of his seat, the luxury of

leather and steel. "Take us home."

She obeyed.





Devon prayed.

He hadn't done that in a long time, not really. Before setting out to try to kill Emma, at

least going through the motions of trying, he thought he'd prayed. That hadn't been prayer. It

had been a child's desperate bargaining. Save me and I'll be good, I promise.

Now was the real thing. No bargaining for a miracle or for his life to be saved. He asked

for his wife's soul to be spared.

Emma heard him through the sounds of men marching about outside of their cell. Duncan

Ladd had ordered them placed in a locale far from her friends. He wanted her to die without

seeing Adam. He wanted her alone. At the end of dreams, she wished with all her heart to see

the man she'd only so recently held and loved, if only for just a second more.

Without meaning to, she prayed.

She prayed for her friends, for her loved ones.

The door opened. Devon looked up, hand raised to shield his eyes against a harsh white

glare from outside. A woman slowly strode in. Emma did not turn to watch her. She knew who

had come. Even without her powers, she knew.

"Hello my husband."

"Katherine? Is that you?" Tears streamed down his face. "Have you come to free us?"

There was a sound. Metal brushing metal. A loud clack as something snapped shut. It

wasn't something Emma heard often. At least, she hadn't heard it often until recently. The

reverberating echoes of steel movements filled her ears and did not leave. They played again and

again; the grave keeper's music.

Emma felt the barrel of the pistol as it was aimed at her and Devon, as if it stared down

upon her with firebrand eyes, it's dark and fanatical gaze a prelude to death. Here the killing

stroke, the culling of the living to feed the carrion eaters.

Quietly, ever so gently, Katherine spoke, whispered.

"Yes. I've come to free you."







***************************END OF PART FIVE*****************************