Talons
Chapter 3
Cleanup took longer than any would have wanted. They took blood-soaked clothing from the bodies for DNA analysis, then let Ororo call down rain and horizontal wind to sweep what was left into the drainage ditch. Colossus dragged all three tractor-trailer rigs off-road, missile rack still pointed down to the ground. Then Logan did his level best to camouflage them under the forest canopy, even setting some of Xavier's motion sensors around in case their enemies decided to return for their goods.
It wasn't a perfect or long-term solution, but it was all they could do for the moment.
Finally they brought back what was left of the robots themselves, hauling them down into the Blackbird's hanger for temporary storage. Colossus did double and triple duty that night, moving everything that had to be moved, and though his head was still ringing, his nose still bleeding, he did so with nary a sound. Professor Xavier supervised the entire process, watching Colossus carefully as the young man stoically arranged the robot "parts" on the floor of the hanger. Bobby and Rogue, already wearing latex gloves, stood nearby, first aid kits at the ready, anxiously waiting for the inevitable.
"Peter," Professor Xavier said gently. "You have done enough. Please, go sit down."
Colossus looked his way, his blank expression further enshrouded by the metal covering his eyes. He fell to his knees heavily, then sat back on his rear without an ounce of grace, barely catching himself before he fell over. He seemed to absorb the metal back into his skin, revealing a bloody young Russian with blackened and swollen eyes. Bobby ran in and caught Peter by his shoulders to help him lay flat, while Rogue placed a pillow behind Peter's head.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" Bobby asked, holding up a closed fist.
"Please...a different question?" Peter mumbled. "I cannot see well."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that." Bobby created a form-fitting ice mask for Peter to keep the swelling at a minimum. "O.K., what's your name?"
"Piotr Rasputin."
"What day is it?"
"Very late Thursday night or very early Friday morning."
As the questions went on, Logan tapped Kurt on the shoulder.
"O.K., elf, get on the counter over there," he ordered, pointing to a nearby equipment bench.
"Why?" Kurt asked.
"You mean you can't tell? Take a look, bub."
Logan pointed to Kurt's right side, just above his hip. Kurt looked down and saw a vivid red gash that continued to his back, out of easy view. It didn't feel deep, and it didn't bleed much, but it looked dreadful. Now that Logan brought his attention to it, it started to burn and sting.
"Looks like a close range powder burn and abrasion," Logan continued. "Someone try to shoot you in the back?"
"Several times. I did not think I was hit." He hissed as he moved to the counter. "It is not in a convenient place."
"I'll take care of it for you," Logan offered. "Let me grab one of the kits from the kids; they don't need both."
"I'm already on it," Ororo told him, holding up one of the two medical packs as she walked over.
Kurt smiled, though it was just a bit strained. "Let the beautiful woman do it, Logan. I can't whimper and expect sympathy from another man, after all."
"Peter, how many times did that thing hit you?" Rogue was asking.
"Six...maybe seven times," Peter mumbled. "I lost count."
"Twelve times," Logan called over his shoulder. "It was trying to take Petey's head off."
Kurt obediently stretched out on the counter, exposing his wounded side for Ororo as he watched the rest of the hanger. Bobby and Rogue tended to Peter in the foreground, while the Professor and Scott looked over the robots' "parts" further back. They were taking particular interest in the torsos. Scott was kneeling at the side of the one whose limbs had been lopped off, running his hands along it and shaking his head.
"There's a seam running down the side, but damned if I can find the release latch," he said.
"Logan, could we have your assistance in this?" Xavier asked.
Logan's claws shot out as he walked over. "Need me to pop the hood, huh?"
"Be careful, Logan," Xavier cautioned. "These are cockpits. There are humans in there."
Logan and Scott bent over the impromptu "cockpit" carefully, trying to plan the best way to proceed.
"We gotta worry about the pilot getting up and causing trouble?" Logan asked.
"No," Xavier responded.
Both Logan and Scott glanced up at the cutting tone in Xavier's voice.
"Are they still alive?" Scott asked further.
"Their mental activity suggests they are comatose."
Kurt took a sharp intake of breath through his teeth as Ororo started to clean his wound.
"Why does this seem so familiar?" he hissed.
"Maybe because it's how Jean and I found you?" Ororo asked softly in return.
"Yes, once again, I am having a gun wound tended to on my left side. I am beginning to hate guns." After the initial, painful shock, the rest of Ororo's ministrations did not seem so bad. "It is shallow, yes?"
"A surface wound," she agreed. "I imagine it burns something awful, though."
"It does sting," he admitted.
"If you're going to whimper for sympathy, you'll have to do a better job of it," she said, smiling. "You're being too calm and collected right now."
He looked up at her with a wide grin. "I just remembered that to whimper means I must also cringe, and cringing would make things harder for you. I suppose I must settle for looking pitiful."
"Found it," Scott proclaimed, touching a spot on the side of the robot torso.
"It ain't opening," Logan commented. "You sure it's the right spot?"
"It's the right spot for your claws. Slice it open here, about a half inch to start."
Logan did. The torso sprang open on a hinge like a giant box. Ororo turned around to watch and Kurt raised himself on one arm to get a better look. A lanky man laid inside the torso, wearing a skin-tight, shiny black suit that seemed to cover literally every inch of his body, though he wore a pilot's breathing mask over his mouth and nose. He was curled in a fetal position, laying in a form-fitting, black plastic "bed". A mirror plastic form was on the inside of the lid. When closed, he would have been completely encased as if in a two-piece mold, so tightly restrained that movement would have been impossible.
"How the hell could he drive the thing like that?" Logan asked.
"I've got a feeling I know, and I don't like it one bit," Scott answered tersely.
The pilot's eyes were hidden behind the suit. The only sign of life was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Scott bent over his head, examining the base of his skull where it pressed against the plastic.
"I'm going to try and remove him," Scott stated.
He looked to the Professor for confirmation. Charles nodded, and Scott slowly pulled on the pilot's head. As Scott had expected, there was a flexible probe of some kind that lanced an inch into the man's head at the base. Bobby stood up and walked closer to the action.
He gasped. "Good God, is that some kind of input jack?"
Xavier nodded grimly. "That, Bobby, is exactly what it is."
Scott cradled the pilot in his arms as he fully peeled him out of his artificial womb. There was only one "input jack", the one at the base of his neck. Though the shiny suit did not cover the man's mouth under the breathing mask, it also showed no seams, zippers, or other means of entry.
"What did they do, paint this on him?" Scott murmured, drawing a hand across the slick, rubbery material.
Logan went to the other torso, which was still attached to all its limbs, and popped it open the same way. A similar sight greeted him, though this man seemed a bit more muscular. Logan looked at the two pilots, and at their own two wounded.
"Medlab's about to get pretty crowded."
To Be Continued…..