Notes: The "we must not be enemies" line comes courtesy of the fabulous, Phoenix-tastic X2. Master Mold's original function in the comics is more or less as I've described it here, with the addition of mass-producing Sentinel "drones." It's worth noting that, in either an X-Men Unlimited or an Annual issue - I can't remember which right now - a Sentinel that was separated from its network developed its own intelligence and sought out the X-Men (who destroyed it before they realized it wasn't an enemy; oops). Love those Sentinels...
Everything was happening too quickly for Larry. He wasn't an "action" kind of guy; he'd spent most of his life in the sheltered environs of academia, where the most exciting, heart-pounding events involved really tight deadlines. His father had been an academic too, once, before embarking on his life's work. Now Bolivar was more of a soldier than a theorist, and it showed.
"Don't gawk, Lawrence, we need to reach the surface," Bolivar said impatiently, propelling Larry down the hallway, past a large viewing window. Larry had foolishly paused to stare down in stunned amazement at a young girl dressed in black leather who was single-handedly shredding a Sentinel and most of the surrounding infrastructure. But the pressure of his father's hand got him moving again.
They ran down the hallway as fast as circumstances allowed. Larry was slowed by his relative lack of physical acumen, Bolivar by his age and the weighty metal briefcase. They hadn't left the office as fast as Bolivar obviously wished; reports had been streaming in from the security forces. His father had finally ordered the soldiers to defend their posts and leave him alone. Then the private elevator had failed along with the main generators - fortunately not in between floors - and they'd been forced to abandon it. The nearest stairway to the surface, it turned out, was on the other side of the factory, and that was quite a distance.
"How do you know it's the X-Men, Dad?" Larry managed to get out between gasps for air.
"The girl," Bolivar said, breathing slightly less heavily, "the girl upstairs is one of them. Jean Grey - she's cut her hair, but that's her."
Jean Grey, Larry repeated to himself, trying to match the grimy hitchhiker to his mental picture of the mutant terrorists. "What does she do?"
"Telepathy and telekinesis," Bolivar said dismissively. They crossed a short open-air catwalk and began running down a human-scale corridor studded with ordinary lab doors on both sides. "I'm more concerned about the unknown downstairs. She's too close to Master Mold."
A thunderous kaboom! rattled the metal walls and made the floor shake slightly, adding weight to Bolivar's words.
Larry was passing familiar with the details of his father's Sentinel project; Judge Chalmers, who was Bolivar's legal counsel as well, had gotten bits and pieces for him over the years. But he'd never heard of "Master Mold," and the unfamiliar name coupled with Bolivar's blatant concern made him curious. "To what?"
Bolivar never got a chance to answer, as one of the doors up ahead banged open and two figures came spilling out: an obviously irate Stephen Lang and an insistent soldier in full combat gear.
"- can't leave now!" Lang was saying, in a shrill whine that made Larry wince. The scientist was nothing but annoying, and he rather enjoyed the fact that the soldier - Galindez from the checkpoint once again - had him by the arm and was dragging him bodily.
Another explosion sounded; not as huge as the first one, it also seemed to be closer.
"It's a general evac, sir. The fire is uncontainable. You can't stay -" The soldier abruptly broke off and came to attention. "Dr. Trask, sir!"
Lang jerked out of Galindez' grasp and practically flung himself at Bolivar. "Dr. Trask! The project - it's not - this incompetent fool dragged me away before I could retrieve anything -"
"It's abandoned? Master Mold is abandoned?" Bolivar demanded sharply.
"We weren't able to initiate before the lockdown," Lang protested, feeble in his own defense. He was actually wringing his hands. "The unit is immobile and this idiot won't let me go back for it!"
"Report, soldier," Bolivar snapped at Galindez.
In contrast to Lang's babble, Galindez said with perfect composure, "The situation has destabilized further and a general evac has been ordered. The mutant girl who escaped custody is engaging Sentinels on this level -"
Bolivar's scowl could have melted lead. "You ordered an evacuation? For God's sake, why?! We have a small army camped out here, not to mention robots designed to destroy mutants! With military incompetence like this, it's no wonder the government needs my assistance!"
Galindez plainly wanted to say something nasty in return, but held his tongue. Larry admired the man's restraint. In Galindez' place, with the factory falling down around his ears and two mutants running loose on a rampage, he would have thrown military decorum to the wind. As it was, he was content to stand back silently and watch the situation play out.
Instead the soldier waited a beat and finished, "And the unknown mutant on the lower level has destroyed the Sentinel tasked to her - before it could acquire a full genetic profile. Sir."
"One mutant can't destroy a Sentinel!" Lang exclaimed, incredulous. "Dr. Trask, these people are interfering with our project! Tell them to back-"
Bolivar cut him off with an impatient wave of one hand. "Continue," he ordered Galindez.
Yet another boom, this one even closer. Larry looked at Lang with a curious and more than slightly suspicious eye. Either the scientist was flat-out insane, or he was gunning for "Lackey of the Year." There was no other reason to be so insistant about staying. That Lang could merely be fanatically devoted to the Sentinel project was not something that crossed Larry's mind.
The soldier nodded crisply and reported, "The fire is near the control platform. Master Mold has been secured, sir, but there was no time to retrieve it."
"That's a lie!" Lang, now closing in on hysterical, swung to face Bolivar. "It just needs to be initiated! All the systems checked out - it's ready!"
"Dr. Lang, sir, I already explained why you can't be allowed to return downstairs," Galindez said with weary, hard-tested patience. Larry wondered if the soldier was the only one in the base with any people skills whatsoever, or if he just kept drawing the short straw when jobs were being handed out.
"Someone has to retrieve it," Bolivar growled. "I'm not about to let the X-Men get their hands on my life's work. Lang!"
Busy with a half-dozen nervous tics and glaring at Galindez, the scientist fairly jumped out of his skin at the shout, but sidled up quickly to Bolivar. "Yes, sir?"
"Take this," Bolivar ordered, thrusting the metal briefcase at Lang. "I'm holding you responsible for the survival of this information. And my son."
Lang's eyes darted at Larry, who hadn't missed the slight; he was still less important than his father's work. Oddly, he took a small amount of comfort in the continued role of second-best. The world couldn't be over if Bolivar was still ignoring him.
Lang clutched the briefcase with the white-knuckled tenacity of a dying man - or a dedicated apple-polisher. "Don't worry, Dr. Trask, I'll keep it all safe. Your son, too."
Galindez, still all business, had reached for the communication gear on his uniform and was saying, "Dr. Trask on level fifteen, needs an escort to Master Mold -"
"Belay that," Trask said, every inch the military commander. "There's no time. I'll go alone. Get them to the surface alive."
Galindez didn't seem to like that idea any more than Larry or Lang, but he followed orders. "Yes sir."
Bolivar took a step towards the door that Galindez and Lang had exited from just moments earlier - access to a stairway leading down, not up. Framed by the doorway, he paused and looked back. "Lawrence," he said stiffly, "keep your mouth shut about what you've seen here."
Then he was gone.
"Come on, sir," Galindez said, and, before Larry could protest, lead both civilians down the hall and through a door. Larry stepped out - and found himself on a long catwalk suspended over Hell.
Black, roiling smoke had completely engulfed the bottom levels. Swathes of brilliant orange flame showed through occasionally, and the temperature was soaring ever higher. Of the girl and the Sentinel there were no signs, but Larry couldn't believe that they were still down there, in that hecatomb. He craned his neck back in search of the other mutant, Jean, and the three Sentinels she was fighting. He saw her, all right, limned with a glow close in hue to the flames, but she was only facing one Sentinel. As he watched, she made a broad gesture with one arm; the Sentinel split in half and exploded.
"Mother of God," Galindez muttered, then shook his head and pushed Larry on. "Faster, sir!"
Larry moved faster, but despite his growing fear for his own survival, he couldn't shake the question: "What's Master Mold?"
"It's top-secret," Lang said archly, with just a touch of smugness. He obviously enjoyed denying Larry the information.
"It's a new Sentinel, sir," Galindez said. "Master Mold is its codename. It's designed to connect with all the Sentinels, to be the central brain. It'll take over production and make an AI network, let the robots learn at an accelerated rate. They were less than an hour away from initiation when the alarms sounded."
"How do you know that?" Lang demanded, incensed. "You're just a checkpoint guard!"
Galindez' expression turned icy. "I'm observant. And you scientists talk too much. Sir."
Ignoring the argument, Larry turned over the information. If Galindez' information was accurate - and judging from Lang's reaction, it was - then this Master Mold would be the single most important creation his father had ever set loose upon the world, second only to the Sentinels themselves. It would spell certain destruction for the mutants. No wonder the X-Men had broken in to destroy it.
They made it across the catwalk without incident but had to stop in front of the massive blast door on the other end. There was a keypad beside the door; the light mounted above the pad glowed red. Larry stood to one side while Lang self-importantly stepped up.
The scientist punched a quick series of numbers on the keypad, and the light above it switched to green, but the door itself stayed resolutely shut. "No good. It's still locked down."
"All of the locks should have sprung when the evac was ordered," Galindez said, impatient. He stepped back and pulled his comm gear free, apparently trying to find someone to chew out.
"It just won't open." Lang looked over his shoulder and blanched. "Oh no -!"
Larry looked back too, and saw the girl in black leather who'd destroyed the Sentinel. She was crossing the catwalk in a steady, ground-eating lope that put him in mind of the big savanna predators on the Discovery Channel. Two long, curved metal blades sprouted from the backs of each of her fists. She looked like the avatar of Death.
"You should try the door again," Larry said to Lang, who made a distressed, panicked noise and did, in fact, try the door again. Frantically. Galindez dropped his comm gear and edged his hand towards his rifle.
The girl stopped several meters away, growling. "Where's Bolivar Trask?" she demanded.
"Why are you doing this? What do you want with my father?" The words burst out of Larry before he could stop to ask himself why he was saying them, why he was worried about his father. He hated his father.
"Where's Trask?" she repeated, eyes flashing anger, as if he hadn't spoken.
"Saving the machine that's going to stop you," Lang said. It wasn't very loud - he didn't have those kinds of guts - but the girl heard him anyway, because her face twisted into a mask of rage and she suddenly darted forward.
Galindez moved to match her, to defend the two civilians under his protection. He managed to unsling his rifle, but the girl sent it spiraling into the fiery void with one high kick. Galindez scrambled backwards to join Lang and Larry at the door. The girl followed swiftly and came to a halt just over a meter away from Larry. She met his eyes.
"Your father is evil," she said. She had a girl's voice, high-pitched, but there was a savage bite on each of the words that belied the youthful tone. "He needs to die. I'm going to kill him."
Galindez whipped a handgun from his belt and coolly, professionally, shot her full in the chest.
The girl staggered backwards, grunted - and met Larry's eyes again with undiminished hate. "You too," she snarled.
"Oh, God," Lang said, fumbling with the door controls again. But it wouldn't open, and Larry swallowed down a sudden rush of wild, disbelieving terror at the knowledge that he was actually going to die. The girl's claws flashed and she tensed to leap.
There was a great rush of flames, although no heat radiated from them, and then a blindingly bright light. When Larry had blinked his eyes clear, he saw the red-haired hitchhiker standing in between himself and the first girl, who was now apparently frozen in mid-motion.
"Killing them won't solve anything, X23, and neither will fighting me. We must not be enemies, but friends," she said to the other girl, urgent. "We must not be enemies."
The girl with the claws made a frustrated grunting noise and struggled against whatever it was that had her trapped. The redhead watched with a touch of sadness in her eyes, then turned to face the three men.
"Jean?" Larry asked. He wondered how someone so pale and thin could blow a Sentinel apart with a gesture, could absolutely dominate the space around them simply by being.
"That's half-right. I -" She broke off suddenly, grabbing at her temples with a grimace. Her features seemed to flicker, and then black slashes appeared across her face without warning, like instant tattoos. It should have been ugly - her entire face, save her eyes and mouth, was covered by the marks - but the radiating pattern was merely striking instead. She straightened and took her hands from her head; her features smoothed out into neutrality. "I'm not Jean."
"Then who -?" Lang started, probably burning out his entire lifetime's worth of courage.
"You should run," the red-haired girl interrupted, but her voice was as casual as if she was discussing the weather. She flicked her fingers and the blast door whooshed open at his back, sending a rush of cool air over his body. "Go ahead - we won't stop you. And Larry -"
Larry flinched, surprised she knew his name.
The girl's expression became faintly amused behind her tattoos, and her green eyes sparked. "Don't take off your mother's medallion anymore."
Now slightly outraged, Larry opened his mouth to demand how she knew about his mother's medallion, but an invisible wall pushed them all backwards and then the blast door slammed shut in their faces, cutting them off.
"Come on," Lang said, edging away like he wanted to run.
"I'm not leaving my father," Larry said fiercely. It thrummed through him like a mantra: I'm not leaving my father, I'm not leaving my father... The medallion felt warmer than usual where it lay against his skin.
"Yes you are, sir," Galindez said, raising his weapon and aiming it in Larry's general direction. "I don't want to have to hurt you, sir, but my orders are only to get you out alive."
Lang had clutched the briefcase to his chest and was clearly about to bolt. "There's nothing we can do. Let's go!"
Larry glanced at Galindez, who looked more than capable of shooting out someone's kneecap, then at Lang, who was oozing panic and cowardice. He wanted to break down the door and chase after his father, and forget the two mutants standing in his way. He may have hated the man, but Bolivar was all he had left, and the girl in black leather wanted to kill him. He had to do something. It wasn't love that was driving him, but fear; and fear was sometimes the more powerful motivator. He had to do something. He had to go help his father.
But it wasn't going to happen.
"You have three seconds, sir," Galindez said, regretful but firm. His finger was on the trigger and his aim had not wavered.
"Let's go," Larry said. The words tasted bitter in his mouth; he almost gagged on them. He had no choice, he recognized that, but if anything happened to his father, he knew he would never forgive himself for this moment of weakness.
Galindez holstered his weapon and grabbed Larry by the arm despite his agreement to leave, pulling him along forcibly on their flight towards the surface. The trio encountered plenty of alarms and evacuating personnel as they went, but no additional mutants.
Galindez' fellow checkpoint guards had taken charge of the motor pool, summoning, loading, and dismissing vehicles. Thanks to their efforts, the mass exodus was taking on an almost orderly pace - almost. Most of the auxiliary buildings seemed to have been evacuated completely, and only the main factory building remained. Klieg lights and ground flares were scattered around, but the darkness in the canyon was vast. That, and the fire and damage inside, were probably slowing the process down.
"Stay here, sirs," Galindez ordered Larry and Lang, then went to have a quick, jargon-filled chat with his guard buddies. A few big military helicopters buzzed overhead - taking off rather than setting down. They kicked up a momentary swirl of wind and sand, making everyone who was still waiting for a ride out cover their eyes and mouths, then faded into the night with only the rhythmic slap of rotors to betray their position.
Through the crowd and the dust, Larry unexpectedly caught sight of Judge Chalmers and called out on instinct. "Judge! Judge, over here!"
"Larry! Thank heavens," Chalmers exclaimed, making his way over quickly. Pale and shaken, he grabbed onto Larry as if the younger man was a liferaft; the feeling was somewhat mutual. "Where is your father?"
Larry looked over his shoulder at the chaos - the swarming lab coats and soldiers, nearly all of them carrying something: clipboards, documents, rifles, equipment. "He's still in there."
Chalmers paled further and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Galindez returned and began hustling them towards a car. Larry recognized it as the sedan One and Two had used to deliver him to the factory in the first place; more irony. His suitcase, he suddenly realized, was still in the trunk. He didn't wonder where One and Two were.
"Get in and buckle up," Galindez said, himself taking the driver's seat and strapping in. "I got priority exit - we're leaving now."
Larry gave up the front seat to Judge Chalmers and scrambled into the backseat with, unfortunately, Stephen Lang. Galindez barely waited for the doors to shut before switching on the engine and flooring the accelerator. The tires spun in the thin, rocky dirt with a painful squeal and then the sedan roared forward, past the other vehicles waiting to get out of the canyon on the sole road.
Poor planning, Larry thought wildly, poor planning to have only one road. He had too many thoughts flying through his mind, too many to pin down any of them for more than a moment -
"I'm sure Bolivar will be fine, son," Chalmers told him.
Larry wasn't sure. In fact, his heart was pounding and the lightheaded feeling was back in full force, and the knowledge that his father was not going to make it out stabbed at him. He gripped the medallion hard enough for the ridges of the metal to cut into his fingers. "I shouldn't have left," he said, voice strained. "I should've stayed."
"There was nothing we could do." That from Lang, huddled in the far corner of the backseat, still clutching the metal briefcase to his skinny chest as though it could shield him. "There's nothing we can do," he said again.
Larry wanted to grab the man, shake him, shout at him, "You don't understand, that's all the family I have!" but the words and emotions jammed up on each other and he couldn't get them out. All he could do was twist around in the seat and stare through the rear window, at the vehicles jolting along the road behind them, at the doomed factory behind that.
The smoke billowing out of the factory suddenly increased, and then the entire main building erupted in a huge, brilliant fireball. For a moment the fire seemed to take on the shape of a bird - a bird with claws and an open, screaming beak - but it was gone so quickly that it might have been a trick of the light.
"No," Larry said. His voice was almost lost beneath the roar of the explosion and the roar of the engine, even when he repeated more loudly, "NO!"
"Dear Lord," Chalmers said from the front seat. Galindez muttered a prayer and pressed down harder on the accelerator. The car leaped forward and whipped around the last curve of the canyon, and then they were back on the desert highway, speeding towards the midnight horizon.
"There's nothing we can do," Lang said, sounding almost as strangled as Larry wanted him to be. "No one could have survived that."
No one. Not even Dr. Bolivar Trask.
For the first time since his mother's funeral, Larry broke down and cried.