Lab Work

In the closed lab, a man and a mutant woman, both wearing lab coats and rubber surgery gloves, carefully lay down and label a collection of charred, cracked bones. Not a word is spoken, but their hands and eyes play like those of a fine tuned music duo. No movement is wasted, as the remains are organized in what resembles a human skeleton with many pieces missing. When all the bones are in their rightful places, the man and the woman step back and look at the result of their efforts. They both bite their upper lips in the exact same fashion, as if the gesture had been rehearsed. And they both have the same thought in their heads: there isn't much left, precious little of someone who was once so full of life and joy.

The woman hands the man a scalpel and a small saucer-like sterilized vial. The man scrapes what seems to be part of the left tibia, collecting the dust in the vial. Then, they head for the laser atomic microscope mounted on the left side of the lab. The vial is inserted in the central slot and, after a careful calibration, a beam of red light is directed to the sample. The plasma screen mounted on the wall lights up as the computer starts breaking up the bone dust into ever smaller units until reaching molecular level and displaying the DNA double helix correspondent to the sample at hand. The man types a command in the digital keyboard and the screen flashes up, rolling files at lightning speed, searching for a match in the new mutants database until it suddenly stops and displays a card with the picture of an attractive dark-skinned young woman with very expressive eyes.

The mutant woman slowly sits down on the stool by the microscope, quietly sighs and touches her temple with the tip of her gloved fingers, closing her eyes in the same movement. The man touches the woman's shoulder and squeezes it firmly, trying to give her all the support he can.

"We use to say that hope dies last, you know." she says. "But I was hoping against hope."

"I know." And he turns the screen off.

"Now what?" The mutant woman turns the bench around and faces the man.

"Now, we start running tests to determine if there was any external cause of death. And if there was any external cause for the fire."

"Any reason to think there was?"

"No, neither Cat nor Shalimar could smell any accelerants," he answers.

"Hence, we have reason to think there was none." Her turn.

"No chemical one, at least."

"You know, I've been thinking." she stands and paces around the lab. "Assuming this really wasn't a random occurrence, who was the target? Two people lived in that loft."

"Three possibilities: you, Allison or both."

"Care for a little speculation?" she asks.

"Lets play what if, shall we?" he accepts the offer.

"First, what if it I was the intended target?" starts the woman.

"There would be the unknown, but direct connection to me," offers the man.

"This would be an unlikely motive, since we've worked hard to keep it under wraps," she says. "Since you've brought me here from Brazil, I've dropped my middle name and all possible data connecting the two of us was erased. I tell you, not even Allison knew."

"You didn't tell her? Not even her?" He is surprised.

"No," comes the simple answer.

"But she was..."

"It doesn't matter what she was," she interrupts. "You've asked me not to tell anybody, I gave you my word and I've kept it."

He nods and, again, bites his upper lip in that so characteristic fashion.

The woman proceeds with her train of thoughts. "The only way to find out would be an investigation into my life and origins in Brazil. And done in loco, searching public hard records, for even the Brazilian database was erased where I was concerned."

"Therefore it's highly unlikely that you could be the target due to your connection to me," concludes the man.

"The fact that I was out of town was no secret," rationalizes the woman. "Any operative acting with premeditation could have checked that out and adjusted the timing to hit when I returned home."

"Indicating that it either was a random hit or he wasn't targeting you both," concludes the man.

"Do you think it could have been a random hit?" she asks.

"It is possible, but again, highly unlikely."

"Then, we can speculate that Allison herself was the target," says the woan.

The man merely nods.

"But why? Allison had no enemies, not that I know of." The mutant woman thinks hard. "Unless..." Her eyes locks on with the man's as their heads snap up and realization hits both at the same time.

He immediately turns on the intercom. "Brennan? Jesse?" he calls.

"Yes?" they answer as one.

"Amp up the security measures on all Underground shelters and facilities. Regular checks on all safehouses must be doubled. I want all security personel on red alert until further notice, understood?"

"Yes, understood," the elemental acknowledges the command. "But why? Any specific reason?"

"Allison wasn't the target; the Underground was."