CHASE

PART II

CHAPTER IIII

Luke "Radar" Mactier closed his eyes. Pain still seared through the right side of his body. He had taken the full blow of the staff and was feeling the rewards of ignoring his intuition. He'd felt the boy moving up to them in his mind, that's where he earned the name Radar, he'd often heard Magneto refer to him as "a walking, talking Cerebro."

God knows what that was, all he knew was that Chase had gone off to get the internal components of the machine and had decided to stay on at the school. He felt a dark sense of pleasure as Lyra entered his frequency. He was going to make the traitor pay.

X

Lyra sprinted toward the stairwell, leaving Scott behind; his screams became mere murmurs as the roar of the fire that was consuming the steamer became so tumultuous that it was almost like an orchestra, the flames yielding to the wishes of its conductors, Tempest and Pyro. She passed a lanky boy who stood, eyes clamped shut, his hand clutching at the bloody material at his side, a dark smile curving the sides of his mouth.

Blood is on her hands. A mother cries for her son, a father grieves silently. A boy stands motionless over the body of his fallen comrade, his eyes look up to her, utter loathing radiating from their jade centres.

The gun went off, and for a moment Lyra had though he had missed but then, her sisters grip lessened, her body goes limp in her arms before falling into a heap, blood spilling from the wound in her chest.

The gun slips from her hands, Senator Marconi is dead, his body lies unattended to in front of thousands, crimson liquid trickles from the side of his mouth. His daughter is crying by his side. All the eyes in the sports dome are settling on her, the same look she has seen ever time before. Hatred.

Blood is on her hands. A Dying priest. Grieving women. Broken windows. Screaming children. Revolvers being pulled from their holsters. The stares of the horrified public as she climbs up the glassy surface of the sky scraper. The circling Black Hawk.

Magneto praising her skills. Her mother reaches out. The burning body of the woman, Phoenix. Electra, dead in her arms.

Darkness.

Luke watched his former team mate fall to the floor in the same way he had watched Ghost seconds before. She curled up into the foetal position and wimpered pathetically, tears running down her pale cheeks. He watched her reel, whispering to herself.

The boy stood there, sun beating on the back of his neck, enjoying the torment and suffering that he was witnessing. Ah, the joys of being a mind controlling mutant, and his favourite ability, Memory Release.

A bright flash lit up the ash filled sky. Lightning? No. Lightning is not red.

Then it hit him, square in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying across the decks, over the railing and into the icy waters of Lake Ponterchartrain.

The sky was eclipsed for a matter of moments as a helicopter passed overhead, Scott looked up before plucking the broken girl from her resting place, offering her a sad smile which she couldn't return.

It was nice, cradled there in Scott's arms. For the first time since she was 11, she cried. She cried for her sister. She cried for those she had killed, for the whole goddamn messed up world, but she cried for herself, because she didn't have to go back there. She didn't have to be strong; she didn't have to be Chase.

She could just be Lyra.

The boat dipped sideways, water spilling onto the stern side of the ship, moaning like a cello, its paddles rotating helplessly in the air. Logan appeared by the boat ramp, disposing of Pyro and Tempest in the same way Scott had done Radar. He turned, his powerfully built torso heaving, a small boy draped over his right shoulder. 'C'mon sport. We've got what we came for.'

a blue Mazda skidded round the corner, careering around a group of stunned onlookers, mounting the side walk, nearly colliding with another car. The drivers' seat door flew open and Remy's head popped out. 'GET IN DA CAR!' He roared, his French tinted New Orleans accent breaking into Scott's nerves. 'I'm not leaving without Jean.'

Logan gave him a twisted look. 'Wha..?' The boat dipped further, sending him sprawling on the floor, the boy in his arms flopping like inanimate doll.

'MERDE! GET IN THE CAR!' the Cajun roared, eyeing several approaching NOPD cars, sirens flooding the wharves. Logan obeyed, jumping onto the drenched foot path and sprinting for cover of the awaiting vehicle. Scott stood frozen, steadying himself on the lopsided deck of the sinking paddle steamer. He couldn't defy Charles.

X

Logan glared the road as Gambit masterfully negotiated the New Orleans CBD and was now settling the car into a comfortable 110 kilometres an hour up route 10.

'So, Scooter, what do we do now?' Logan murmured in perfect Japanese, adjusting himself in his seat, tapping subconsciously to the rhythm of Black Dog, the music pounding in his ears.

Scott, who had been sobbing silently over Lyra's seemingly lifeless body, looked up, his eyebrows arching above his visor.

'We go back to the mansion and await Charles next commands.'

Logan's scowl steadied. Trust Cyclops stick-up-his-arse Summers to be a complete dick when Jean was out there.

X

The monotonous hum of the iridescent lights faltered for a moment and Hank looked up, pushing his beer-bottle glasses back up the ridge of his nose with a bulky finger. The lamps in the "G" lab, as he had come to call it affectionately, flickered again.

He straightened up from his workings and paced to the door, finding the hall outside devoid of any of the slow witted guards or his fellow colleagues. His earpiece crackled for a moment, the sound of muted voices drifted in from the cell block above.
The Kelly-McKenna Mutant Containment and Research centre in northern Washington was the closest thing to a home that Hank McCoy had had in years and it wasn't much of a home at that. The sounds of mutants screams and pleads mixed in with the whirring of computers didn't make for a great working environment, but the pay was good and the people were friendly as far as scientists go.

Hank drifted down the hall, looking into offices as he passed them. All empty.

The lights wavered again, leaving the hall in shadow for a moment before drenching the ultra-modern tunnel in an off white light.

He cursed silently to himself. Not M162.

The electricity controlling mutant in Cell Block B, the elements wing.

Hank sprinted up the stairwell, through the secrurity doors after flashing his ID card by the guards, he passed through Cell Block A, by the Physical Mutations ward and its glass cased detainees who yelled abuse at him, slamming their fists into the transparent walls.

The lights were out now, the sounds of his colleagues yells reverberated off the concrete walls, he passed through the next security door unnoticed, crashing through the metallic doors with such force that they broke free of their hinges.

'Where have you been?' John Crosthwaite roared across the room, tranquilizer gun drawn, pointed directly at the blond adult who's cell was exploding with golden light, the mutants around her where all cowering, afraid of the wrath of there barbaric holders. Hank removed his own gun from its holster, sideling around guards who were preparing to sedate the rogue. 'Her wrist guards are damaged, her powers are of full use to her -' the row of military men where thrown back as the room exploded with electricity. Crosthwaite lined up the gun and Hank shook his head. 'What, Beast? You've always been to kind to these freaks. Their not human.'
He looked down, smiling in frustration. The childhood name had been adopted by his work mates because of his brutish looks and it didn't please him.

'We had come so far with her research, John. We can't just dispose of Electra now.'