Thanks for the reviews! For some reason, I'm kind of proud of this chapter. Maybe it's because I didn't get writer's block on this chapter. I don't know. But please review!
I couldn't find much description on the Reavers, so if anybody knows of other members or any physical or personality descriptions, please let me know by leaving it in a review or e-mailing me (you'll find that in my profile). Thanks!
From inside the heart of the ocean, something awakened.
The being stirred uncertainly, struggling to remember what had previously happened. Ah. Its power had been used by the vessel to save other like it . . . others it cared for. Memories flooded the entity, memories that weren't its. It saw. It knew. It opened its eyes for the first time and saw nothing but darkness.
Of course.
The vessel's body had been in the ocean for so long with nothing but the being's essence to keep it alive. Now the vessel was unconscious, its mind sleeping. Using the power of the sun, it enveloped the vessel's body in fire, propelling them both upwards, towards light . . . and the sun.
Oh, the sun. Something it had not felt in so long. So long in being stored away in the back of the vessel's mind, stored away in nothingness, waiting for the right heir, the right time. It had a job to do, and the time has come to do it. To save everyone from Apocalypse. To save everyone from fearing and hating even more than they do now.
Weak now from using up the leftover energy from surviving in the ocean, the vessel's body collapsed from exhaustion. It did not have the energy to feel the presence of another, waiting in the shadows to strike.
…
The doors to the Brotherhood opened. Standing in the doorway was a sullen looking boy. His brown hair was so long, it almost covered his eyes.
"Who're you?" He asked suspiciously.
At least he sounds sober, Blaze thought, eyeing the other teenagers inside.
"I'm Pyro. This is Blaze. Mystique invited us." John replied.
The boy hesitated before shouting, "Blob! Get Mystique!"
They heard a loud crash before a blonde haired woman appeared at the door. She smiled as she saw John. "I see you've accepted my offer." Then see saw Blaze. "Who's this?"
"Blaze. She used to be at Xavier's school too."
Mystique noted her crutches. "What happened?"
"Got into a fight," Blaze said cockily, assuming a personality that she thought would suit this band of rebellious mutants, "The Profs got all pissed. They're so damn uptight!"
The shape shifter smiled coldly. "Well come in, then. It's much warmer inside."
Clutching their luggage tightly, they both entered the Brotherhood. They received no acknowledgment whatsoever from the other boarders. Not that John had very high expectations.
"Warm reception, huh?" John commented, almost cheerfully, to Blaze.
"Sure," Blaze answered absentmindedly, cocking an eyebrow at the pigsty they were going to stay in. Chip bags were everywhere, somebody was jumping around, their tongue flying out, several teens were spewed out on the couch, just sitting there, and some others were drinking Bud's Light. "This should be fun."
Once inside the safety of the house, Mystique morphed back into her blue self. Her yellow eyes seemed even colder than they had previously been. "Lance," She requested sweetly of long haired teen, "show them their rooms."
Lance scoffed. "Whatever," But he started going up the stairs, which John took as his cue to follow.
But Blaze had crutches. It was hard for her to get up the stairs. She put a crutch in the wrong place, so she slipped and began to fall backwards.
"Blaze!" John yelled. But he couldn't reach her.
"Ahhh!" She shrieked, knowing she would be falling a long way. Blaze closed her eyes, preparing for a hard fall.
But it never came.
She opened her eyes to see that a silver haired teen had saved her. He smirked, reminding her vaguely of John.
"Kindaclumsyarentyou? BythewayImPietroorQuicksilver." The boy said rapidly.
Blaze blinked, confused. John and Lance had come back down.
"Pietro." Lance scowled. Obviously he didn't like him.
"Oh. Is that what he said?" Blaze mused.
John sighed. It looks like the Brotherhood has picked up a variety of mutants. He didn't like this Pietro. He looked too slick, to slippery. Too untrustworthy. Plus, he reminded John vaguely of someone. But he couldn't put his finger on whom.
They didn't notice the door open. An old man walked in, heavy bags under his eyes from the weight he carried, from the repeated times when he had been injected with Stryker's serum.
"Magneto," John greeted politely. Usually he would have said something sarcastic, but he had a feeling that he probably shouldn't. No need to piss the old man off so soon.
"I see you've decided to return to us, Pyro," Magneto commented. "And I see you've met my son."
"S-son?" John stuttered, slightly taken aback. Magneto having children as young as Pietro was . . . it was slightly disturbing. This was definitely something John had not been expecting.
That's when Blaze realized Pietro was still holding onto her. She quickly regained her balance and stood up on her own, blushing slightly. She felt uncomfortable, standing in the presence of man who was dead in her time, a martyr.
Magneto had always been one of those shades of grey mutants. Some considered him evil. Some considered him good. People like Professor Xavier thought he had good intentions, but he just carries them out the wrong way. But then again, Professor Xavier's relationship with Magneto was complicated. They were good, old friends, yet they and their respective groups try to kill each other whenever they meet in conflict.
"Yes, my son," Magneto said dryly, obviously amused at Pyro's shocked expression, "My daughter as well. Wanda. I don't know where she is right now, but . . ."
He smiled at Pietro, which surprised John. Magneto didn't seem to be a very smiling kind of guy. Unless it was a menacing smirk.
"Why do you think I'm so dedicated to the cause?" Magneto asked, becoming surprisingly open,"I want to make a world that won't persecute my children."
John had always thought it was just because Magneto hated regular people. That he hated being unable to express his superiority. But he had a feeling that Magneto being so open might be his way of indirectly telling his son how important he was to him. John never thought Magneto could have the heart enough to care, but apparently he was wrong.
Either that or he was trying to keep John at the Brotherhood, unlike last time.
No wonder no one trusts me, John thought grudgingly.
What else is new?
She lay in the bottom of Alkali Lake, encased in by the metal her own bones were made of.
No, She thought, They weren't made of adamantium. Someone put them there. Who was it?
Oh. Stryker.
She struggled to remember basic things. Her name. What was her name?
Lady Deathstrike.
No.
Yuriko Oyama.
Yes, that was it. That was her identity before becoming Stryker's pawn. That was the person she wanted to hold on to. Not that it mattered. Hopefully she'd die soon.
But she hasn't yet. She had waited, her mind slowly diminishing, waiting for the end to come. Waiting for her long suffering to end.
Suddenly, she could feel her heavy metal filled body lifting. But she didn't care enough to wonder how this was happening. She could feel the release of the containing water around her. Yuriko was above the water! But how?
Yuriko could hear a soft sound. The sound of tires.
"What do we have here?" A gruff voice wondered aloud.
Yuriko wanted to flinch at the touch of the cold metallic hand, but she couldn't.
Now a different man spoke. His voice was smooth and sophisticated. "She's full of metal. If I'm not mistaken . . . she may be one of Stryker's experiments."
"Stryker?" The sound of wheels became closer. "Then that means . . ."
"The adamantium. It could very well be in this lady here."
The gruff man laughed. "Then this one may be worth saving."
Its senses detected the presence immediately. But the vessel's body had no physical defenses. It would have to rely on its willpower.
Using its power, the attacker was sent flying. Only then did it realize its mistake. It felt terrible pain as something latched itself to the vessel's back-it's back-and go through it. It felt violated, as it felt something polluting its system, twisting its original purpose.
Trying to fight the invading virus, it knew it was hopeless. It was far too weak. It felt itself being ripped out of its heir's body.
But it was surprised to feel itself forming a physical body of its own! It twisted and shaped until it became an exact replica of the vessel.
The mastermind smiled. It happened exactly as he predicted. Exactly as he planned. Everything was placed by him for his own purpose. And now . . . this powerful being will join him . . . willingly or unwillingly, it doesn't matter. He's already planted the seeds of darkness. It only needs to be nurtured.
"Welcome back, Phoenix." He said, chuckling slightly.
The Phoenix knew that this mutant was poisoning her. Knowing she could do nothing to stop it, she tried to reach out, placing memories and knowledge into the vessel, hoping it would be able to save everything from falling apart.
Then, everything changed.
Dark Phoenix had telepathy, but no telekinesis. That would be needed. So, using her newly found absorbing powers, she willed Jean Grey's telekinetic powers into her.
Then, Dark Phoenix and its new found partners walked off, leaving a bleeding Jean Grey sprawled on the ground next to Alkali Lake.
Yuriko Oyama flinched in her mind as she felt a booming voice there.
Who are you? It asked.
I think that's my question, Yuriko asked suspiciously, You are the one in my mind.
I am Donald Pierce, leader of the Reavers.
The Reavers?
Yes. We are cyborgs. I myself am a mutant. I used to be affiliated with the Hellfire Club, he sounded proud of this.
Yuriko was not impressed. What a useless waste of her time. What do you want? If you are just going to brag about past affiliations, then kill me now.
There was a rich ringing of laughter in her head. Quite a fighter! Yes . . . I supposed I've rambled on for long enough. Now, to business. You are dying, as you should know. The metal preserved your body, but the metal in your head is polluting your brain. Now, we have a process that can move that metal to a different part of your body. Just one side effect-you will become one of us. I understand your claws are extended from your fingernails, correct? Well, I'll have to transfer the metal to your hands . . . they will become longer, sharper. Abnormal. You won't be able to pass as a human anymore.
No.
What?
Iwill notbecome another science experiment. Yuriko decided stubbornly.
But this is for your life!
Yes. But I've sinned enough in my life. I don't want to live with what I did. I don't want to have to hide myself, scarred and disfigured once I get a second chance. If you have any kindness in you, you'd find a way to kill me quickly.
Pierce cursed under his breath. If she died, they could extract the metal from her body, but they would lose a powerful asset. In their world of thieves, they could use a fighter like her. Metal inserted in her bones. Practically indestructible.
But it seemed that this one would be far too stubborn. Pierce sighed. It looks like he'll have to resort to Pretty Boy . . .
He indicated to Pretty Boy. The young man stepped forward. He locked his eyes with Yuriko's, and using fiber optic filaments in his eyes, he began to alter her personality to make her more cooperative.
Pierce decided to coax her vulnerable mind to see his side of things.
You speak of past sins. Well, isn't this a second chance at life? Isn't this the time you should take to repent? Shouldn't being "disfigured" as you call it, be proper punishment?
Well . . . Yuriko sounded hesitant, maybe . . . yes, I see what you mean.
So you will go though it then?
Yes.
Good. Pierce was pleased. Pretty Boy had done a good job. But what Pierce didn't mention to Yuriko was that she may lose some of her memories. The water and metal had polluted her brain, and this process will cause her to lose some of the memories stored there. Not that it really mattered. She wanted to start over. Well, at least now it may be with a clean slate.
And so the process began. Yuriko stayed in the large liquid tube while machines poked and prodded her, slowly transferring the metal to her hands. Occasionally some of the other Reavers would pass by and grimace at the sight.
The only one who seemed unaffected was Bonebreaker, who himself had no legs and traveled-literally-on wheels. Not in a wheelchair. The entire bottom half of his body consisted of motor wheels.
Finally, it was done. Yuriko Oyama awakened to a light feeling in her entire body. She felt nauseated, fighting the urge to vomit. There was a breathing mask over her face. The mutant fought and thrashed. She winced as a terrible pain shot up in her leg. Yuriko looked down to see several deep gashes in her leg. They looked like animal scratches. There was relief when the wounds healed themselves. That's when she noticed.
Her hands were no longer delicate and at first glance-harmless. Now they were long and sharp. As she tried to curl the freakishly long finger toward her palm, she saw the blood on the sharp fingertips. Her blood.
She cried out in anguish at what had happened to her. She tore at the glass encasement, scratching over and over again until the glass broke and she was free. Tearing off the breathing mask, Yuriko curled into a ball and began to sob, something she had not been at liberty to do in so long.
I've become even more of a monster than before! She wailed in the privacy of her mind.
Suddenly, anger rose up inside of her. Anger she had never learned to contain. Yuriko knew. She knew that something had been taken away. Something was not whole. All she could remember was . . . Wolverine! He had tried to kill her! He was the one who had condemned her to having to resort to this. There was something else too. Someone else she should hate. St-Stry-she couldn't remember. It doesn't matter now. All that mattered was revenge on Wolverine for what he did.
Yuriko felt the sudden warmth of wool upon her bare skin. Standing up with a new resolve, she wrapped the robe around herself, staring coldly into the eager eyes of Donald Pierce. Yes . . . he wanted to use her for the unique metal in her body. She could feel the deceit. This man would manipulate her for his bidding. Just like Stry- . . . this man would use her as a puppet.
We'll see who will become the puppet master in the end, Yuriko thought wickedly, licking her lips at the satisfying thought.
"So what is your name?" Pierce asked, sounding exactly like a diplomat. Respecting her for her resilience, but fearing her for her abilities.
How should she answer?
Yuriko Oyama?
No.
Lady Deathstrike.
Scott stared out the window. He could see it happening, over and over. It has haunted him and plagued his dreams for so long. The helplessness. Not being able to help Jean. She's dead, and the world has taken a step towards complete chaos, complete segregation of mutants. The law that would force all the mutants to give their identities away is being debated right now.
Some kind souls who knew mutants were arguing against it. Most, however, let their hate, jealousy, and fear rule their decision to argue for the law.
Jean had led such a campaign against the Mutant Registration Law. But now she was gone, and the minority of those who agreed with her had little voice. They had been accused as traitors to humanity. Some have been harassed, others threatened and blackmailed. Most of their supporters were pulling out, afraid of retaliation against them and their families. The numbers of supporters in Washington was dwindling, and he knew it.
Scott had little hope now. What was the point? Everything had gone wrong for the X-Men, for mutants . . .
The mutant grabbed some Prozac pills and gulped it down with a glass of water.
He had no idea why Professor Xavier allowed Pyro back into the mansion. He never liked the troublemaker from the beginning. There was always a deceiving and coldly calculating air about him.
And now he's left again. With him, the new student. The other firestarter. Both in the same fold. The girl had not been here long, but Scott also had a feeling about her. She was not all she seemed. Something was hidden, something important. Many kids at the mansion had secrets, but he had a feeling this was something worthy of investigating.
The Professor had not listened.
Suddenly, he heard banging on his door. He ignored it and turned back towards the window, lost in his thoughts.
"Scott?" Rogue's soft, but recognizable voice came from the other side of the door, "The Professor wants you downstairs,"
There was no answer. Rogue sighed, knowing the Professor had specifically asked for Scott. But she knew he was gone, holed up deep inside himself and his misery.
"The Professor says it's urgent," Rogue said.
Finally, the door slowly swung open, its hinges creaking softly. Scott paused to adjust his red sunglasses before silently making its way downstairs. Rogue silently followed him.
Most of the members of the X-Men were arranged downstairs, all looking confused.
Only Professor Xavier knew what was making its way towards the Institute this very minute. There was no use in telling the others who it was; there was no way to prepare them for this. But he also knew they had to be cautious. He was allowed to identify the physical body, but the mind was blocked.
This aroused suspicion.
Rogue found her way to Bobby and slipped her hand into his.
"What do you think is going to happen?"
Bobby shrugged, "I don't know, but it's definitely not the ice cream man,"
His girlfriend stared.
"We-we ran out of ice cream," Bobby mumbled, embarrassed.
"That's because you always eat it all!" Rogue teased, poking his stomach, "You'd better watch it."
Bobby gaped in mock indignation. "Hey! Me? Fat? No way."
Rogue was about to retort when the door swung open.
Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. It couldn't have been possible. Everyone's jaws dropped. They had seen this woman drown before their own eyes. They had mourned for this woman for months now.
Scott was the first to utter any words. "J-Jean?" He stuttered. A wave of emotion overcame him. Shock, joy, bitterness, and finally . . . anger.
He raced over and grabbed the beautiful, slender neck of his dead love. Using his anger as a newfound strength, he slammed her against the wall, choking her.
"Sc-Scott! What are-y-you doing?" Jean gasped.
"How . . . dare you?" Scott spat at her, "You have no-no right to look like her! You disgust me, Mystique!"
The Professor felt a wave of emotion from Jean. It was the first time her guard was let down. But the emotion was not of joy or anger at being accused as Mystique. It was mocking laughter. Whoever this was, it was laughing at Scott's anger.
Then Scott found himself pried gently from the apparition and found himself floating in midair. Jean's eyes were narrowed in concentration. It was clear she was the one doing the telekinesis. So . . . that meant . . .
"You-you're alive?" Scott said, tears welling up in his eyes, half doubting, and half believing.
Jean let him down next to her. "Yes, Scott," She said softly, gently stroking his cheek, "I'm back."
Scott looked at her tenderly for a moment, relishing her soft, smooth skin and soft, loving eyes. Then, he muttered, "Sorry," lifted his sunglasses, and blasted Jean into a wall.