2009: In Route to Nevada, 7850 ft above sea level
The interior of the jet was silent as the team departed. St. John fiddled absently with one the many lighters he carried with him, his customary backpack flamethrower resting on his legs. Next to him, Remy shuffled a deck of playing cards, flipping them deftly in his fingers with skill that any magician would envy. In the front cabin next to her, Scott flew the jet, his demeanor solemn and composed as always. Kitty's gaze swept over them all before coming to rest upon Pietro. The silvery haired man was gazing out the window, his expression blank.
Kitty knew how hard it was for the speedy mutant to keep still for extended periods of time; it was part of his mutation. Along with the high metabolism came a slight case of ADHD, which meant his activity level was extraordinarily high. Pietro needed to be in constant motion. She could see the way his fingers twitched, fidgeting this way and that. It was one of the few outward signs of his discomfort; but more than enough to give him away to someone who knew him. She had to fight the urge to fidget herself, chewing nervously upon her bottom lip. They'd only been airborne for about an hour, but it seemed much longer.
The air was thick with the brooding silence. None of them knew what they were flying into exactly. Cyclops had gathered them together hurriedly, telling them only what he knew of the situation at hand.
The worst had happened. Now the X-Men flew to rescue one of their own. Or bury them.
3/?
End of History
ChaosCat
April 30, 2004
2009: Nevada. Three Hours Ago.
The man stalking across the stark, black desert had gone by a plethora of names in his long life. Many of those names he might never remember – cursed forever to live only with half-truths and nameless figments of his faulty memories. He had been many men – some of them decent, some unspeakable. Perhaps his amnesia was a blessing in that respect. Be that as it may, the only name he knew now was Logan. Was that his real name? Or one he had been given? Had he even given it to himself?
He might never know the answers to those questions. And sometimes he wondered if he even cared anymore. The world had moved on. The one man who could have helped him was gone. He was, and forever would be, the Wolverine. And right now, he was furious.
Forge was missing.
The younger man was supposed to return nearly an hour ago, before the sun had fully set. Now, long after dark had fallen, they still had heard nothing from him. So Wolverine had gone out to hunt.
This was supposed to have been their last night camping in the desert. Cyke had sent them out nearly a week ago, looking into a lead on a Sentinel manufacturing compound. It was there already, settled snugly in one of the desert valleys.
Bastards, Wolverine thought viciously. The President preaches peace from the midst of a fighting Senate and then says nothing while militant groups stockpile giant robots of mass destruction. Wolverine couldn't blame the government. Not really. Apocalypse was still out there. And he was still scheming. The giant mutant hunting Sentinels weren't technically legal, as they were still in the midst of attempting peace talks with Apocalypse's mutant representatives. This bit of information had leaked out to the press, leaving people somewhat leery of what the future would bring. But Logan knew it was only a matter of time before war broke out. That was why the X-Men were there, even if the rest of the world didn't know it.
They had only been sent here to set up surveillance around the area. A few of Forge's smaller gadgets would have done the trick. The devices were wired to set up a perimeter around the facilities, allowing the X-Men to monitor what came in and what came out.
Wolverine gave a cautious sniff of the air. Forge's scent was still fresh. The man had passed this way several hours ago. That was not out of the ordinary. However, the fact that he had not returned was. Following his trail, Wolverine trekked across the desert under the cover of darkness. The cold night air had little effect upon the stocky man. He'd long since become immune to all but the most extreme weather conditions.
Abruptly, he paused, tasting the acute scents of the air.
Blood thrummed through his veins as the adrenaline began to flow. The hair on the back of his neck rose. His knuckles itched fiercely, begging for release of the blades within.
A low growl rising in his throat, Logan tapped the communicator at his belt.
"Kid, you read me?"
"Gotcha ya loud and clear, Badger." The female voice on the other end was chipper, and largely unconcerned. "What's goin' down?"
"I need you to patch me through to Slim, kid." His tone was sharp, warning the voice on the other end that this was not the time to be cute. "We've got a problem."
****************
2009: Nevada. Desert. The Present.
To watch the Blackbird land was truly an impressive sight. The aircraft was a feat or modern technology. This was due mostly in part to the large advances in technology made possibly only by one man. The mutant known was Forge. His extraordinary abilities allowed him to build any machine he could imagine. This mastery of machinery showed in this particular project. However, due to that same amazing technology, few people had ever set eyes upon the craft, let alone seen it up close. The sleek ebony vessel was fitted with enough stealth technology it could have landed on the lawn of the White House and never appeared on any scanner known to man. Impressive to say the least.
Yet the two figures watching the descending craft were not as enthused. They'd seen the show before. The first, her shortly cropped blonde hair ruffling in the breeze generated from the landing, did little more than stare at it boredly, as she watched most things in life. Tabitha Smith had made it her life's work to be standoffish. For the most part, she'd succeeded. Only her status as an X-man suggested that perhaps life wasn't all fun and games, although she'd never admit that to any of her teammates.
The other – much shorter than herself and hunched in a position that didn't seem humanly possible (to mention nothing of comfort) – didn't seem to be paying much attention to it at all. Todd Tolensky, known as the Toad to most, had once been a member of the Brotherhood. Now he was an X-Man, although the alliance was often a shaky one.
As the ramp lowered and the team stepped out, the two walked forward to meet them.
As always, Cyclops was in the lead. The two X-Men glanced at each other, sharing a look. Their leader was not pleased. The darkness did little to hide the harsh lines on his face as he frowned deeply at them. They had expected as much. Wordlessly, they shouldered their packs. The campsite had been dismantled already, leaving no sign of their presence in the dirt.
"Where's Logan?"
"Right here, Slim." The wild man could have been lost in the darkness if not for the cherry glow from the tip of his cigar. Wolverine was in a confrontational mood and all gathered knew it. Unspoken tension remained thick between the two men. It had since Wolverine had returned to the team. Returning without the girl he'd left with.
"What's the status?" Cyclops inquired immediately.
"Not good," Logan began, falling into step beside the young man as the two began the walk back to the Blackbird.
The others watched them confer, helping Tabitha and Todd with the remaining gear to be stowed aboard the jet. A few moments later, Kitty joined them in the cockpit of the jet, making her own inquiries.
Despite the differences between the two men, they worked well together. Scott was tactful, studious, and solid. Logan often let his temper rule him. What Scott lacked in experience, Logan more than adequately compensated for with his extensive military training and knowledge of field maneuvers. Kitty was their computer junkie. She and Forge were responsible for most of the equipment and software the X-Men used.
Tabitha settled herself into one of the seats in the back, next to Todd, who was looking studiously at his toes. The two of them didn't have to speak to one another; the company was enough. They were both the relatively newest members of the team, and thus, often found themselves paired together on 'safe' assignments. She didn't even really mind his smell anymore. Well, most of the time, anyway. Unable to keep still, she fumbled with her sunglasses. While useless at night, she kept them with her uniform anyway.
"So, what's the story, doll?" Plopping down next to her, Pyro made the inquiry, his tone implying boredom.
Tabby looked over at him, lips turning up into a smirk. She rather liked St. John Alleryce. He was incorrigible, as Kitty said often enough, and a good deal of fun.
"Forge's gone," she said. "He never came back from setting up his little surveillance machine-thing."
"Did he get lost?" St. John leaned back in his seat, arms behind his head. Tabitha gave a wry smile
"It's not funny."
They both turned to look at Todd. The smaller man was hunched over, scraggly brown hair concealing his face. He often took that position, attempting to make himself as small as possible. Leaving him unnoticed.
"Suppose not, mate." John scratched his head thoughtfully, red-blonde hair spiked every which way from the move. "Any leads yet?"
"Wolverine thinks the somebody from the factory grabbed him," Tabby answered with a shrug.
"Factory?"
"The Sentinel makers."
"Oh. What the piss was he doing out there by himself?"
"Playing with his machines," Tabby answered.
"He could be dead."
"Todd." Tabby sighed, rolling her eyes. "Stop it."
"He's not dead." John shrugged the notion off without much of a thought.
"What makes you so sure?" Todd looked up at him then, the green pallor of his skin making him look sickly in the best of lighting
"Because we know where they're keeping him."
The three looked up. Katherine Pryde stood before them, her palm-held computer in one hand and a frown on her lips.
"Where?"
"How?"
"Huh?"
The questions overlapped, eagerness apparent in all their voices. Kitty held up a hand to silence them before keying a few new bits of information into her modified palm-pilot. She spoke while she worked.
"The comm. devices you carry, you think they're just for show?" Kitty raised a brow. "Forge and I implanted tracking devices into teach of them."
"So you know where he's at?" Todd asked again.
"Yes." Kitty seemed resigned. "His coordinates place him at the site of the Factory."
"Great! When do we leave?" Tabitha replied flippantly.
"Immediately." Wolverine answered for her, calling back from the front of the cabin. "Suit up."
*****************
2009: Nevada. Sentinel Factory. One Hour Ago.
Forge awoke to sharp, immediate pain in the back of his head and with the realization that something had gone horribly wrong. He felt as if his skull had been shattered then haphazardly glued back together in some semblance of what it was supposed to be. Through unfocused eyes, the peered at his surroundings blearily, unable to make out much with the blinding light that seemed to exist all around him. His blurred vision could make out little of his surroundings. Metal walls loomed high, glaring silver in the light.
"Who are you?" The voice was harsh, demanding.
"What?" He answered before he could stop himself, befuddled.
He discovered himself to be sitting up, propped in a high backed chair with his wrists secured behind his back. Realizing this, Forge began to struggle. Twisting in his seat panicked, he only caused the clamps around his wrists to dig into the flesh. Wincing, he stopped, suddenly aware of the intense pain shooting up his right arm. He hissed in pain. It was probably broken. That would make escaping more difficult, as now he was certain that his peril was great. It wasn't the only injury he'd sustained either. It was hard to breathe through his nose, a sure sign that something was wrong. He was fairly certain it was broken as well, in addition to the split lip he now sported.
It didn't take any amount of intelligence for Forge to come to the conclusion that he was screwed. Seriously screwed. He had to be in the factory, although he couldn't seem to remember anything beyond setting up the last bit of surveillance equipment. How the hell had he gotten here?
"Who are you?" The voice repeated the question as Forge began to make out blurry shapes converged around him. His vision was off so much that he wondered if he might have a concussion. Or worse.
"I don't- what do you want?"
"Answers, my young friend."
"Who are you?" Forge was beginning to get pissed. His head was pounding and his arm was in need of some serious medical attention.
"I am asking the questions. You'll be answering them." He could make out three figures now. Two were clad in drab, gray military uniforms unlike any Forge recognized while the third was in a black suit. "You are a mutant, are you not?"
"What's your deal man?" He growled, wanting nothing more than for his eyes to focus. Or to wake up and realize this was just a bad dream, although he knew this was not the case. "Let me up."
"I would advise you to answer the questions."
". . ." Forge scowled.
"Very well."
The man in the suit sounded more amused then aggravated as Forge's refusal to reply as he made a broad gesture toward the man on his left. The uniform stepped forward, brandishing an unfamiliar black object. Forge's brow furrowed, identifying it as a weapon even as the man pressed it against his side, pushing the trigger.
The pain was immediate, flaring up his side. It was some sort of a tazer, the rational part of his mind tried to tell him, but unlike anything he had ever seen. It felt as if the molecules in his body were trying to tear themselves apart and reconfigure differently. Like it had affected the very cells of his body in ways they had never meant to be touched. It was like dying and birth. Excruciating. His spine bowed and he jerked about haplessly. The pain in his arm was unbearable but it seemed only to accent the rest of the agony coursing through him. He thrashed in his seat for an eternity as the pain continued, jaw locked so tightly he could not even scream.
Then it was gone, leaving him a limp, gasping figure still bound to a chair. He could scarcely find the breath to exhale, his nerve endings tingling with the after-shock.
"I did warn you," the man replied pleasantly. "Now, answer the question properly. Are you a mutant?"
"Yes." The word escaped his throat in a dry whisper.
"Excellent. Our Sentinel picked you up near the Western boundary of the compound. What were you doing there?"
Sentinel. The world brought to mind images of giant robots, tromping about. He didn't remember that. Must be one of the side effects of the concussion? He'd have to ask someone about that. He wasn't sure.
"Nothing."
"Not a suitable answer."
"Go to hell." It wasn't much of a taunt but it was better than nothing. He would be fine, right? The X-Men would be looking for him by now. They'd discover his trail and come after him. He just had to stay alive that long.
"Very well." Another of those expansive gestures from the suited man.
Again, the tazer was pressed against his side. And again, Forge writhed in his chair, unable to escape the pain. This time, a scream escaped him despite his best efforts otherwise. This time, the pain went on even longer. Then it was gone, the uniform retreating from him.
"Once again, shall we? We can conduct this interview the easy way, or the more difficult way. I have all the time in the world."
*****
Forty-Five Minutes Later.
"Enough. He's useless now." The suit stepped back from the interrogation, pulling a tiny cell phone from his pocket and flipping it open.
The twin tazers wielded by the uniforms stopped their work in unison, leaving their victim barely lucid. The agony faded to some degree, but the pain was still there, beneath the surface. Darkness swam behind his eyes, and for a moment, Forge wanted to just give in to it. The suit turned his back on them, punching a button for speed-dial. He looked back briefly before the call connected.
"Kill him."
Forge didn't have the breath to protest, although panic seared his belly. His time has just run out. He slumped in the chair, fighting just to stay conscious. His lungs burned with a dry fire. Blood trickled from his bashed eyebrow down the side of his face. It was hard to see through the red. Two blurry shapes converged upon him, the familiar click of rifles disengaging the safety mechanism. He stared ahead, unseeing. Not in defeat, Forge was too proud for that, even as his stomach curled and he realized that death was upon him.
He forced himself to relax. So much for being a hero, he told himself as his stomach rolled queasily in fear and panic. Looks like he hadn't been a very good one. Up until this point, he truly believed that he might make out of this. He'd just begun his first prayer when the world went mad.
The klaxon began blaring only moments before the first explosion rocked the building. The alarm had been raised. The two guards whirled around, searching for the source of the noise as the suited man nearly dropped his cell phone in surprise. The walkie-talkies the guards carried blared to life, leaving the air filled with frightened shouts and barking orders in crescendo to the screeching sirens.
"What the hell?" The suit snapped his phone shut, scowling at the two soldiers as it if were their fault.
The voices over the walkies were fuzzed, panicked, and didn't seem to make much sense to Forge, although he watched the scene with new interest. And new hope.
"Jackson!" The suit snarled, causing one of the guards to snap to attention. "Report! Now!"
"Sir, I don't know, sir," Jackson said haplessly. "The line has gone crazy."
"Get me some answers. Now."
Forge felt somewhat vindicated that the Suit didn't seem so amused anymore. Still, he waited with him all the same, having no other choice in the matter. It took some time before words began to become apparent from the walkie-talkies.
"Shit"*crackle* "It's like a fu-"*crackl* "It's an animal! It ripped him ap-"*crackle*
Anything more for a moment was babble, then a high-pitched scream.
"What's going on out there?"
"I don't -" The second uniform paused, going pale.
"Mutants sir!" Jackson's shout brought Forge to his sense with a jerk. "They've infiltrated the base."
Mutants. He was rescued. The Calvary had arrived just in the nick of time. Forge found himself weak with relief. If only they'd find him before the Suit remembered his previous order.
"The Sentinels! Activate-"
That was a thought never quite finished, as the back wall of the room exploded inward, taking some of the ceiling with it. Forge closed his eyes against the chunks of debris the explosion blew outwards, missing the end of the unfortunate Suit, who never even had time to look up as several hundred pounds of construction materials crushed his bones into nothing. The cell phone fell from his fingertips as he was struck, tumbling across the floor to rest at the toe of Forge's boot.
The two uniforms managed to avoid most of the debris, but that alone didn't save them. Even as Forge was choking on the blinding dust of the blast, he heard the savage snarl of a large beast of prey, followed by the wet sound of flesh being ripped. Dying screams echoed in his ears, sounding more like a wounded animal than a man. Had Logan done that?
"I've located one." The voice was familiar enough that Forge let himself relax. "Inform Creed that he's got five minutes to finish up back there."
"Scott?" He called tentatively, braving the settling dust to open his eyes. "That you, man? For a minute there, I was about to be-"
Forge trailed off as he got a good look at his rescuers, his heart nearly stopping at the sight of them. Something was very, very wrong.
*****
Now.
"Oh Christ."
Kitty gasped as the remains of the factory came into sight, leaning over the controls of the jet to openly gape at the carnage below.
"What the fu-"
"Shut up and sit down."
The Australian was silenced effectively by Wolverine, who was standing behind Kitty. The Canadian shook his head, his expression unreadable. He had very little patience for the pyromaniac, which was one of the reasons Cyclops avoided putting them on field-assignments together unless it couldn't be helped. Of course, Wolverine was one of the few members of the team that Pyro actually listened to and that was only because Logan had threatened his lighter on several occasions.
"What's going on?" Tabby called from the back
"Looks like we weren't the only ones who wanted a piece of 'em," Wolverine answered shortly.
That was an understatement. The factory compound had been reduced to nothing more than a few smoldering remains. Whoever had done that had been beaten them to it, and had done so very recently.
"I'm bringing the jet in for a landing." Scott punched a few buttons at the controls, beginning their descent.
Kitty shot him a look.
"Do you think it's safe?"
"The scanners aren't picking up any signs of life out there," he replied tersely. "But we can't rule out robotic interference. I want you, Gambit, and Wolverine out there with me. We're disembarking first. The rest of you will remain inside until we've finished the initial sweep. Quicksilver, I want you monitoring us from the cockpit. If anything goes down, you're out of here. Got that?"
"Perfectly," Pietro drawled from his sprawled position in one of the chairs. His pose was languid but both Kitty and Scott knew him well enough to realize there was a great deal of tension beneath that well-posed sprawl.
"Kitty, get that tracking device back on-line. I want him found."
"It's on a time-delay," she reminded him, biting her lower lip. "Give me five minutes, could be less, before I can see if there's been any change in his location."
As their leader landed the Blackbird expertly, none of the X-Men mentioned the obvious. That Forge was dead. That they'd been too late. If that was the case, then what had destroyed the Sentinel facility? That hadn't been Forge's doing.
Unless he'd been packing more weaponry than any of them were aware of, Cyclops mused. Highly unlikely.
They disembarked without incident, the four fanning out to survey the site. Shadowcat immediately bounded off, something having caught her eye. Cyclops watched Wolverine sniff the air, once again impressed at the man's uncanny resemblance to his namesake. The older man stalked off, disappearing from sight and leaving Cyclops alone with the tall Arcadian. The two of them didn't speak. While Cyclops respected the man's abilities, there was something about Gambit that he just couldn't look past. The man was too cocky, for starters. It reminded him of Logan in some respects.
He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the now. There was nothing left alive in this place. Cyclops could see that for himself. The only thing to do now was to look for their comrade and try to make sense of what had happened here. The place had been ripped apart, from the look of things. No weapon he knew of could have created blasts like the ones that had decimated the sides of the buildings, or rather, what was left of them. It wasn't much. Further along, something was burning. Something that smelled suspiciously like flesh, a stench not soon forgotten. Scott stepped closer for a better look at one of the blast sites, his brow furrowing in contemplation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Wolverine roll one of the non-moving uniformed men onto his back. He could see the man's wide, unblinking eyes at this distance. Death was never a pretty sight, not like it was dramatized to be. It was nasty business. But it was one that Cyclops had seen far more than he would have liked in recent years. It wasn't the corpse that caught his attention but his comrade. Wolverine was practically snarling. That was not a good sign. Scott strode forward, stepping over another of the corpses.
"Cyke." A call from behind had him turning. Gambit jogged up to him, holding something in his partial gloved hand. "T'ink mebbe y'wanna see dis."
Cyclops granted him nothing more than a puzzled look before seeing what the unruffled Cajun was holding. Upon seeing what it was, however, he knew the reason for Wolverine's sudden ire.
It was a long, metal barb. Gambit handled it with care, turning it so that the strange silver metal caught in the light. About a foot in length, the tip of the quill was sharpened into a wicked point, leaving no one to wonder what it's use was. Or to wonder exactly who it belonged to. There was only one person, or rather, mutant who possessed such feathers. They now knew who was responsible for the destruction of the factory and somehow, Scott wasn't surprised.
"The Horsemen." Kitty breathed. Scott hadn't been aware of her presence until she spoke, but there she stood, eyes wide. She glanced over at Wolverine, who was stalking through the ruins with new fervor now. Scott wasn't paying attention to either of them now; his attention was focused on the metal barb.
"Alex."
--
Chapter Four: What exactly happened to Forge? What are the X-Men going to do about it? Why is Scott talking about his brother, Alex? And of course, we see more of Rogue's past. And how things are on the other side.
--
My thanks to Rogue151, Star-of-Chaos, DemonRogue13, ShockGoddess, crim lady, Khay, aria28, and Alwaysright1 for your amazingly helpful reviews! And a special thanks to Ludi – without whom I probably never would have stopped being lazy and started writing again! As always, comments, questions, requests, and conspiracy theories make my day. ^.^
