Most of the weaponry was damaged beyond practical use. Anything with dynamite or explosive properties had detonated without hesitation, leaving behind angry flames in aftermath. Somewhere along the floor, a hatch flew open. Wisps of excess smoke drifted free as a soot-covered Cajun crawled out. He coughed and rubbed his ears, wondering if the ringing would ever stop. Struggling to get his senses back, he realized how fortunate he was that the C-4 in the cache had not erupted. He stumbled out of the storage dome and took a moment to breathe.
Faint voices drifted to his ears.
"...preparing right now."
"Why bother...all revved up...stupid girl?"
Remy climbed to his feet and moved as silently as speed would allow. Two of Farrat's men stood in the damaged corridor, keeping guard.
"It's a mansion full of muties, idiot," one of them scoffed. "We don't know how many there are or what powers they have--friggin' anomalies of nature. Not going to be easy catching the stripe-haired girl."
Remy's jaw clenched.
"Why we after a teenager anyway?"
"Farrat ordered. Hope she gets hers, before she grows old enough and really knows how to use whatever powers she has--all that baby mutant filth should. Maybe they'll run experiments on her--like they do in the movies, you know? All the surgical tools and prodding machines, find out what makes a mutant a mutant." He sniggered cruelly. "Hope they make it hurt. Every little mutant bitch should be put to a slow and painful--aagh!"
Both guards flew against the wall as a charged card exploded at their feet. Remy was on them in a second, clutching the talker against the wall while pinning the other to the floor with a boot at the neck.
"What's Farrat want wit' de girl?" Remy demanded, eyes glowing like hellfire.
The man stared at him with a disgusted glare, "You think you scare me, mutie?" Even as he said it, he felt his jacket growing warmer. Soon the warmth was uncomfortable and he realized the mutant was doing it.
"Dat's right," Remy said, eyes narrowed, "couple more seconds and dere'll be more pieces o'y' dan you'll be able t'count." The one on the floor began struggling and Remy kicked him brutally to unconsciousness.
"I don't know what he wants," the man said. He began to sweat from the heat. It was burning his skin. "Swear to God I don't know--I'm just doing my job."
Remy continued to glower at him. Finally, with a frustrated grunt, he uncharged the jacket and knocked the man out. As he turned to leave he heard their comm units cackling.
"...Gregson and Vitrol remain at stations. Team ready to depart--Xavier Institute..."
Remy ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Despite what Farrat's men thought, there was no heavy mutant force at the Institute. Rogue and Jean were alone--and they would not be able to hold back a group of armed attackers. He had to get to the Institute before Farrat's people did--he had to warn Rogue.
He reached the underground garage where his Harley Davidson was parked. Leaping on, he pushed the motorcycle to its maximum speed.
The garage housed many sorts of complex machinery and expanded a wider area below ground than the base did above. Remy sped through with few obstructions, accelerating up a ramp and shooting out via hidden doors on the surface. The Harley thudded noisily upon dirt and groaned in protest as Remy jerked it towards a back road route towards the mansion.
He paid little attention to fences or street signs, mind focused on one thought.
He had to warn Rogue.
She clutched the phone to her ear, squeezing her eyes shut. Her breath ceased flowing and she struggled to remain calm.
"Rogue? Are you still there?" a panicked woman asked on the other end of the line. "Please, tell me what to do. We don't know what to do. It's been an hour since it happened..."
She could not speak. She could not believe.
"She's in bed right now--is that okay? Should we take her to the hospital--oh, but God she's a mutant and they won't help her--will they?"
Rogue forced herself to breathe, "Mrs. Pryde..." She didn't know what to say. She was so tired. She glanced at the clock, saw it was near one in the morning. "Just keep Kitty warm...and...yeah, warm." She couldn't remember what to do with comatose people.
"That's it?" Kitty's mother screeched. "I thought you X-Men were experienced with this sort of thing! Tell me how to help my daughter!"
She slammed the phone down before she knew what she'd done. Backing away, she stared at it with a blank face. It did not ring again. She then looked around the living room as though fascinated by the furniture and elegant decorations. Numbness became her senses; she didn't know what to feel. Her reality consisted of nothing but emptiness--a deep void where all the X-Men were supposed to be. All the X-Men and a certain Cajun...
Rogue blinked, rubbed her eyes. She couldn't think enough to be afraid. Lowering herself onto the couch, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes to wish for oblivion. Was that too much to ask for? She wanted to feel nothing and be nowhere. Maybe the mutant predator would come after her next and end this miserable existence.
The screaming didn't even startle her when it began--it was her psyches that sent her running.
She's here! She's here!
Don't go to her! Let her take the redhead! You don't like her anyway!
Are you crazy--she'll come after you next!
You're not a hero, you're a monster and vampire like her!
Rogue flew down the stairs, losing her footing over a few steps. A cry escaped her throat as she tumbled painfully to the floor. Grunting from exertion, she staggered to her feet and burst into the kitchen. A toaster flew by her head, whipping aside a few strands of her hair. She pressed herself against the wall, green eyes wide with alarm. Oh, God...
Jean cowered by the patio door, clutching handfuls of hair as her wide eyes stared at an invisible horror. Knives, forks, and other sharp kitchen utensils flew about the room, striking into the walls, counters, and cupboards. "Stop it! Stop it!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her gaze focused on a rack of pots and pans hanging over the island counter. They flew at her bidding, aiming at the unseen target. "I won't let you do this! You're not going to take them! I won't let you take him!"
Rogue suddenly found her voice, "Jean--only telepathy works!" She stared hopelessly as the older girl continued to scream and levitate objects.
Rogue took a deep breath and pushed herself off the wall. She dove out of the way of a flying wok and took cover behind the island counter. Forks and knives struck the floor near her feet--the ghost had just flown past. She looked up as a cupboard slammed open. Ivory plates streamed out in neat rows, flying to directed locations only to shatter against walls and objects.
Squelching the reluctance, Rogue threw herself forward while dodging the plates. She tackled Jean against the patio doors. The glass shattered at impact and they sprawled through, rolling over prickly shards. Rogue groaned from the many tiny cuts on her skin. Her screeching psyches did not help matters as they continued to harass her with insults, threats, and panicked cries. She struggled onto her feet and went to Jean, who was slowly sitting up.
"A psychic blast," Rogue said, grabbing the redhead's shoulders. "Do ya understand? Jean--look at me damn it!" She slapped her across the face.
Jean stared at Rogue with wide eyes. She shook her head, swallowing. Then she nodded. "O-okay...I'll try..." She searched the air before them, seeing what Rogue could not. Then, concentrating her powers, she gasped as she aimed her telepathic energy.
Like before, the air rippled and a smoky figure flickered into view for a few seconds.
"Keep going," Rogue encouraged, squeezing her shoulder. "Ah'm right here." She tried desperately to quiet the voices in her head. They were reaching a mind-sundering roar.
She's too strong!
You can't fight her! Run before she gets us!
You're evil--you're just like her--you fool!
Jean's eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. She shook her head and released a pained gasp. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead. "Not working...I have to try...I'm going to try..." She grew rigid under Rogue's hold, hands flattening against the glass-covered patio. She bled but didn't seem to notice. Her facial features calmed into hard focus. Then something unexpected happened.
Rogue leapt back in alarm as the wispy specter floated up from Jean's body. She stared in awed fascination, noticing the resemblances to Jean in the mistiness--the slender figure, the long hair, the pleasantly angular face...
The smoky form floated up into the air and shaped a cloudy blade in its hand. It slashed fiercely with the weapon and upon contact, revealed the invisible ghost. Just as quickly the ghost winked out of view until Jean's ethereal form attacked it again. The two misty figures battled each other. Every time Jean attacked with success the ghost would appear to the naked eye, looking horridly like the wicked witch of childhood fears.
Rogue marveled at the scene. Hope flared inside of her as she watched Jean advance upon the ghost again and again. She seemed to be gaining the upper hand. But then Rogue glanced at the real Jean and saw the girl had a pained expression on her face. Her brow twitched and she bit her lip near bleeding. The effort was exhausting her.
Dismay clutched Rogue like a vice as the ghost slashed viciously at Jean's projection. The telepath was depleted of strength. She released a pained cry and collapsed, moaning incoherently. Misty Jean disappeared, melting away in the air.
Rogue went to her side, trying to pick her up. "Come on, Jean, snap out of it. We have to get out of here. Ah can't--" She fell back as one of Jean's fists collided with her face.
Jean screamed and cried out in despair. Her arms beat at the air futilely, becoming weaker with each subsequent attempt. Rogue tried to calm her down and stop her screaming. She watched in horror, the psyches railing mercilessly in her head, as Jean's screams became mere whimpers. Her body convulsed, her eyes rolled up in her head. In a few brief moments, she was motionless.
No, no, no...this can't be happenin'... Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the panic rise in her chest. She held Jean and cradled her head in her arms. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Her auburn tresses fell over her face as she stared at the ground. There was nobody else. She was truly, utterly alone. Ah didn't do anything, she thought helplessly. Why am Ah the last one? Tears fell down her cheeks, tears she struggled always to keep at bay.
Self-pity doesn't become you.
Rogue stiffened and looked around in alarm. "Who's there?"
You know who.
The psyches shrieked in absolute panic. Their wails of indescribable fear reached such resonance that words blended into incoherent babble. Rogue released Jean, stepping away and clutching at her head. "Stop it!" she screamed at them. "Shut up! Leave me alone!"
She'lltakeus!Youwanthertotakeus!Youhateus!Runawaynow!She'scomingtogetyou!She's coming!You'rehernextvictim!Run!Run!Run!She'shere!
Rogue clawed at her head, begged the psyches to relent their assault on her. Anything was favorable to this pain, this torture she could never escape. She ground her teeth together, trying to suppress their screams with her mental shields. It wasn't working--nothing would subdue them.
Boy, aren't you miserable.
Rogue breathed jaggedly from anguish. She looked up and saw the ghost.
I may be a vampire but at least I can control when I absorb.
It was a girl bearing a pleasant face composed of ethereal mist. She looked nothing like the decrepit witch Rogue had witnessed earlier. Her eyes were paler than the rest of her smoky form, twinkling slightly as she held Rogue under scrutiny. Silence.
The psyches immediately ceased their wailing.
Rogue blinked several times as she tried to calm her pounding heart. She stared at the ghostly phantom. "Wraith?"
It sighed in resignation. Alas, no--but that does seem to be the popular belief. Cloudy lips curved into a sly smile. Nobody knows about me. Nobody knows about little Annabel.
"Why did they listen to ya?" Rogue asked, shaking her head. She was so confused. She was talking to the mutant predator and it was talking back to her. "Why aren't ya killing me all ready? Why--"
So many questions, Annabel said into her mind. Is the whole vampire thing the only interest these days? A sigh sounded. Guess it's only nature to fear what's sending so many people into a coma...
"You're crazy," Rogue said incredulously. "You're talking like it isn't a big deal--like you're not ruining lives."
The ghost drifted closer to her until she took a step back. You're afraid of me, aren't you Rogue? Why? I'm just like you. We're the same. How utterly fascinating...I thought dear dead Mother was the only person like me in the world. We should be like sisters, we can relate to each other's pains...
Rogue could not believe what she was seeing. Theodore Farrat, Remy had said. The man was doing something to the girl--the mutant predator--the ghost. Theodore Farrat. Patricia Farrat. Dear dead Mother...
"You're Velkonnen's daughter," Rogue whispered.
Annabel smiled prettily, Very bright little rogue, aren't you? Even Remy couldn't figure it out.
Rogue drew in a sharp breath, "What did you do to him?" Little semblances of the feelings she had absorbed from him still lingered. It made her feel guilty and warm at the same time.
Her remark seemed to amuse Annabel. She laughed an airy sound and flashed Rogue a disdainful look. Why do ya care anyway? she asked, immitating the southern accent. He didn't want things to be complicatin', but ya just had to absorb him to prove a point--a lame one, too. Who really gives a damn about the future--the present is all ya have.
"Ah know ya aren't lecturing me," Rogue muttered. She rubbed her temples. She had to be going crazy. The stress had finally gotten to her--she was hallucinating.
Remy's going to be fine once you're out of the picture, Annabel cooed. She batted her wispy lashes dreamily. He's such a wonderful young man...do you even realize how wonderful he is? So kind, such a romantic, very empathetic.... And I'm sure you've not failed to notice how gorgeous he is.... You really don't deserve him, Rogue. He's too good for you. I'll make him happier than you ever could.
Rogue glared at the spectral image furiously. "Ya aren't even real," she hissed. "You're just a projection of your real self. Where is your body? Is it Theodore Farrat--your mother's brother--your uncle? What's he doin' to ya?"
Annabel bristled noticeably. Slowly her soft features began to change. Her button nose extended pointily, her eyes became angled and piercing, her skin bubbled with pocks and wrinkles. Fangs grew behind shriveled lips as the curly hair unwound to a scraggly mass. I don't like looking this way, she said, a pronged tongue flickering behind feral teeth. Excitement brings it out, plus my sheer spite--but when I get angry, that's the worst.
Rogue finally understood why the victims screamed.
Her psyches could no longer remain quiet. Their howls vibrated off the walls of her mind, drowning out all other thoughts. She was too pained to be afraid, too distracted to notice the ghost's clawed hands reach out to her. Above the roaring cacophony of panicked souls, she heard Annabel's voice.
It'll be over soon. You won't have to feel this anymore--you won't have to hate living. All there will be is peaceful sleep...then nothing, because there is no heaven for mutants. No, no heaven at all...
A terrible, searing pain erupted in Rogue's mind. She cried out and fell to her knees, clutching her head. It felt as though her skull was being ripped apart. Tears sprang from her eyes unbidden and she fought back the urge to whimper.
You're letting her take us! You're letting her drain you!
Fight back, you evil witch! Fight back!
She's inside! She's inside!
Annabel's girly laughter floated above the noise, So many, Rogue. How do you keep so many?
Rogue could feel herself being absorbed--the rape of her mind like Apocalypse had done. She doubled over on the patio, clutching herself, trying to fight away the agony. Annabel was pulling at her psyches, teasing them until they shrilled even louder with fear. Rogue tried to hold onto them--anything to stop their painful screaming. She couldn't take it anymore, could feel herself beginning to snap. Weaker and weaker she grew, fully understanding the affect of her powers on those unfortunate people she had touched. As her resistance wavered, Annabel fed jovially upon the psyches--so many lives, so many experiences, so much to relish in.
The pain....With an exhausted scream Rogue let go, allowing Annabel to drain her freely. The world faded from perception. There was no more screaming, no more mind-wracking pain. There was...
Nothing.