Aaaahhhh!!!! I can't believe it! Do you guys KNOW what happened to me?? Of course you don't! Because I haven't been able to tell you! I could give the long version, emphasize my distress, worry, and anxiety with many descriptive adjectives—but then I just want to get this chapter to you guys before Fate decides to screw me over again. So here's the short version:
1 – My laptop crashed, which had several chapters of this fic already typed and waiting to be edited.
2 – Left it at CompUSA to get it fixed. Been a week.
3 – Got it back, but wasn't done being fixed and poor tech assistant doesn't know what he's doing, got yelled at by my dad more than once.
4 - Snuck my fic files out of the laptop harddrive and onto a floppy disk before taking the laptop back to CompUSA
So THAT'S why I haven't updated in so long! You guys just—oh my God—you just DON'T KNOW about the grief I was going through during all of this. I was about to snap bc I have spent literally hours typing these things, making them sound right and then that damn piece of crap crashes...BUT IT'S OKAY NOW! I tried to calm myself by saying, "It's not important. It's just a stupid fanfic that I'll probably forget about in a few months." But then I realized I'm doing this for you guys, too, and I just really wanted my files back. Couldn't disappoint so many!!
Review replies will have to wait. I'm sure you guys want the chapter more than them anyway. ;-)
At first she could only think about the running. Her mind concentrated on the placement of her feet--light on slick surfaces of the tunnels, adroit around pot holes and crevices, evasive of certain miscellaneous debris floating in the water. She surprised herself by her agility and sharp movements, especially after the lack of food and rest.
All those Danger Room sessions with Logan sure did pay off, she thought. Thinking of Logan reminded her of the Institute, of the other X-Men, of the mutant predator, then of her current situation. She slowed to a lagging gait, realizing just then she had no idea where she was going. Her instinct had led her as far away from the Morlocks as possible, taking passage ways and turns that would eventually wind away from the general area. She stored a mental map of her progress in her mind, while it was still fresh. It hadn't occurred to her that she didn't know her way around Manhattan's sewer system. In all the rush and urgency, the thought of maneuvering about the tunnels hadn't even struck for an instant.
Maybe my head's missing more than the excess psyches, she thought bitterly.
The splashing of many feet through sewage reached her ears. Cursing under her breath, Rogue sped into a run. She thought for a moment that she might be able to lose them. Splashing out into a shallow pool of water, she looked around at the three circular tunnels before her. She had entered a square chamber bearing four large drainage pipes. Fear of the unknown clawed at her gut. It was unwise to linger for extended periods of time in such equivocal environments.
Are there really alligators down here? She glanced doubtfully at the deeper areas of water and quickly chose a tunnel.
As she pulled herself up through the grimy mouth, a shout echoed throughout the chamber. Seconds later bright rays of stun beams danced about, striking the dull walls and ricocheting haphazardly. Rogue quickly scrambled into the tunnel, but not before something struck her calf. She cried out and splashed into draining water. Her leg felt numb and useless. Ignoring the sour ache, she pulled herself onto her feet and leaning against the wall, limped away.
"Which way'd she go?"
"The middle one--I think I hit her."
"Then why isn't she..."
Their exchanges faded as Rogue hurried away. The feeling returned to her leg after a few minutes, though an irritating soreness pervaded. Clenching her teeth in indignation, she made a mental note to personally pummel Theodore Farrat if she met him.
Now what? Her eyes desperately scanned the area--nothing but dripping water and shadowed tunnels. She knew it was ridiculous to fear the dark; she lived in a world saturated with mutant super villains and evilly diabolical plans of conquest. Twiddling her fingers nervously, she spotted a metal ladder clinging to the sewer wall. It led up to a manhole, which invariably reached the surface.
Yes. Gritting her teeth from soreness, she scaled the ladder just as Farrat's men came upon her location.
Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, flashing across her peripheral vision.
With a strained effort she tried to push the manhole lid free, but it was stuck. Desperation filled her nerves. Her mind became more boggled with the shadowed figures running towards her, the poorly aimed rays of stun guns attempting to thrash her. One of the beams sliced at the manhole lid and freed it from its grimy seal. Rogue pushed the cover aside and quickly scurried up.
The breath of air was, to say the least, refreshing. Cars were no where in sight as she climbed onto the dark Manhattan street. The road was damp from slight drizzle.
Farrat's men were persistent. A couple began climbing the ladder. Rogue felt a powerful urge to inflict violence. She grabbed the heavy manhole covering and with a forceful grunt, swung it against the first man's head. Gravity became a great enemy as he collapsed, taking down a few of his team mates.
Smirking with satisfaction, Rogue dropped the lid back into place and turned to run. She collided into a hard body and reflexively swung her arm back for a punch.
"Whoa, chere, don' wan' mess up dis handsome face, non?"
Startled beyond words, Rogue could do nothing but throw her arms around him. When she pulled away she asked breathlessly, "How did you find me?"
"Figured you'd be smart an' head for de surface. De spike-boy an' I split up t'look fo'you," Remy told her. "Didn't t'ink you'd take dis long though..." He tapped his wrist where an imaginary watch existed.
Rogue rolled her eyes and slapped him on the shoulder, "Ah could've been seriously hurt and you're standin' there cracking lame jokes?"
Genuine concern filled his eyes. "But you okay, right, chere?" He looked her over, noticing the torn and soiled condition of her clothing. He shrugged off his trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Ah'm fine," she assured him. "We just need to--"
The sewer covering suddenly burst free with a cloud of smoke. Through the haze Remy saw Farrat's men climb out, one after another. He immediately grabbed onto Rogue, pushing her forward to run away. Extending his bo-staff in anticipation, he felt something cold and airy whisk past him. Surprised, he spun around, eyes searching for the familiar figure. Rather than seeing her though, he heard her panicked shrieks in his head.
He's taking me away! You have to stop him!
Her terror was contagious, causing his nerves to tighten and his chest to constrict.
I can't leave again! He can't keep moving me around--you have to stop him!
Rogue was wrestling with a man trying to seize her when she noticed Remy gripping his head in pain. "Remy--what's wrong?" In her distraction the man got the upper hand, wrapping an arm around her throat in vice-like grip. She gagged for air.
"Annabel, now ain't de time," Remy wheezed, clenching his eyes shut. Her continuous shrieks echoed off the walls of his mind, wreaking sharp stings and painful throbs. He clawed at his skull, trying to tear her presence out of him.
Please, Remy! she screamed hysterically. Her own panic clouded her judgment, not letting her realize how much she was impairing him. I want to stay here with you! You're the only one who cares, Remy. Help me, please!
"I can't if y'keep doin' dis t'me!" he bellowed. He felt something strike him in the side and doubled over in response.
"What's with this mutie?" a cruel voice sneered. "He possessed or something?"
The tail end of a gun struck Remy between the shoulder blades. He fell flat on the ground, still clutching his head. No other pain compared to the one in his mind. He barely felt the physical assaults; Annabel's screaming drowned out all other perceptions.
Get up, Remy! Stop him! Get up!! Oh, God--Oh, God!
"Whatever man, we got what we came for. Let's go."
"Can't leave dirty muties lying around--being bad citizens. Better if we finish off this trash--"
Remy heard the cackle of extracting bones and then screams of pain. Y'don' know what real hurtin' is, homme, he managed to think. Slowly the anguish in his head began to subside. Annabel was calming.
I can't...you have to help me, she said in a strained voice. I need...I need to feed...Someone, I need to find someone...
As suddenly as she came she was gone. Groaning from the ordeal, Remy lifted himself off the ground, continuing to massage his head. He looked around in time to see two of Farrat's men scurry away, one with bone spikes skewering his arm. Rogue was nowhere to be seen. Remy acted without hesitance; he ran after the retreating men, catching up to them at their car. Grabbing one by the collar, he charged the jacket enough to cause the eruption of tiny flames.
The man staggered about in a panic, desperately trying to get the jacket off.
Remy slammed the other goon against the side of the vehicle. "Where'd dey take her?" he shouted in his face.
"Gambit," Spyke called, but was ignored.
"I ain't telling you anything, filthy mute--aaargh!" He screamed in pain as Remy pulled one of the bone spikes out of his arm. "You disgusting mother f--"
"Listen, homme," Remy seethed, "make dis easier on y'self an' save us both some time, hein?"
A few dark vehicles squealed down the street and Remy caught a glimpse of a white-striped head through a window. He slammed his captive against the car again, "Where are dey headed?"
Farrat's man only laughed and sneered. "You think you scare me? I've killed bigger mutes than you and--"
Remy punched him across the face and tossed him in a heap to the ground. It was a lost cause. He turned towards the other one but saw a burnt jacket abandoned on the asphalt. Eyes flashing with urgency, he felt around the unconscious man until he found the car keys. As he opened the driver's side door, a new sequence of cries assaulted his ears.
Annabel wasted no time with terrorizing her victim. She drained Spyke quickly and efficiently. A few of the Morlocks who had come to the surface stared in awed horror. Callisto knelt by his head and lifted it onto her lap. "Evan?"
What a very mature boy, Annabel mused. He's so young but full of very deep thoughts.
Remy felt burning anger surge within him. She had disabled him from fighting, from helping Rogue, and after an entire episode of pained screaming, she was back to whimsical confabulation. "What's wrong wit' you?" he yelled at her. "Are y'bipolar or somet'ing? Do y'realize what you've just done?" He sensed the shocked looks of Callisto and the Morlocks but didn't care.
Hurt flashed across Annabel's ghostly features, I'm sorry...absorbing people always makes me feel better. I thought you understood...
Remy felt her sorrow and regret. He released a resigned sigh and looked in the direction in which the vehicles had disappeared. Despite all their efforts, Farrat had abducted Rogue. Possible scenarios flashed through Remy's mind and his teeth gritted in fury. He would not allow anything to happen to her. He couldn't.
I'm sorry, Remy, Annabel said. I didn't realize.... But you have to help me. You have to stop Theo!
Remy turned on her again, "Why should I? I tried t'help you but y'didn't even know who I was when y'saw me!"
Annabel's wispy features frowned, That wasn't me and you know it.
Remy growled in frustration, more confused than ever. Everything he knew was self-contradicting. The only surefire thing was the urgency of saving Rogue. "I don' have time fo'dis." He got into the car and slammed the door shut.
"Gambit!" Callisto barked. "What about Evan?"
"I'm handlin' it!" he shouted back curtly, and revved the engine. His foot crushed the accelerator to the floor as the tires screamed in response. He did not heed the speedometer, daring a police officer to try and pull him over.
As the car sped down the street, he swerved it in the direction Farrat's men had gone. They were no longer in view. Remy extrapolated where they might have headed.
I see you're upset.
"Y'don' know de half of it," Remy gritted.
And you don't know where you're going.... Theo is at Newark Airport, at one of the private jet runways. Father always was generous with the money....
Without missing a beat, Remy jerked the car into the appropriate direction. He merged onto the nearly-empty freeway and accelerated to an even more unlawful speed. Briefly, he wondered how long the car could take such exertion.
"Rogue go'n' be dere, cherie?"
They will take her to him.
"What's Farrat want wit' her?"
He doesn't.
"Say what?"
Someone else does...don't know who, but frightening--like a nightmare, like me. He can't be human the way he is...
Remy began to grow worried. "Mutant?"
Can't say for sure.
Remy didn't speak anymore for the rest of the drive. His demon eyes were fixed on the road, hard and ablaze. Theodore Farrat wasn't the one that wanted Rogue--some mutated stranger was--one who probably had more sinister plans. Merde, things were just getting worse by the minute.
He pushed the car to its top speed, hoping against hope that he would get to Newark in time.
---------------------------
At first Rogue was very nervous. She pulled Remy's trench coat tighter around herself, ever aware of being the sole female in a car loaded with ornery men. And with the absence of her powers, she felt even more vulnerable. As the ride continued, her anxiety slowly morphed into simmering anger. They were kidnapping her. They were taking her somewhere she most definitely would not want to be. What was worse, the whole situation made her feel like an utter fool. Should've thought of a different plan, she chided herself. Logan taught me better than this.
The vehicle came to a stop. Rogue jerked forward from the sudden halt as Farrat's men began unloading. When one of them grabbed her arm, Rogue glared daggers at him. She stumbled out of the car and onto the smooth gravel of a small runway. The resonant whoosh and whine of an aircraft sounded as it passed by overhead. Rogue followed its trajectory to an expanse of traffic towers, observation buildings, and glittering runways. Dread bit at her insides.
Farrat's men dragged her toward a small jet revving up for take off. Her breath quickened in silent fury. Without warning she twisted violently out of their hold, kicking a man in the groin. He yowled in pain, ordering the others to seize her. Rogue managed to swing in a good punch before a fist collided into her jaw. Top and bottom rows of teeth rammed together painfully; she tasted blood. Staggering dizzily, she felt rough hands detain her again.
As she was forced up the boarding steps, she saw several men loading suitcases and crates into the jet's storage compartments. Farrat was leaving for an extended period of time. Then something else caught her eye. Handling with the utmost of care, four men lifted a stretcher out of a van. One carried an IV bag while another straightened the blankets covering the feminine figure.
Rogue's eyes widened in recognition. "Annabel," she gasped and struggled as Farrat's men shoved her into the jet. "What did ya do to her? Why's she on a stretcher?"
"Shut your hole," a blond one snapped irritably. "She's always been like that." He tried forcing her into a seat but received a vicious backhand. Temper at its apex, the man reached for his gun but another stopped him. "Man, Deaver, there's only so much I'll take from this little bitch."
Deaver narrowed his eyes dourly, "The boss needs her unspoiled, fool. You think a bullet in the head's going to meet the criterion?"
"I was planning on aiming lower." The blond man sneered at Rogue. She replied with an equally menacing glare. "Got flair, though, huh? See how long that lasts after Farrat's through with you."
Deaver pushed him aside and swiftly handcuffed Rogue to her seat. "Cooperate and make this easier for everybody, mutant," he said. "And wipe that scowl off your face or it might get stuck that way."
"Go ta hell," she spat.
Deaver stepped back with an amused frown on his rectangular face. "Don't mean any harm."
Rogue scoffed, "That's hard to believe, considering how you're kidnapping me."
"We do what we must to get paid," Deaver said nonchalantly. He turned to the blond man and said, "Tell Perry and Napes to board the jet. Get the rest back to the base to prepare for the other task."
Rogue's ears perked up. "What other task?" she demanded.
Deaver ignored her. "And don't forget to take a team back down to those sewers," he said.
"Should we exterminate the mutants?"
Rogue stiffened with dread. "You can't do that," she protested, struggling against the cuffs. "They didn't do anything to ya. You can't--"
"No," Deaver said, "only retrieve the men we left behind. If they refuse to hand them over, do whatever's necessary."
The blond man nodded in understanding of his orders. After shooting another threatening glare in Rogue's direction, he stepped off the jet. Deaver left for the cockpit without any other acknowledgment of Rogue. She wasn't alone for long. Minutes later, a narrow stretcher was carried into the jet and sturdily fastened in the back.
Rogue had a view of the achingly pretty face, the locks of rich black hair. Annabel appeared to be sleeping, but a discomforted expression on her face aroused suspicion. Her eyebrow twitched slightly. It seemed as though she was trying to wake up but couldn't quite manage it; something was keeping her asleep.
Theodore Farrat, Rogue thought immediately. Remy said he was doing something to her. He's keeping her like that--in a coma. And that's why she has to project herself to feed... She couldn't guess why Farrat would keep his niece in such a condition; he was robbing her of a life.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the jet's engines began to hum with ferocious activity. The seats rattled slightly with the initial mechanical effort. Rogue realized that if the jet took to the air her escape options would become incredibly limited. She struggled with the handcuffs, painfully trying to slide her hands free. When she had succeeded more in fraying her skin cells, she stopped and looked around for something to pick the lock with.
Where's a thief when ya need one? she thought wryly.
Only two of Farrat's men remained; one kept watch over the comatose Annabel while the other sat near the cockpit, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. As Rogue looked around helplessly for a medium of escape, the latch swung open and a middle-aged man entered the jet. He closed the door behind him, locking the handle in place. "We're ready for take off," he called to the cockpit.
Deaver's voice replied, "Yes, sir."
Theodore Farrat seated himself and pulled out a newspaper to read. It seemed only then that he noticed the girl handcuffed to her seat. "You must be the infamous Rogue," he said, setting the newspaper down.
"And you must be the bastard Farrat."
He narrowed his eyes, "I'll have you know, your abduction was by no wish of mine. I have no use for mutants."
"Then why the hell are ya doing this?" Rogue demanded.
Farrat sighed and shrugged underneath his double-breasted suit. "There are other interests to consider," he said simply. "Curious though, I do not understand why you are so desirable. You don't seem to have any powerful abilities."
Rogue frowned, "Like you don't know."
"I can assure you that I do not."
"It's because of Annabel," Rogue said carefully, referring to her power absence. She chose her words cautiously, hoping to get a rise out of him so he would let slip some useful information. "Ya know, your niece, because Patricia Velkonnen's your sister." She placed heavy syllabic emphasis on the references to family, and waited for his response.
The man's cold blue eyes flickered with an indefinable emotion. "Are you a telepath?" he asked suspiciously.
Rogue didn't answer his question. She decided letting him squirm would be more satisfactory. "Annabel's draining the life out of innocent people because she's like that," she went on, nodding her head towards the stretcher. "You're purposely keeping her asleep and killing people." She tried to hide her growing anxiety; her body picked up the tremors of the jet as it began its course down the runway. They would be off the ground in a matter of minutes.
Farrat narrowed his eyes and laughed disdainfully. "Annabel would still be killing people in consciousness, and with greater vigor like her mother," he said in disgust, as though the words tasted vile coming out of his mouth. "I am doing this world a favor by keeping her in that coma." His eyes shadowed over as though he did not truly believe his words, as though he was reminiscing painful memories. "Her sacrifice is for the betterment of everyone else."
"Ya have no right," Rogue frowned.
Farrat looked at her with an amused expression. "By the laws of your grand United States of America, I am her legal guardian, and so have every right. But you should not trouble yourself by worrying over others, lass. Annabel is safe and secure, but your fate remains questionable."
Rogue saw the flash of uncertainty in his eyes, the glimmer of an anxious doubt. "Who are ya workin' for?" she hissed, slight panic tightening her chest. If this man, who had committed so many wrongs, feared for her, then how horrible was her fate?
"I am employed by no one," Farrat said. Any emotion or uncertainty he previously showed was wiped away by years of practiced indifference.
There was a sudden jerk as though the jet's runners had bumped something. The next moment the cockpit door opened and Deaver stuck his head out. "Sir," he called, "there's something I think you should see."
Farrat stood from his seat, neatly folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He turned to Rogue and said, "My debt will be repaid and you, my young vigorous mutant, will finally meet your greatest admirer."
Rogue stared at his back as he walked away. Her gaze remained fixed on his path even when he disappeared into the cockpit. She shut her eyes tight, forcing calm. The morbidity of his words sent shivers up her spine. If Farrat wasn't kidnapping her for his own purposes then who was he doing it for? Rogue pictured a heinously wicked villain with perverted agendas. She shook her head furiously and realized her ears were popping. The pressure was changing--the plane had already taken off. Her heart sank. She was beyond all aid now, lifting away into daunting air.
As she turned to look at Annabel she forgot her troubled thoughts.
Her life was stolen from her, she thought sadly. No wonder she's so angry. No wonder she's so hurt...
But something was happening that Theodore Farrat had overlooked, that even the red-haired lackey keeping watch neglected to see.
Rogue settled herself into a less obvious position. She rested her back against the elliptical window and allowed her head to loll forward a bit. White bangs shrouded her eyes enough to hide her observant gaze. She saw the pink lips part an infinitesimal distance, the quiver of lidded eyes begging for sight. Farrat had been too busy planning his machinations to notice, to give his niece another dosage of whatever kept her asleep.
Rogue was sure now and hoped that no one else would discover it.
Annabel was waking up.
Review--make me happy by showing that you care that I care. And then check out the Next Chapter: Aerospace.