Chapter 3: Run like Hell

Somewhere in Nevada, between the Groom and Papoose mountain ranges, under the dry, alkali Groom Lake, there was an extensive underground facility. This place was known by the military and modern conspiracy theorists as Area 51, and inside it, Colonel John Wraith was furious.

The mutant situation had gotten rapidly out of hand in just a few scant days. The leak in SHEILD had given his operatives the location of two mutie nests in Bayville, New York, and they in turn had funded Bolivar Trask's pet project, knowing he would have all the test subjects he would ever need there. But an unknown and unexpected disruption had exposed the existence of the Sentinel prototype to the mutants, and worse yet, it had unleashed the robot on the city streets. Now the entire country was demanding to know more about "homo superior," and the authorities had yet to present a mutant's head on a silver plate. To make matters worse, mutants had somehow infiltrated Area 51 and had rescued their captured comrades, plunging the entire base into chaos.

"That damn Trask," Wraith muttered as he scanned the newest report of the Bayville incident. "He's responsible for this."

Wraith was a big cinderblock of a man who dressed in combat fatigues, like he expected to be shipped off to battle any day. If someone were to ask him, Wraith would reply that there was a war going on—a gene war. A series of scars marred his face, and to the trained eye they would have looked like claw marks. He heard the door slide open from behind him, and turned in his swivel chair to face one of his subordinates.

"Report," Wraith commanded.

The younger military man complied after saluting. "'Mystique' has been properly contained. Seven of the nineteen men that were needed to sedate her are currently being hospitalized. Two are not expected to live."

"Jesus," Wraith scoffed. "What are we teaching these boys? It's like they've never fought a mutie before…"

"Dr. Trask's base is being searched by the Bayville authorities, though we were informed that all top secret data pertaining to Project Sentinel was destroyed before our men fled."

"And what of Trask?"

"Still at large, sir. Though Section 2 forces are tailing him."

"Good, good."

"Sir, there have also been some interesting developments regarding Dr. Trask. As you know, his home phone line has been tapped to prevent any leaks of information regarding Project Sentinel. An hour ago there was some activity on the line that you need to see." The subordinate stepped forward and presented Wraith with a thin packet of papers. "It's a transcript of a conversation, Colonel."

Nodding his head, Wraith scanned the documents and the notes below. Finally, he threw back his ugly, scarred head and let out a laugh. "This is luck! Send some of the men who aren't cleaning up the mess here to pick him up, standard procedure."

"Complete disappearance?"

Wraith glared. "What, you got shit for brains? That's standard procedure with these freaks, all right. And make sure you pick him up before Daddy Dearest does. We don't want them talking to each other. Do whatever it takes."

"Understood."

---

"Larry! Get up already! Are you coming to school or aren't you?"

Tanya had resorted to pounding her brother's door with her fists when he didn't answer her calls, and was so irritated she didn't care if she knocked it down. It wasn't like him to be late, and she was getting ready to scream his name again when a thought struck her—what if Larry had had another episode?

"Hey! Larry! Larry, are you all right?!" she cried, her anger quickly turning to anxiety.

The door was unlocked from the inside and opened a crack. Larry's pale, tired face peered out, and Tanya saw that he was still wearing the shorts he had slept in.

"I wish people would stop asking me that," he said groggily.

"God! You look awful!" Tanya blurted out with a little sister's honesty. She covered her mouth, but the words were already spoken. "Um, I thought maybe you…"

Larry wiped the sand from his eyes. "You better be off. You're going to be late."

Tanya threw up her arms in disbelief. "If I'm late, it's my space case brother's fault! You're not even wearing pants!"

"I'm not going to school. Hurry up and catch the bus."

Tanya was briefly taken aback. Her voice took a softer tone as she asked, "I mean it, bro, are you feeling okay? This isn't like you."

"Jesus Christ! I'll skip school if I want to!" Larry snapped. "Just go!"

With that, the door was slammed in Tanya's face. She stared, goggle-eyed, and then let loose a colorful string of curses directed at Larry's person. She was still muttering about Larry's sexual deficiencies when she exited the townhouse. From his bedroom her brother stared out through the shades and watched her hurry down the street. He sighed.

What neither Trask sibling noticed was the old station wagon parked across the street, with a casually dressed man sitting behind the wheel. He pretended to read the newspaper in his hands while a tiny camera strategically placed in the rear view mirror captured Tanya's movements. In the man's ear was a small radio from which he heard his orders. For the moment, it was silent.

---

Larry had hated to yell at his sister, but he was tired, frustrated, and, to be frank about the matter, he just didn't want to deal with her. He didn't want to deal with any of them—he didn't want to see the uncomfortable looks on Calvin and Jessica's faces at school, and he especially didn't want to listen to Mr. Chalmers' politely condescending speeches about his father.

Larry had trouble sleeping after his unsatisfying talk with his dad the night before. It was only when his body couldn't take the fatigue anymore that he finally collapsed on the bed instead of pacing the floor and burning a hole in the carpet. Once Tanya was out of the house Larry crawled back under his blankets, covering his head with a pillow to block out the golden shafts of sunlight that filtered in through his window.

He didn't know what to do with himself. His body demanded more sleep, but his mind refused. He couldn't deal with another vision. He couldn't sit on his ass and wait by the phone for his father to return the call either.

And I can't go outside, Larry thought with mounting fear. Was he going crazy? He could remember his last vision with perfect clarity, more so than when he dreamt of the Sentinel and Cal's accident.

It is his street, the same one he jogs on every weekend. He's running this time as well, but he is not alone. Men in black suits are on his heels. He (he is me) runs but he doesn't get far. Tires screech and a white van impedes his escape. An alley offers an exit, but it has lied to him. Trapped on all sides, he (he is me) can do nothing as his attackers close in.

And then--

"If I leave the house today, I'm going to be attacked," Larry murmured aloud. Crazy or not (and he was fully, bitterly aware he was talking to himself) he knew it was true and that was all there was to it. "So just don't go anywhere," he told himself. "It doesn't have to be the future at all."

When he got too fidgety Larry pulled himself out of bed and went downstairs to make coffee. He couldn't find sugar or cream, so it was black and unpleasant, but a good eye-opener for a boy who didn't want to sleep. The house's silence grew to be unnerving, so he sought solace with the television. It was on the same station it had been on when he, Tanya, and Jessica witnessed the mutants fighting the Sentinel live, and probably hadn't been changed since then. Larry's eyes were opened once again, for the images of the mutants were still being run on full display.

"The majority of the mutants caught on camera have been officially identified. Most were young people attending the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters or residents of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House," reported newscaster Frank Lee.

Larry's attention remained on the screen even as the hot cup of coffee threatened to burn his hand. The pictures shown were blurry from being blown up (they were taken from a yearbook, most likely) and Larry felt a pang in his chest as he realized the mutants were his age—or younger—and they all looked like perfectly normal kids he would bump into in the halls of Armstrong High. There was a beautiful redhead, a stern-looking boy in shades, a long haired rebel type, and a Goth girl…hell, there was even a fat guy. Larry found it all very unsettling.

Mutants. With a name like that, they might as well be deformed freaks that crawled out of the sewers and bathed in nuclear waste, like something straight out of a bad Sci-Fi Channel marathon. They shouldn't have looked normal.

And Larry shouldn't have felt so connected to them.

---

Larry stayed on the couch in front of the TV, getting up only to eat lunch and use the bathroom. Watching the television under a heavy blanket, he remained in the anxious state between being asleep and awake and listened to the reports about mutants until he almost had it all memorized. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, and slowly Larry became unaware of the passage of time.

Outside, it grew darker.

At some point Larry closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was a long nap, and blessedly free of any disturbing visions of events yet to pass. He awoke with a start, however, when the phone in the next room rang. He glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and was startled at the late hour. There was no time to be angry for falling asleep; he stumbled off the couch, one leg still sleeping, and grabbed the phone. He didn't need a vision or caller ID to know that it was Tanya, who should have been home hours earlier.

"Tanya," he said into the receiver.

"Larry! Hey, I know you're not feeling well, but can you, um, pick me up?"

"What?" He groaned. "Where are you?"

"At the library. Jessica and I went to do some research for a paper, but it had to close early today. Her mom was supposed to pick us up at eight but her cell phone isn't on so we can't get in touch with her. I didn't call and tell you I would be late because I thought you'd still be in bed sick…so can you come?"

It is his street, the same one he jogs on every weekend. He's running this time as well, but he is not alone.

"I…can't." Larry found the words almost impossible to say. How on earth could he explain himself to her?

"Please? We don't want to sit here on the library steps by ourselves for an hour. It's getting dark! How do we know some…some mutant isn't going to come out and carve us up?"

Larry touched his temple, more frustration building inside him. "Christ, Tanya."

"Please!"

"Fine!" he shouted back. Taking a deep breath, he regained control of himself. "Sorry. Just stay where you are and I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you!"

Hanging up the phone, Larry released a deep, guttural sigh. He dressed quickly, putting on the clothes he had shed on his bedroom floor the night before. He grabbed his keys from the coffee table, and facing the door, steeled himself for what he was about to do.

I dreamt I would be running down the street when it happened. Well, I'm not. I'm going to walk to my car, get inside, and drive as fast as I can to get Tanya. In, and out. Just like that. Larry took a deep breath and opened the door. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The sky was a dark reddish violet, and the air was cool. His old bomber jacket from the Army supply store was good on evenings like this. Larry locked the door behind him and hurried down the steps to his car, slamming the door to his old T-Bird. He put the key in the ignition and turned it, but the engine made no sound.

What the hell? Larry tried again and again, but the car wouldn't start. His body was tense and alert with fear. Someone had tampered with the vehicle to hinder his movement. The moment he realized this he jumped out of the car to run back into the house, but a man was waiting for him, blocking the front door with his large body. Eyes widening with the horror of the situation, he turned on his heel and ran. Two more men exited cars from behind him in perfect synchronicity and were in pursuit of their target.

Larry ran for his life, but he didn't make it as far as the end of the street. A white van tore around the corner from the adjacent neighborhood and cut him off before he could make it to the corner. The tires screeched as the van almost clipped the frightened teenager. There was only one path left available for Larry and he took it, his instinct for self-preservation overpowering the knowledge that it was futile. He turned into the alley, the black-suited men from the van on his heels.

"Oh God…oh God…" Larry was breathless. The back end of a brick building, as dead an end as there ever was, looked back at him and seemed to laugh at his plight.

"Lawrence Trask," said one of the black-clad men in a cold, indifferent voice. "You are to come with us."

Larry could feel the world close in with each step the goons took towards him. No exit, no escape. Fade to black, man. "No!"

Then, as if someone from above was waiting for that precise cue, canisters were dropped from the sky. The men's heads shot up and guns were withdrawn from inside their jackets, but it did them no good. Dark smoke filled the alley within seconds and the men were robbed of their sight. Larry coughed and sputtered, and then winced at the sound of a man's head hitting the harsh pavement. He could hear other strange noises, like an arrow piercing a melon or a person getting kicked in the throat. Squinting, he could see nothing. The smoke would make a good cover for his escape, but when he couldn't see his hand in front of his face he didn't know where to move.

But whatever was happening, Larry, the target in this unseen fight, had not been forgotten. The smoke started to clear, and the last remaining goon seized Larry, pointing the barrel of the gun at his temple. His breath caught in his throat, Larry dared not move.

"Drop your weapon and show yourself, or I kill him!" The man spat the words venomously, and Larry, frozen with fright, knew he was not bluffing.

But what he saw next was like something out of a dream. A woman emerged from what was left of the smoke, covered from head to toe in white. A long cloak fell from her shoulders, and her face was completely hidden by a gold mask. In her hand she held a crossbow. She did not put it down; rather, she aimed it directly at the heart of Larry's attacker.

"I suggest you put your weapon down. I can fire this before you pull the trigger. Move and the arrow will still be lodged in your heart."

The man turned the gun and fired. The silencer made the blast sound like a muffled sneeze as the bullet cut through the air, but the woman had already darted out of its path. Larry felt the man's solid grip on his arm go limp as he collapsed. Larry gasped; he saw the arrow in the man's chest and realized that he had pulled the trigger as a reflex, for just as the woman predicted, she could fire before he could.

Stunned, Larry looked up at his bizarre rescuer. She had been waiting on the railing of the fire escape above the alley for Larry and his pursuers to come into her trap, and she had been the one to drop the smoke canisters and kill the men.

"Lawrence Trask." Despite her appearance and actions, she did not sound threatening. If only he could see her face under that mask…

Larry swallowed hard. Recovering from the shock of having a gun pointed at his head, he said the first thing that rolled off his tongue. "Yes?"

"Sleep."

Her hand was faster than his eye, and she pierced his neck with a sharp point on her gloved index finger. A drug worked its way through Larry's veins, putting him into a state of deep unconsciousness almost instantly. She was surprisingly strong despite her slim frame, and caught him as his legs gave way.

Destiny gazed down at her sleeping target. The battle over and the prize won, she thought with a smile, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lawrence Trask. I've seen so much about you.

A/N: Destiny's costume and choice of weapon are straight from the comics. They were too good to change—you just don't see that many crossbow-wielding mutants these days. But what in the world could she want with another precognitive mutant? Hmmm…Oh yes, and the John Wraith seen here is based on his Ultimate X-Men incarnation, and his intentions are something else altogether.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Sandoz