Chapter Thirteen

…Monster…

…Demon…

…Freak…

Harpy-like voices shrieked all around him, ghostly fingers clawing, tearing at his skin, rocking his narrow cage. Distorted faces mocked and teased him; warped grins, derisive laughter and terrified screams...

Rain fell, neverending: black and slick and cold. The biting, howling wind blew the harsh taunts around and through him, their icy barbs piercing his heart.

…Mutant…

…Teufel…

…Mörder…

He was alone, abandoned. A prisoner in a cage, condemned to serve an eternal sentence. The swirling mists of the midden mire had stolen the details of his crime, leaving only searing guilt and the impression of a horrible wrong. He felt he had been running, running…running from something. There was intense pain and panic - a blinding, animalistic terror...

Whatever he had done, however it had happened, he knew he had earned this fate. His punishment was just.

If he could only remember his name…


"You called me just in time, old friend," Xavier said, glancing up at Erik. He carefully removed the sleek helmet from his bald head, the holographic interpretation of Belasco's fiery relam fading out with an imploded flash to reveal Cerebro's curved, metallic walls. "Another minute and it would have been too late. As it is, I think Jean will now be able to keep Belasco distracted long enough for me to find Kurt."

"You sound so sure of that," Scott said angrily, Ororo standing grimly by his side. "But, Jean was nearly burnt out when we arrived here. Belasco was about to—"

"I've strengthened her connection with her body and reestablished her escape route," Xavier explained brusquely, his hands flying over the keypads. Then he paused, offering Scott a reassuring look. "Jean will be able to pull herself out, Scott, but she knows our main concern must be finding Kurt. If he is lost, there's no way to stop Belasco from dominating once more."

Ororo furrowed her brow.

"But, Charles, we have established it is Kurt's mind, Kurt's body down in our medbay. Genetic manipulation is one thing, but I don't understand... Is it truly Belasco we are facing? If so, how could that monster even get into Kurt's head, let alone push Kurt's own personality aside like this?"

"'Ro's got a point," Scott said. "That creep Belasco was many things, but he wasn't a telepath."

"No, no he wasn't," Xavier said. "Nonetheless..."

Xavier sighed, and briefly closed his eyes. It was always hard to witness the scars of telepathic abuse, but this was something else. There were layers here, cruelly calculated machinations he had barely started to peel back...

"Kurt has been the victim of massive psychic tampering, Ororo," he explained, "deliberately performed by a master telepath. Whoever this telepath may be, I fear their powers must rival my own. Kurt's brain has been altered, 'rewired,' to support the implanted personality at the expense of his own. From what I'm seeing here, it's nothing short of a miracle he has been able to maintain enough of a sense of self to fight back at all. For all intents and purposes, the unique identity that was Kurt Wagner was 'erased' long ago. Look here."

He pulled up a colored diagram of a human brain with a few taps at the keypad. Ororo scooted past Scott to stand in the tight space between Erik and Charles.

"Note these even, orange lines," the Professor said, tracing a few of the straight, parallel stripes with his finger. "See how they stack together in very specific patterns? Now look here, at these green lines."

He traced one of the few craggy lines that shot through the orange stripes seemingly at random.

"Very pretty," Ororo said, crossing her arms. "But what do they mean?"

"No living organism can have thought patterns this ordered and precise," Erik said, gesturing to the orange section of the diagram. "What we're seeing here is more like a computer program than the workings of a human brain."

"Precisely," Xavier agreed. "This energy pattern was designed to inhibit Kurt's control over his own mind by forcibly suppressing certain memories: splintering his identity, then overwriting it with a simulated personality."

"You mean Belasco," Scott said, and frowned. "So...Belasco is a simulation?"

"If we think of the human brain as a powerful computer, the metaphor of a painstakingly tailored, highly sophisticated computer virus may be a close enough comparison," Xavier allowed, ignoring the look Erik shot him.

"Then, these orange lines represent that Belasco Virus," Scott said, "working to overwrite Kurt's personality according to its specifications."

"A gross oversimplification," Erik grunted. "But, close enough, I suppose."

"And the green lines?" Ororo said.

"Those are Kurt's thought patterns," Xavier said. "And, as you can see, they're getting weaker."

Ororo glared at the overwhelmingly orange diagram, her rising anger masking a deep fear she refused to show.

"So," she said, "what can we do to help Kurt?"

"Despite the extensive damage the Belasco 'program' has caused, Kurt's personality has survived," the Professor. "It's likely his core memories, though badly fragmented, may have survived as well. It's just a question of retrieving and repairing the damaged 'files,' as it were."

"Like the way you can retrieve files from a computer's hard drive after they've been deleted," Scott said.

Xavier steepled his fingers in front of him.

"In a sense…yes," he said. "If we're ever to have a hope of defragmenting Kurt's memory and reconstructing his mind, we're going to have to isolate the invasive 'Belasco Virus' and cage it off until we can find a way to safely destroy it without harming Kurt."

"And how do we do that?" Ororo demanded.

"I'm not entirely sure," Xavier admitted, and chewed his cheek for a moment, his eyes fixed on the monitor screens.

"Kurt's brain 'knows' how it is supposed to be configured," he said. "I can offer support from here, but he'll have to rediscover the configuration on his own."

He sighed, a bubble of shame rising in his chest.

"Right now, he's scattered: a fragmented psyche lost to chaos and uncertainty - what he calls the 'midden mire.' In order to regain his control, he's going to have to uncover and re-integrate his forcibly repressed and shattered memories into his consciousness. Until he has recovered his complete personality, Belasco will always have the upper hand. Jean has already helped him a great deal, even if she was unaware of it, but she has only started him in the right direction. What he needs now is careful guidance from a person he trusts implicitly."

Xavier turned slightly in his chair, looking up at Ororo with intense eyes.

"And, I believe that person is you."


Azazel smiled from his perch on the tree branch, his golden eyes fixed on his small wrist monitor. The chip he'd implanted beneath the weather witch's skin was transmitting perfectly, allowing him to see through her eyes, hear through her ears.

Xavier and the Munroe woman both wore ridiculous-looking silver helmets, preparing to link into Kurt's mind through the marvelous computer they called Cerebro.

Azazel's smile stretched into a grin and he jumped to the ground, lashing his tail behind him to stretch out the kinks.

His son's mind was well in hand. Now, it was time to see to his body.

BAMF!

Birds fluttered, a wisp of smoke...

And, Azazel was gone.


…Monster…

…Demon…

Blank nothingness surrounded and clung to him like a plastic bag coated in glue. Here and there, ghostly swirls of freezing mist curled and floated; colorless flecks within an all-encompassing cloud. He felt drawn, fascinated by the shifting patterns of their whirling dance.

…Abomination…

The delicate wisps faded and a turquoise rain began, falling up from the clouds below him, the color alarming after so much blankness.

He leaned against his narrow cage, stretching a hand through the bars. A crystalline droplet fell on his palm, and he kept very still, letting it weave and roll through his fingers of its own accord. The blue spread up his arm, deepening in color to shadowy midnight, then faded to smoke, leaving him empty, washed out...

Meaningless...

…Schreckgespenst…

…Ungeheuer…

…Alpdrücken…

It would be so easy to give into those painful taunts and let the clawing hands take him; to allow those harsh, mocking voices to sway him as they had so many times before. He was nothing, after all, a nameless monster, already lost... If he closed his eyes...leaned back into that cold, aching obscurity…

…Kurt…

What was that?

…Kurt?…

A new voice rose above the howling din deadening his ears, cutting through the caustic noise to slip straight into his heart.

…Kurt? Where are you?…

This voice was low and soft, deep, yet completely feminine. He pressed against the bars of his cage, straining to see through the searing blankness that enshrouded him.

There! The dancing mists were coalescing into human form, a form of sparkling light magnificent to behold. He held his breath, awed by the vision as it continued to solidify, turning from light to shadow to living, moving flesh and blood right before his eyes.

Had this vision come...for him? Was she truly there?

Once she had taken form, the dark skinned woman turned in a circle, taking stock of her surroundings. Her blue eyes fell on him almost immediately, and a warm smile graced a face he knew...a face, somehow, familiar...

"Kurt, we've found you!"

"O-Ororo?"

Speaking the name streamed a burst of sunlight through the mist, bringing with it a myriad of images and emotions, a wild torrent of memory too strong for the narrow cage to hold. The bars burst open and Kurt stepped through, colorless eyes wide as he drank in her presence. He reached out a gray, tentative hand to touch her cheek, but pulled back with a jolt before making contact.

"You can't be here," he whispered, dreading that his words were true. "This must be a dream, or a trick of some kind…"

Ororo shook her head, a lock of snow-white hair falling over her shoulder.

"No trick, my friend," she assured him, stepping forward to take his hand. "I am as real as you are. I've come to help you."

Kurt stared at their linked hands, and he remembered... He remembered her friendly touch, so natural; remembered secretly admiring the contrast of milk chocolate against indigo… Slowly, he raised golden eyes to meet hers, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

"Help me how?" he asked.

"I am to be your guide - to help you help yourself."

Kurt furrowed his brow.

"You never used to be so cryptic," he said with the smallest of smiles. "Why don't you just say what you mean?"

Ororo brought her hand to his cheek, his velvet fur, touched beyond words to see his natural color returning, to see her dear friend looking so much like his old self...

"Break yourself out of this place, Kurt," she said, "and you'll begin to understand. Once we're out of here, we can talk as plainly as you wish."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, uncomprehending.

"...Out...? Out...where?"

"Take me somewhere familiar," she said. "To the place you remember best. The place where you felt safest."

"Safe...?"

Ororo stepped closer to him, holding his eyes with her gaze.

"I trust you, Kurt," she told him, her voice solemn and sincere. "Do you trust me?"

Kurt blinked his golden eyes, then straightened.

"Implicitly, meine Dame," he said with a courtly bow, sweeping the hazy ground with a playful flourish. Then he sobered, his expression darkening.

"You do realize the danger, don't you," he said. "The midden mire is not to be traversed lightly. One strong gust, and we could both lose our minds."

Ororo looked affronted.

"What kind of guide would I be if I allowed something like that to happen," she said. "I told you that I'm here to help, but if you want that help you'll have to be prepared to take some things on faith."

A broad smile spread slowly across Kurt's face, brightening his eyes with humor and affection.

"Faith I can do, Liebchen," he said. "Take my hand. We'll be out of this place before you can say klitzekleine Kinder können keinen Kirschkern knacken!"

Ororo blinked.

"What?"

Kurt chuckled, privately adoring the befuddled look on her face.

"Just a tongue twister, meine Liebe. You can say Peter Piper, if you prefer. Either way, we're busting out of here. Let's go!"


The journey through the midden mire was more difficult than Kurt had anticipated. Ororo's hand was like a leaden weight, threatening to pull him down, down through the howling mists, but he never once considered letting her go. Horrible, ghostly voices screeched past them, shunting them from here to there, laughing in mocking derision as they tore at his soul with words. Still, he held on, kicking his way ever upwards, pulling Ororo with him as he swam against the rushing current of loathing and hate.

There was a light up ahead - dim and hazy, but warm and real. Kurt swam for it with all his might, using his free hand to sweep aside the roiling fog.

His fingers rammed into something solid. He winced in pain, stopping their progress and turning to Ororo, floating like an angel in the nothingness beside him.

"I can't get us through," he said. "There's some kind of barrier in the way."

"What is a barrier to a teleporter?" she asked reprovingly. "I thought nothing could hold you if you did not want to be held."

"A teleporter?" Kurt repeated quietly, narrowing his eyes as he struggled to remember. "Yes… I think I was a teleporter once… It was so...so very long ago..."

Ororo's frown melted, softening her eyes.

"Kurt," she said, "can you remember the first time you teleported? Not the first time your power manifested, but the first time you teleported on purpose, just for the fun of it?"

Kurt ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"I—I don't know…"

Ororo clutched his hand tighter.

"Please, Kurt, try? It's the only way you can get us out of here."

"But the voices," Kurt said, suddenly looking very small: a child with wide, frightened eyes. "If they find out I can teleport, they'll think I'm a demon for sure. They'll try to kill me!"

Ororo made to move closer, then stopped short, staring around with wide, amazed eyes.

The nothingness had faded away, leaving them inside a sawdust-covered circus ring. Kurt stood beside her: a skinny, fourteen-year-old boy, staring up at the trapeze platform high, high above. He wore a tight costume she had never seen before, sparkly blue with golden wings sewn across the chest.

As Ororo watched, the bleacher seats surrounding the ring filled with ghostly faces and a bright spotlight flashed on, causing all eyes to turn to Kurt. It was all very disconcerting and, for a moment, Ororo wasn't sure how to react. Then, she felt the Professor nudging at the back of her mind, and she knew what she needed to say.

She bent down beside the frightened boy, leaning in until her lips almost brushed his pointed ear.

"They won't fear you," she whispered, "if they think it's all part of the show."

Kurt turned his head to face her, a familiar confidence spreading over his impossibly young features as he took her hand firmly in his and gave it a brief squeeze.

"And now," came an announcer's voice, echoing over the heads of the spectral crowd, "the Szardos Bavarian Circus is proud to present - in his first solo performance - the Amazing Blue Lightening!"

Kurt grimaced slightly, but the excitement and anticipation of performing did not fade from his golden eyes.

"Kind of a hokey stage name, nein?" he said in his reedy, young voice. "I changed it to Nightcrawler after we joined the Munich Circus."

He looked up at her, nervous, but ready as the band sounded his cue.

"Hold tight, now," he said with a rather shaky laugh. "I've never done this with another person before."

And suddenly, Ororo realized: this seemingly inexplicable scene was the memory she'd asked for. This performance was the first time Kurt had used his powers for his own enjoyment, without fear.

The young teenager led her out into the spotlight and bowed to the cheering crowd. Then, he turned to her, and Ororo found herself looking into the familiar, handsome features of the adult Kurt she had known for so long. Without a word, he pulled her into a tight embrace, twining his tail securely around her waist. Then, with an upwards glance and a quick, whispered prayer, he activated his power.

BAMF!

To Be Continued...


NOTE: This chapter is related to the early chapters of my story "Small Steps, Great Leaps." I didn't make up the tongue twister, but I did make up Kurt's childhood stage name and costume, Azazel's microchip spying, and all that 'computer virus' stuff, mostly because I like making up scifi technobabble better than making up sorcery stuff. :)

Translation:
Klitzekleine Kinder können keinen Kirschkern knacken - Little kids can't crack cherry pits.