Thanks to:
Todd Fan – I noticed the Evan/Pietro anomaly too and wondered about it. And the DVD claims that Pietro is an exchange student so how the hell did they know each other since they were babies?
LadyEvils – Yeah, I'm gonna be mean about the Lancitty…real mean. Sorry! The major players are gonna be Lance, Pietro and Jean so far (but none of them are in a romantic way). And none of the characters from outside the US are gonna show up because they'll be restricted to their own countries…no Kurt. And no Pyro! Damn, I love writing him. But there will be other Acolytes showing up in the next chapter ::coughGambitcough::
TheDreamerLady – I figured if SHIELD know about Logan and Hydra have X23 they'd use the healing factor to try for a cure (although I think Hydra would ransom it). Pietro and Evan is something that I've thought about a lot and I thought I'd try to fill in a couple of glaring blank spots.
Fudje – Glad you liked it! I'll keep 'em coming all right – I have a feeling this is gonna be a long fic…
Telepathic Angel – Where do you live that they've only shown 2 series? I thought I was deprived because they only showed series 4 a few months ago and they cut off the last three episodes of any series and show them as the beginning of the next one (what the hell is the point of that?). The chapters are gonna be speeding up from here and as to the Jott…hehe, sorry!
And special thanks to UncannyAsianGirl for recommending her music video to me! I thought it was great and I've never heard the song before but I liked it a lot, I'll be looking out for stuff by Harvey Danger from now on! If like me you have an archive of Evo music videos on your computer, click on the reviews for this fic and check out UncannyAsianGirl's home page where you can download the video. It's one of the better Rogue vids out there.
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Jean was beginning to worry.
The Professor was running a temperature of close to a hundred degrees, Storm was thrashing around in a fever-induced nightmare and Scott hadn't roused himself from a semi-lucid stupor since she got home. She'd been trying to dose them up on flu remedies bought from the chemist but so far they hadn't done anything. Maybe because she'd been reduced to buying the dregs of the stock. Every chemist in Bayville was running perilously low on anything even remotely curative, right down to throat lozenges and lemon drinks. When she had asked a pharmacist about it, he had grinned and told her that half the town was down with the mysterious virus and the other half were terrified of catching it. But if the trend continued it would put his kids through college.
Jean turned on the television and put on the news channel, trying to find out what the official line on the flu was. There was a story about it, running fourth in line after a high profile murder inquiry, a celebrity divorce and a report about armed forces abroad.
The anchorwoman, a perky blonde in her thirties, smiled at the camera. "Several towns across the state have been reporting record increases in the number of flu cases being seen. Doctors have established that many of the cases are Asian flu, a relatively serious strain. It is advised that anyone with symptoms should drink plenty of fluids and take bed rest. Although this strain may be dangerous in the very young or elderly, doctors are anxious to stress that the majority of people will be up and about within a week of …"
Jean lost track of the monologue, frowning as she felt a strange crawling sensation within her skull. It was almost as if some one was trying to get through her recently established mental blocks…
With a small cry she jumped to her feet as the sensation intensified. She forced all of her concentration on keeping her psychic shields in place, becoming frightened as she realised just how much effort it was taking. The only psychic in Bayville that she knew of was the Professor and there was no way he'd try to read her mind at all, let alone so clumsily as to give his presence away. The Professor used his power like a surgeon wielding a scalpel; this was more like some one battering her mental defences with a sledgehammer.
A crack of thunder sounded outside and abruptly the feeling stopped. Cautiously Jean tried to study her own mind for any traces of the intruder but found nothing. Had she imagined the whole thing?
A flash of lightning from outside made her realise just how dark the room had grown in the last few minutes. When she had turned on the TV it had been a relatively light evening, now the sky was dark with thunderheads, the wind blowing the trees into a frenzy, the promise of rain in the air.
Storm!
Jean bolted from the room as she heard the first drops of rain hit the window. By the time she got up the stairs the rain had become a downpour, the wind howling around the mansion. She burst into Storm's room, badly afraid now. The white-haired woman had her eyes squeezed shut, her fists balled up by her sides.
"Storm!" Jean raced over to the bed and took the woman's hand. "What are you doing?"
"Help me I'm trapped!" Storm snatched her hand from Jean and began beating at the air. "Some one help me I can't get out and it's dark!" Then a stream of words in a language that Jean didn't recognise.
"Storm please!" Jean noted in alarm that Storm's skin was coated in sweat and placed a hand on the woman's forehead. She was burning up. "Storm, snap out of it!"
Storm's eyes flew open, revealing pure white orbs. At the same time a bolt of lightning touched down right outside the window and Jean shrieked, running from the room to get some help. The Professor would know what to do.
The Professor's room was dark and rain continued to lash at the windows. Jean hurried over to the bed and reached over to shake the man, noticing that he too was sweating profusely. "Professor, you have to help! Storm's lost control of her powers, she's hallucinating…Professor?"
"I can't help it Cain…"
"Professor, you're not making any sense!"
"You're wrong Erik. Mutants can introduce themselves to mankind as friends. You sound as though we're preparing for a war…"
"Professor, please!"
More incoherent mutterings from the Professor told her that she was fighting a lost cause. There was no help for her here. A glance at the window told her that the rain had given way to hailstones and the storm had increased in violence. She hurried into the hallway and made her way back to Storm's room. There was only one way she might be able to stop Storm and the terrible destructive forces she was unwittingly unleashing and that was to enter her mind.
She nearly lost her nerve when another bolt of lightning grounded close to the building and the lights in the hall dimmed noticeably. There was a second when Jean thought she'd be plunged into darkness – then the lights brightened again and she breathed a sigh of relief before entering Storm's room again.
Storm was thrashing around on the bed, her hands beating the air still. Jean hesitated. She'd been at the Institute only a short time and although she knew her powers were improving every day, she had very little experience of entering the minds of others. She was afraid of making a mistake.
A boom of thunder so loud that the house seemed to shake made her cry out again and made up her mind. Sitting on the chair beside the bed she closed her eyes and probed the edges of Storm's mind. It was a whirlwind of confusion, her thoughts jumbled and her hold on the present non-existent. She forced herself to go deeper, remembering one of the first lessons the Professor had taught her, how to go into minds and force them into an instant, dreamless sleep. She'd once tried it on a girl who was coming on to Duncan and had been amused by the results.
She found what she was looking for, visualising a button that she had to press – she always found it easier to probe minds if she translated brain patterns into a recognisable image. As soon as she did so, Storm stopped struggling and calmed. Immediately, the hail ceased and only a low growl of thunder suggested the sky had been anything but still.
Jean let out a shaky sigh and brushed the hair from Storm's too-warm forehead. The instructors needed a doctor, that much was obvious. But where could she take people whose fever induced dreams caused them to manipulate minds, the weather itself…
And what about Scott?
An explosion from another part of the mansion had her on her feet and running to its source.
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Todd glanced nervously outside as rain suddenly pelted down from the previously clear sky. He'd been cooped up for too long, Mystique insisting that he didn't leave the house for any reason. She'd called the school and used the Principals voice to inform them that she wouldn't be in because she had the flu. She didn't bother to give Toad an alibi and he assumed that she'd deal with it when she returned to her job.
Mystique seemed as unnerved by the sudden bad weather as he was, gazing out of the window in dismay as the skies opened and thunder crashed overhead. They remained silent in the living room of the Brotherhood house, the tension in the room almost unbearable.
To Todd's surprise, it was Mystique who cracked first. The moment the rain turned into hail and lightning flashed so brightly it tattooed its afterimage on his eyelids, she grabbed the phone and began to dial.
Todd tried to pretend he wasn't listening, although it was as if Mystique had forgotten he was in the room. She paced impatiently up and down the room as she waited for a reply.
"I need to speak to Irene." Her voice was steady but Todd thought he could sense an underlying fear in her tone.
She paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. "Yes, I know she's sick but she'll want to speak to me. It's very important."
Another pause. "Goddamn it, I know all this! Just put me on to her!"
Her knuckles tightened around the phone and she took it slowly from her ear. Todd guesses that she'd been hung up on and wondered who'd have the nerve. Obviously not anyone who'd ever met her.
"Thanks a lot Rogue," muttered Mystique as she returned the phone to its cradle almost gently. Todd glanced back to the window and saw the hail taper off, heard the thunder recede. He wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. Something was very wrong in Bayville and he didn't know what.
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Rogue slammed the phone down on the crazy woman who'd been demanding to see Irene. Some people had no respect at all.
She went into the kitchen and checked the soup on the stove. It was ready and she poured it into a bowl and placed it onto a tray along with a hot lemon drink and a bottle of elderly cold medicine. That was the best she could do; the nearest pharmacist had been inexplicably closed and she didn't want to go further afield than she had. She was worried about Irene.
For a while it had seemed like she was merely under the weather, tired and feverish but basically OK. Rogue had gone to bed and been woken up in the early hours by a crash. Racing into Irene's room she had found the bedside table knocked over and the telephone balanced on it knocked to the floor.
"It can't be stopped…there's nothing he can do…"
"Irene!" Rogue had ran over to the bed and tried to get the woman's attention but Irene hadn't even realised she was in the room.
"The girl can drain people with just a touch…limitless power…"
"That's real nice Irene," said Rogue soothingly, hoping the tone of her voice would calm the woman.
"You took the job Raven…I told you not to take the job…"
"Hush Irene. It's gonna be fine." Rogue pulled the blankets further up to cover the woman, alarmed at how warm Irene was and how pale her skin had become. Noticing the phone on the floor, she had picked it up and called the doctor, kept on speed dial on the phone so that Irene wouldn't have to remember it every time a younger Rogue had come down with a childhood ailment. She got an answering machine with an emergency number on it and hung up; redialling the number she'd been given. There was a busy tone and she almost threw the phone across the room in frustration.
Irene had grown quiet and when Rogue turned her attention back to her, she was asleep. Rogue went into her own room, retrieved the lamp and moved it into Irene's room, planning to remain there and read, keep a vigil over the blind woman.
She hadn't gotten a lot of reading done.
Now, she was hoping that the soup and hot lemon would help Irene to recover. She had spent all day trying to call out the doctor but so far she hadn't been able to get through. That was aggravating and a little ominous. Since when was an emergency doctor busy all through the night and following day too? And the surgery had given her a busy line every time she had tried it and it should have been open.
Balancing the tray, she carefully made her way up the stairs and used her foot to nudge the bedroom door open. To her surprise Irene was awake and sat up in bed.
"You have no idea how glad ah am to see you feeling better." Rogue walked over and rested the tray on the bedside table. "You scared me for a while."
"I know. I'm sorry." Irene still looked too pale and Rogue frowned.
"Don't apologise. It's about time ah took care of you for once. Ah made you some soup and a drink."
"Thank you dear." Irene felt for the tray as Rogue held it out to her and balanced it on her knee. "It smells great."
There was silence for a few minutes as Irene took a few mouthfuls of soup, seemingly deep in thought. "Sweetheart?"
Rogue glanced up expectantly. "What?"
Irene hesitated before letting her head droop. "Nothing. This soup is very good."
"Uh, thanks." Rogue wondered what Irene had been about to say. It had seemed important but then again maybe it was her overtired imagination working overtime.
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Northbrook was a ghost town.
Lance wandered the streets alone, school over for the day and no reason to be anywhere. Usually he'd hang out with Griff or Pete but neither of them had been in school and a call to their houses confirmed that they were ill. Griff sounded rough but Pete had been suspiciously cheerful and Lance decided that the boy was making himself sound worse than he really was to get out of class for a few days.
His foster parents were pretty ill too and Lance had no desire to look after them. They were OK but he was under no illusions that he was an indispensable part of the family. He'd never been an indispensable part of any family.
He kicked at a stone and wondered what to do now. The jeep had barely enough gas to get him to school tomorrow, assuming there was even a point. There were hardly any kids there, either they were off with flu or being kept away by frightened parents. And it wasn't like he was a good student.
The weekly local newspaper, a rag that dealt mostly with council issues and reassuring the neighbourhood that all was well in their little community, had run a story on the mysterious flu outbreak, stating that it was a growing problem across the state but was being brought under control. Lance had scanned the article out of mild curiosity but he found the cheery optimism of the article at odds with what his eyes were telling him.
He was vaguely aware of walking through an upmarket residential area boasting landscaped gardens and expensive cars in every driveway. He hadn't been taking a lot of notice of where he was going until he saw flashing blue lights up ahead. Interest piqued, Lance headed in that direction, noticing a cop car and an ambulance. Some one inside the house was screaming.
Lance walked over and stood beside the ambulance. A few other interested onlookers were standing around, a few people on their front steps watching the scene although they were less obvious about their curiosity than Lance was.
A paramedic emerged from the house, pulling a struggling woman with him. Lance could see a man behind her, looking shell-shocked, and a cop through the window. He thought the woman seemed vaguely familiar but couldn't immediately place her.
"She melted." The woman made another attempt to get into the house. "She just…melted!"
"It's gonna be fine," said the paramedic soothingly. A second paramedic came out of the house and headed for the back of the ambulance, taking out a medical box and removing a syringe.
"I was just going in to check on her and she opened her eyes…she shouted and then she just melted! I tried to grab her and there was nothing there!"
The second paramedic approached the woman and injected the syringe into her arm. The woman didn't complain about it at all but after a few more moments she went limp and allowed the first paramedic to lead her to the ambulance.
The man behind her walked onto the driveway and stared after the woman. A cop came out after him and put his arm on the mans shoulder. "They'll look after her."
"My daughter…" The man was so quiet that Lance could barely hear him.
"We'll find her sir."
"She fell through the ceiling. My wife screamed from upstairs and Kitty fell through the ceiling, right through the room and through the floor. I ran down into the cellar but…but…" The man let his head fall and began to sob. "She was gone! Kitty just disappeared through the floor! Do you want to tell me how that is even fucking possible!?"
"Calm down sir, go with your wife. We'll find your daughter."
"Hey kid, move along!" A second cop car had pulled up behind the ambulance while Lance was distracted with the drama before him and he turned to see an older, heavyset cop glaring at him. "This isn't a fucking peep show y'know!"
Lance shrugged and started walking slowly. Kitty. The girl he had seen at school, the one who had fainted. It didn't seem likely that there were two girls with that name in town and the woman had passed on enough of her looks to her daughter for Lance to see the resemblance. But what the family had said was crazy. People didn't just fall through floors.
He took one last glance at the house and felt his blood run cold.
He had a good look at the living room through the large bay window. The cop he had seen inside was still looking up and from his new vantage point Lance could see what had caught the mans attention.
A blanket was hanging from the ceiling, halfway through the plaster as though it had been passing through with something and got caught. But that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
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There were army guys everywhere.
Pietro could see them as he sped through the streets of New York, looking frozen in slow motion in comparison with his speed. Just a few short days ago the flu that everyone else seemed to have was a nuisance, now he was beginning to feel seriously worried. Almost afraid.
The army had arrived in the city a few days before and although for the most part they were limited to the tourist areas, Pietro had noticed some of them around his neighbourhood. There were hardly any kids in school and it was hardly worth turning up – the few teachers that had bothered all seemed to be sick – so he hadn't bothered. He thought he'd go to Times Square and hang out for a while, but the presence of the army worried him.
He decided to go back to school after all. Anything to avoid the army guys with the frozen faces and guns clipped to their belts. He passed a soldier with a woman clinging to his arm and Pietro knew if he slowed down long enough she would be asking for his help with something. But slowing down seemed a waste of time. He'd decided to go to school and now his mind was made up he wanted to be there as soon as possible. He'd take the day off when Times Square was a little less weird.
For Pietro, it was faster to run than it was to take the train – he matched its speed easily and could take the shortest routes. He was at PS 104 in no time.
He slowed and walked through the doors, devising his excuse for the teachers. He was debating whether to use the old 'slept in' excuse or getting inventive and saying he'd been held up because he'd been accosted by a group of supermodels demanding his sexual favours. It took him a few moments to realise he was all alone.
He glanced around, confused. Admittedly he should be in class already and the hallway should be quiet but he couldn't hear the drone of classes going on behind closed doors, the echoing footsteps of a kid heading to the bathroom, the raised voice of a teacher losing it with some smart mouth. He frowned and glanced through the window in a nearby door. No one was there.
Seriously creeped out, Pietro ran around the school but it took him only a few seconds to determine that no one else was around. Yet the doors were unlocked. He sped up to the principal's office and glanced through the open door, seeing the man seemingly asleep with his head resting on the desk.
Pietro headed out of the school and began walking down the street, in no hurry for the first time since his powers manifested. There seemed to be no point. Where would he run to?
The streets were strangely quiet and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked. What the hell was going on around here? Surely the whole neighbourhood couldn't be ill.
He passed by James Richardson's house; one of the guys on the basketball team and on a whim went over and banged on the door. He waited for a few minutes but no one replied. That was curious, he knew that James's mother worked from home and was always in during office hours. Maybe she had gone to the supermarket and James was asleep. He hadn't looked too good the last time Pietro had seen him.
Eventually he left and walked toward home. There were other people he knew who lived on the way but the houses had an air of silence about them, most of them had the curtains closed and Pietro had no desire to see if anyone else was home. The whole day was weirding him out. It was as if he were the only person in the city.
He was almost past Evan Daniels house when he noticed the door standing open.
Pietro paused and glanced at the house. They were in the suburbs but this was still New York. People just didn't leave their houses unlocked, let alone with the doors open.
He went over to the house and opened the door wider. "Hello? Evan? Mrs Daniels? Is anyone here?"
There was no reply.
Pietro walked further into the house, noticing how dark it seemed. The curtains were drawn and there were no lights on anywhere. He crept further into the house and wandered into the living room.
Mrs Daniels was lying on the couch, a hand trailing on the floor. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief – the silence had freaked him out – and went over to her.
"Mrs Daniels? You left the door open. It's Pietro Maximoff, remember? I came to one of Evan's birthday parties when he was eight…" Pietro cut himself off, realising he was babbling. There was something strange about the way she was lying. She couldn't be comfortable in that position and she still wasn't answering him.
Her chest wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing.
Pietro flipped the light on and recoiled. The woman's eyes were wide open and snot and blood had caked around the lower part of her face, traces of it on her hands. Her skin was grey.
She was dead.
Pietro stared for a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from the gaze of the dead woman. Then he reached into hi pocket for his cell phone. It wasn't there. He'd forgotten to pick it up that morning.
"Oh crap." His voice was a whisper and sounded wrong in the silence of the room. He backed out of the room slowly, still unable to stop staring at the body on the couch. Once in the hallway, out of sight of the woman, he exhaled a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and glanced over at the phone table. The base unit was there but the phone was obviously the cordless kind and the receiver was missing.
Knowing he had to call some one – an ambulance or the police – he sped upstairs to find where the phone was, hoping it wasn't in the living room with the body. He couldn't go back in there, he just couldn't.
The upstairs of the house smelled strange and for the first time Pietro wondered where Evan was. If he wasn't at school he should be here. Maybe he was sick and didn't know that his mother was lying dead downstairs.
He pushed open the first door he came to and found himself in a room that had to belong to a teenager. There were clothes lying on the floor, baggy combats and hoodies. A giant poster of Tony Hawk grinding on a half pipe dominated the room, surrounded by smaller pictures of several bands and scantily clad supermodel Ronnie Lake. But none of that registered.
The first thing that Pietro noticed was the spikes. They were everywhere, dug into the walls and one sticking straight out of Ronnie Lake's head. They looked almost like bone, but that couldn't be right.
Evan lay on the bed, the covers kicked to the floor. At some point he'd thrown up blood and a puddle slowly coagulated on the floor, drying into streaks on the bed. But Evan's days of caring about such things were over. The boy didn't move as Pietro slowly approached the bed and saw that the spikes that impaled the walls were sticking out of his body.
Apprehensively, Pietro reached out and touched one of the spikes. They seemed to be made from bone and they stuck out all over Evan's skin. Some one had to have put them there. Meaning that Evan had been murdered.
Pietro felt disconnected from his own mind, as though it was all a dream. Unnaturally calm, he took another look at the body. There was blood drying around Evan's nose and mouth, obviously having erupted like a geyser before he died and there were smudges on his hands and arms but there was no evidence that the boy had bled from any of the wounds caused by the spikes. Why was that?
Then Pietro snapped out of his trancelike state and saw Evan – really saw him – and realised he was in the same room as a brutalised corpse. With a whine he backed out of the room and sped down the stairs, emerging into the sunlit day and throwing up by the side of the door. He considered another tour of the house to find the phone but immediately quashed the thought. There was no way he was going back into that house, not for all the money in the world.
Instead he raced to the nearest phone box and dialled 911.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. No one answered. Pietro gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white, resting his head against the glass and breathing heavily. Still no one replied.
"Shit!" He slammed the phone into the side of the box, splintering the safety glass and breaking the casing of the receiver. What kind of emergency service didn't even answer the phone?
Suddenly he felt the desperate urge to be at home, where there were no bodies, no blood, people who could do something about this whole thing. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen a soul since he ran out of Evan's house in a panic. It took him only seconds to arrive at his own house. He hadn't seen anyone else that morning but that wasn't unusual. His foster parents weren't exactly morning people.
"Is anyone here?" called Pietro, the need to see another person, a living person, almost overwhelming.
"In here," called his foster father from the living room. Pietro walked in and paused. He was lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, obviously unwell.
"Django, I was at Evan Daniels house and he was…he's dead. And his mother too. I tried to call the cops but no one answered and I don't know what to do!"
"Pietro, calm down." Django burst into coughs and when he looked up, Pietro saw a dribble of blood coming from his nose.
"But there were spikes everywhere! Some one killed him!"
"Calm down! There's nothing you can do about it now."
"But…"
"Pietro let me speak." Django closed his eyes. "There's something bad going on in this city. I don't know what but you're the only person I know who isn't sick. If you couldn't get through to the cops…that's a bad sign. I want you to get out of the city."
"Leave?" Pietro gave Django an amazed look. "But my father said…"
"I don't give a shit what your father said. I need you to get out of the city, today. If you stay, you might get sick too. And if people are dying, you don't want to get sick."
"But…" Pietro tried to take in what his foster father was saying. "Is it just confined to New York? What if we're quarantined?"
"You're fast enough to get through a quarantine," replied Django. "And the news said that they have it under control in other areas."
"You believe that?"
Django didn't reply.
Pietro walked to the window and looked out. "Django, I need to know where Wanda is."
"Your father said…"
"I thought you didn't give a shit what my father said. If people are really dying of the flu, I need to know she's alright. I can't just leave her there."
"You're going to break her out?"
"If I need to." Pietro turned back to Django. "I've only been there once, years ago. Every time I go past a building that looks the same I wonder if that's where my sister is. I don't know where it is or how to get there. I need your help."
Django sighed. "I always wanted to tell you. I thought your father was going too far when he had her put away. She was angry yes, but…" He trailed off, deep in thought. "You're right. You need to know. There's a Mr Lomax listed in my address book. That's the head of the institution. There's an address but I've never been there."
"Thanks." Pietro sped over to the dresser where the phone book was kept and lifted it out, turning to the right page. He'd seen the name before but thought nothing of it, not knowing that this was the information that he'd been secretly looking for all these years.
"I'll get out of the city," said Pietro. "But I need to grab some stuff and say goodbye to Marya first…"
"Pack a bag," said Django. "But don't worry too much about Marya. She…she's not coherent at the moment."
Pietro met the mans eyes and wondered what the hell was going on in the city and what he might find when he went for his sister.