Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Ilehana Xavier belongs to Corrinth. All other characters belong to me.
A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers out there; you really are all stars.
Scene 28Bleep, bleep. Bleep, bleep. Bleep, bleep.
"Excuse me." The woman in the smart suit excused herself from perusing a file with a member of staff as her computer alerted her to an incoming transmission. "That all looks fine. Put in the President's in-tray and start work on the staff rota."
The other woman nodded and left, dutifully closing the office door behind her. Marta sat down on her chair heavily, feet aching in shoes that pinched. Still, she was in a relatively good mood, one not dimmed when she opened the laptop to see John Jackson's ID on the call. What news of their pet mutant-extermination project did he have for her now?
"What can I do for you John?" She asked, deliberately sitting too far back for the camera to make out her features.
"I think you've just done all I need by answerin' my call..." The voice was a stranger, equally hidden from her as she was from him, but his voice sounded young and cold. Suddenly her screen burst into a flurry of activity, files opened and closed, transfer logos fought for her attention as data disappeared into the ether.
"Who is this? What are you doing? Where's John?" Panic seeped into Marta's voice, this was not good. Had they been too careless? The link to the whiskey distillery hadn't been a difficult one to make, but then she'd always intended for John to take the fall for her. But this was no policeman on the other end of the line; this was someone taking matters into their own hands...
"John's a little burnt out, you're talkin' to the Iceman." Bobby dropped in carelessly. "Thanks for your time, see you in Hell."
The link slammed shut abruptly, leaving Marta gasping for breath like a fish out of water. Mutants. Always mutants. Her brother had trusted them, and look what he'd got in return. A bullet through his head and his brains splattered on the deck of his yacht. Harder to kill than roaches, they came up through the woodwork the minute your back was turned and destroyed everything... And now she would have to run like some common criminal, or face the consequences of her actions trying to free the world...
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Gambit tried the door again, and it opened easily in his hand. His mind numb, he stepped across the threshold to be faced with a floor to ceiling wall of flame. Blaze was not going to let him see whatever she had in mind. Remy shuddered, wondering if it was the first effects of the virus running through his system, or a gut reaction to knowing he didn't want to see what Blaze was gonna do either. Turning his back on the flames he walked back into the corridor, head suddenly heavy, hand on the wall for security. Queasiness already washed at him, the strong direct dose speeding up his symptoms. Felt like he'd been swimming in the damn whiskey vats... He was going to die...
Behind the wall of fire, the man of shadows, John Jackson, cowered from this demon of a woman and the fire she created. He tried to splutter something, but his mind was numb and his blood was boiling. She beat him into the realm of coherent thought.
"You know that I am going to kill you now." Her voice was hot, humid, forcefully like the heat of the jungle. Like walking into a wall of heat. He cringed from it. "But not just yet. I need answers. I have to know all that you know about the virus and if there is any cure for my friend. How quickly you tell me those answers decides how quickly you die. Take too long, and you'll think you're slowly burning in Hell itself."
"You're going to torture me!" He screamed, shrinking away. Blaze looked at him, flames that surrounded them both making her eyes red and flickering. Emotionless.
"That is entirely up to you. Tell me everything, and I will kill you now."
"I wont tell you a thing! You've proved me right! Everything I knew about mutants being no better than murderous animals!"
If he'd expected to make Blaze angry with his insults, he failed. Very slowly, callously, she smiled at him.
"You've already killed two of my friends. Now you've condemned another to that same fate. This isn't murder, its vengeance." Blaze took a step closer, bent down to where he sat in a chair, sweating like a pig. She wasn't even warm, not sweating at all. "Now tell me everything, starting with whether you can take losing a hand or a foot to my flames first?"
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"Get out of here."
Blaze gave the order, but Bobby couldn't find it in him to steal the authority back. She barged into the security room covered in a fine back ash that Kurt had no desire to know where it had come from, but his nose was giving him a very good idea. Like one of Logan's barbeques, the smell of charred meat hung in the air. Gambit's arm was slung about Blaze's shoulder, the Cajun barely on his feet as his slight friend braced herself to take the weight of his six-foot-something muscular frame. Iceman relieved her of that duty, Kurt taking Gambit's other arm and between them they kept him stood up.
"Where are you going?" Bobby asked as Blaze turned her back on all of them and walked back out the door.
"Get the security guard out of the cupboard on your way through. Ditch him; get the jet and move clear. When I'm done, I'll find you." She didn't turn round once, storming down a corridor with her boot heels clicking.
"What are you gonna do?" Bobby called after her. In silent response, Blaze's fist snapped out and smashed a tiny pane of glass. All around them, fire alarms rattled the building, proclaiming Armageddon.
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The X-Jet hovered black in the sky, its occupants watching silently as below them the sprawling complex of the distillery was devoured by flames so bright they made the setting sun appear dull and lifeless. Hungry, the fire devoured building after building, reaching the vats as Blaze did. It dived when she commanded it, drove into the rich alcohol and knew what it had to do. The distillery exploded, the redhead at its centre an immoveable object, sheltered and protected by her fire. The jet rocked in the air with the force of it.
Gambit barely noticed. Everything was rocking anyway and he had no sense of temperature anymore. He winced and screwed up his face as tears made his vision swim. He was going to die...