Author's Note: Just remember that I often use italics to symbolize thoughts
instead of quotations, or also to represent things going on inside of the
mind. Hopefully this won't be too confusing.
Part 13
Emily knew what had to be done. As much as she hated it, she knew it was the only way. The X-Men would be no help, Jean had just confirmed that, telling Remy psychically that the building was too close to collapsing and the X-Men were too busy trying to tame the violence to be of assistance.
It all came down to here and now. Today. This day would be the turning point of history, either for good or for bad. Today would either be the birth of her future, or of a better, brighter one. She felt that completely, her very spirit was invigorated by an urgent anxiety. It wasn't just the newspaper clipping she had seen worlds away, because even that hadn't held enough information to really be sure of anything. It was something deeper. intuition maybe.
So today she would risk all, even giving him his power back, the Omega strength powers that she had been restraining since he'd overpowered the safeguard of nanos in Sinister's lab. It had been easy to build the wall of energy around his mutant abilities, with tiny holes like Swiss cheese allowing only a small fraction of his power to leak through, especially when he had been unconscious at the time and near death. There had been no resistance from his mind, no reflexive fight against her. But so much had happened since then.
She was so much weaker, so much more tired, so much more. hazy.
She was dying. Her body had been left behind long ago, and now her life energy was slowly being used up, diffusing away into.
Nothing.
He didn't know because he didn't choose to know. Remy had given her her privacy from the very beginning, a side effect of his affinity for blocking unpleasant memories. He tended not to wade around in the depths of his mind anyway, too much pain was there to find. As interlocked as they were, she was still very alone.
There was so little of her left now, after all she had done-giving him life once again after Sinister, healing him of his injuries, restraining and controlling his power for so long, simply holding herself together. She didn't know if she would be able to restrain and control his powers again if she let them lash out once more to free them from their prison in the tunnels. No, she did know. She wouldn't be able to.
There would be only enough of her left to free them and destroy the Shadow King, all in one continuous motion. She knew, as soon as she stopped, as soon as she pulled back, it would all be over, and she would fall apart.
She had known from the moment that she came back to the past to stop the future, had known then that her end had been sealed.
But there never had been a choice.
The future needed her.
*******
It was beginning to get very hard to breathe. It took Remy a lot of effort to keep from gasping the stale air Storm vigorously whirled around their small cave, as if she felt that making it move faster would somehow give it more life energy to impart onto them.
They were running out of time. He was acutely aware of Storm's body against his, where she was still wrapped in his arms, and he wondered if he wasn't starting to feel some effects of claustrophobia himself. She was starting to get nervous again, growing more panicked as the oxygen become increasingly rare. He could feel her shaking, chills raising bumps on her skin though he knew it wasn't the cold that made her shiver. They had to do something, and they had to do it now.
The X-Men couldn't help. They had tried and failed. That meant it was up to them, to him. He might not be able to blow up the entire rock tomb they were buried inside, but maybe he could hack away at it little by little. And if it all came tumbling down? He consoled himself with the thought that at least it would be quick. He looked at the frozen terror of Storm's countenance. Anything was better than this.
Gently, he let Storm go and slid away from her. He could see the child- like expression that suddenly whipped around to face him, eyes so large and terrified and innocent. "It's okay, Stormy. It's time we got out of here."
She said nothing, only watched as he stood and walked to the opposite side of the enclosure, resting his hands on the rock wall and still holding the card that he'd been using to provide light for them. The devilish glow cast strange shadows across the dips and crags of the rock, and his mind unconsciously started to pick out faces in it, creating monsters to torment him. He fought the thoughts away, wondering if it was fear or oxygen- deprivation that brought them.
"Don't fear. I've got your back."
Huh? It was such a weird comment, especially from the usually hostile Emily. He tripped over the thought, still not used to thinking of her by that name.
"We can't stop the Shadow King from down here. I'm going to help you get out."
How?
"Your full powers. You may not be able to control them but I can."
He felt the reflexive tightening of his stomach. Y' trust me as an Omega? He wasn't really sure what he meant by that question. Suspicion? Shock? Uncertainty?
He could feel her sardonic laugh. "No. I trust me as an Omega."
He gave her the equivalent of a mental furrowing of the eyebrows. What does dat mean?
"It means we are going to be sharing your higher conscience for a while."
Non. He thought it like a fist coming down on a table in finality.
"You have no choice." A pause, then: "Look at her." There was a strange feeling like she was pointing over his shoulder. He glanced back at Storm who was still watching him with that same open, vulnerable stare. "Do you want her to die?" And he knew Emily was right. He had no choice.
He sighed deeply. Okay, you've made your point. What do I have to do?
"Trust me" she said.
And then, suddenly, she was moving forward, advancing through his mind. .It felt strangely like he was high or drunk for a moment, as he felt himself losing full control of his body. he didn't feel grounded in reality. everything so far away. And she was there, so close. Joining with him, melding their consciousnesses into one in a way that he had never experienced before. He felt himself drowning in the sea of her essence and there was the sudden reflexive fear of being lost in it. Desperately he began to claw himself back to the top, refusing to let go of what was left of himself. He couldn't let go.
The cave disappeared and he found himself huddled in a ball in the corner of his mind. She was there, ethereal in the unearthly glow her feminine form produced. Tendrils of her green light wrapped around him, warm and soothing, but he refused to let them inside, to touch the core of himself that he protected.
"Please," she said, and her voice was soothing, actually pleading. Her hard exterior had been stripped away by the beginnings of their joining and what was left was a desperate being, much like himself, begging him to help her.
He looked at the hand that was outstretched to him, the fingers delicate and reaching. "You want me to touch you?" he asked.
She nodded. He remembered the last time he had touched her, how much it had upset her, remembered how a simple touch destroyed all her defenses. She was giving herself to him, and asking him to do the same, giving up every last shred of privacy, every last shred of self. For what?
"For the future," she answered. He realized that she knew his thoughts, that she could know everything about him if he would just let her. and he would know everything about her. She really was willing to make any sacrifice for her mission, and in that moment he admired and respected her more than any time before. Slowly he unwrapped his arms from around his knees where they had been holding him in a protective ball. He felt her fear just as she felt his. Fear that sounded like static in the crackling energy of his mind.
"Our mind," she said.
He stood, looked into the emerald abyss of her eyes. "Will we be able to separate again?" he asked.
There was an uncertainty in her expression, more fear. "I don't know."
He could hear the echoing of their less conscious thoughts around them, background noise like whispering ghosts. "There never had been a choice," one of them said, and he wondered whose mind that had originated from, hers or his.
It didn't matter though, it was right.
Slowly he reached out his hand to touch her, keeping his eyes locked in her gaze. And in the moment before they touched, he heard her say, "I knew there was something noble about you, Remy LeBeau." And then his fingers slipped around her hand and it all disappeared.
For a moment more he couldn't help fighting it, couldn't help greedily clutching the control of his mind and body tightly to himself, but then there was her voice coaxing him to let go and it wasn't just her voice anymore, it was his.
"It's okay."
It felt like he was dying and being reborn again. It was so different this time, so different from last time when they had been fighting for control of his mind at the Congressman's house. This. this was something amazing, somehow beautiful, surreal.
Two minds made one. Completely, with only the slightest distinction between the two. It was invigorating, the kind of feeling you spend your whole life searching for in a companion.
And here it was.
Gradually, the world snapped into focus again. He-they could see the rock wall before them, their hand resting on it, a glowing two of hearts wedged between the long graceful fingers. Their long graceful fingers. The air felt like tissue paper-thin, transparent. There were sobs lifting on the wind behind them, quiet and restrained. Stormy.
We are ready.
Yes.
Let's go. The thoughts came together in a barrage, with almost no way to tell whose personality they originated from. But despite the loss of distinction between them, there was no fear. Only calm. Focus. Power.
It was time to free themselves from their prison. They felt the walls melting away, so easily destroyed under the force of their combined focused will, and the scalding fire-storm of power that began to pour out and into the rock wall they were now gripping with both hands, nails digging in as energy poured out. It started as a low rumble and a gentle vibration that grew into a deafening roar. Their eyes had slipped half shut with concentration, but they could see through the edges of the lids that the room was glowing a blazing red. The heat from some stray energy that they hadn't quite managed to hold in potential form. the pain of breaking open underused passageways for energy to pour out of their body. it was like they were burning alive in an inferno.
Almost done.
Can we hold it long enough? If we release too soon there won't be enough power to vaporize it all...
We have to.
The power was still pouring out, and it seemed as if there was an endless supply. so much to control. Too much for one, but together.
We've got it.
Almost.
Now?
Now.
They could feel Strom standing behind them, turning slowly and staring at the glowing walls, could feel her amazed terror. They held on to that, directing the energy away from her, creating a bubble over her and themselves and directing the power up, all potential, all restrained, controlled with so much effort.
And then. they simply let go.
To them it was like the sky was falling, the heavens were being created, the world was ending and a volcano was erupting all at once. That was the only way to describe the searing temperature that burned their skin despite their effort to shield themselves, the way the rock just disappeared above them, and the noise and light that left them stunned in black silence. So much to take in and yet all at once.
It was done.
And they stood, choking on the dust in the air, blinking at the moonlit crater that had formed around them, trying to see through the spots that almost completely blocked their vision.
. We did it.
You think?
And for a instant it seemed time had been put on pause just to give the universe a chance to catch up with the sudden series of events that had happened in such a condensed period. The next moment came years later as they whirled around, all at once moving toward Strom who was still standing there, eyes just now fading from white to brown as she stopped using her powers and concentrated on breathing.
Is she okay?
She looks frozen.
"Storm?" they whispered gently, not even sure if they really said it that quietly or if it just sounded that way to their deafened ears.
The eyes slowly focused on them. The skin around them looked sunburned and her hair was whipped about in a net of knots. Her lips were spread apart and slowly they began to move, trying to form words.
"Remy. your eyes. they are green."
They blinked. "Green?"
"On black." And then she was silent, as if it didn't even occur to her to ask why.
She's traumatized.
She needs help.
We can't stay. We have to find Shadow King.
We'll call Jean.
They searched for Jean on the astral plane, finding her so much quicker than Remy could have alone. They called to her over the interference of a mass of anger-filled minds tainted by Shadow King's poison. *We're free. Storm needs help.* They waited a moment to feel Jean's acknowledgement, and then retreated before she could ask all the questions that they knew would come. She would know they were. different now. But there was no time to explain.
We have to go.
Calm down.
There's no time.
They put a hand on Storm's shoulder to comfort her. She looked at the fingers that tried to comfort her, glove ripped off. "Jean is coming, you'll be safe with her."
She looked back at them. "Where are you going?"
"To find the Shadow King."
She seemed about to protest, but they backed away before she could. Bowing slightly: "Au revoir, Stormy. We'll be back soon enough."
And then they spun around, running off to climb the crater walls created by the explosion and ignoring the question they could hear her ask behind them:
"We?"
But there was no time to explain. They had a world to save. together.
******* Interlude
Jacob Gavin Jr. had almost made it. He'd even rented the car to drive off into the sunset, or at least into the New York traffic. He was ready to get far, far away from New Son and the craziness of the big city, lay low for a while. Maybe sip a few martinis on a little-known beach in the Caribbean.
So close.
And then his conscience started talking. And talking. And talking. Going on and on about how New Son seemed different than the other crime bosses he'd worked for, how something wasn't right about the deal with the Congressman, how suddenly he had a duty to make sure it was nothing too horrible. He scoffed. Duty. He must have bumped his head very hard somewhere along the way. Even blasting the most annoying pop he could find on the radio hadn't shut it up. Finally he relented, turned the car around, and ended up here.
Here, on the walkway to Congressman Schecher's opulent home, wearing a perfect likeness of the house's cook. It was just before dawn, maybe a half hour earlier than when the cook usually arrived. That meant he had a half hour to break into the Congressman's office, find the information he needed, and get out. Maybe more if the situation in the city kept the cook from being on time. A half hour and hopefully that little nagging voice in his head would finally leave him alone.
Jake wondered when he had picked up something as annoying as a conscience. He knew what it meant, it meant his career was over, whether he got caught or not. He was useless as a middleman if he cared about the morality of the packages he carried. Not even thirty yet and he would have to retire, which at the moment, didn't really sound all that bad. It would be nice, relaxing. No more of this high-strung desperado stuff. He really wasn't cut out for it.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of the long gray wool jacket he wore. The cook was a tallish Italian man, slightly stocky and with an open, friendly face. It hadn't been too hard to duplicate him. Jake always made sure to have a record of the appearance of all clients and related figures before he took a job-just in case. He often posed as a photographer for a fictitious photography magazine cleverly (he thought) called, "The Morpher." Most ordinary people were flattered enough that they never noticed they were having their portrait taken for a magazine that didn't even exist. Jake remembered that the cook had given him a charming grin, a signature trait of his, for one of the series of pictures he had snapped. Jake tried the grin. It felt natural on his new face.
He was thankful now for the paranoia that drove him to take such photographs, all a precaution. It made him feel safe, and Jake liked being safe. Only presently, he was very far from it. He started up the brick walkway to the large wooden front door. His hands were sweaty in his pockets. There was an uncomfortable knot in his throat. So this is what it felt like to play "hero". How did Remy stand it?
The door opened only minutes after he knocked. A butler appeared and nodded at him, recognizing the face and letting him in with a "Good morning, Tony." He gave the butler his practiced, signature grin and said nothing. The butler didn't seem too concerned with the cook's early arrival, and after closing the door again, he turned and walked off without any further delay. Jake was left alone in a large living area-high ceilings, polished wood floor, brick, unused fireplace, some very cushy looking furniture. The butler had disappeared down a hall straight ahead of him, but there was also a staircase to the left and another hall that opened off of the right side of the room.
Jake felt like a wanderer standing at the crossroads where all the signs for the streets had been turned around and lost. He had absolutely no idea where to turn next. He wasn't a thief like Remy, used to finding his way around strange places, and he hadn't been able to get a hold of a floor map for this place. That wasn't the kind of thing they published to the public.
If I were a Congressman, where would I keep all the important papers I didn't want anybody to see? he thought.
And the answer was. he hadn't a clue. He wasn't a Congressman and he didn't keep important papers. If they were important then they didn't belong on hardcopy where somebody could easily steal them.
Jake took a deep breath to sigh, but then restrained the release of air, remembering that if he was going to be covert about this, he should probably be quiet. The stairs would be more likely to lead to private rooms, kept away from where any guests would be if entertaining in the living room. He decided to try that.
He went up the first step. *Creak* He froze. Creak? He hadn't considered the possibility of a stair saying, "Creak." Carefully, he took another step, again the wooden stairs squealed under his weight, though slightly quieter this time. He considered for a moment turning back, in case the butler heard him going up the stairs that he was sure a cook had no business going up. But then he had a better idea.
He morphed into a dog. A dog with four legs whose weight would be more widely distributed and therefore make less noise. It was difficult to do while being careful not to rip his clothes so that when he shape-shifted back into human form he wouldn't be naked as the day he was born. He managed to make it work and to climb the staircase with no further creaking, though the wool coat dragged a little with a scratching sound. Still, it was an improvement.
He changed back into the cook and began checking rooms, first looking under the doors to make sure the lights were off. The first one ended up being an empty bedroom, one which sent his heart racing until he realized it was unoccupied. The next one was the same, though this one he was sure was the Congressman's. It was very large, reserved, polished. It had the feel of a master bedroom that had a lot of attention paid to it. The Congressman was gone, and Jake wondered if maybe he wasn't even in the house, if he'd been called away to help deal with the sudden crime explosion in the city. An explosion that Jake had a strange feeling New Son was involved with, though he couldn't begin to imagine how.
There was an office attached to the side of the bedroom, the door to it left open. Jake walked around the large waterbed in the center of the room, fighting back memories of the first time he'd jumped on one of those things, only to have it break and spray water everywhere, while he squirmed around trying to get off and sure he was going to drown.
The office was also of notable size. Out of a large window with dark drawn curtains, Jake could see the preamble of another sunrise, traces of light streaming in to touch the desk against the far wall. A computer sat there, turned off. Next to it were some papers left out, a pen dropped across them and uncapped, the whole pile disheveled looking, as if somebody had left in a hurry.
Jake sat down in a comfortable, leather-lined swivel chair in front of the computer. He turned it on, waiting for it to power up as he looked at the papers on the desk. New Son had sent his information to the Congressman by disk, so that meant that what he was looking for would be on the computer. He'd put quite a bit of effort into making sure he became an accomplished hacker, and being that he worked for some of the most secretive in the crime business, he'd had quite a few opportunities to pick up some tricks of the trade that most didn't get to find out about. Of course, it was one of his less advertised talents. His employers felt safer thinking he was the naïve, defenseless little messenger.
He, of course, felt safer knowing that wasn't true.
It took some effort, and there was some information he wasn't able to get to in the handful of minutes he had, but by the time he heard steps coming up the stairs he'd found enough. And as he climbed out the window, cursing himself for his sudden bravado and knowing he was going to fall and break something wearing this heavy wool coat that wanted nothing more than to trip him, he tried to make sense of everything he had just learned.
Something big was happening, something that directly effected him and those like him. But it didn't make sense. He'd had some idea of what the deal with the Congressman was about before, though only a very vague sense. He'd just assumed that New Son's interest in the Mutant Registration Bill would end up helping mutants, especially since from his last experience in New Son's office he'd figured out that the man was a mutant himself.
So then why was New Son trying to start a human mutant war?
End Interlude
*******
The building was an ordinary one, maybe ten stories high, pollution- stained, lost in ambiguity between Greenwich Village and the commercial business of 34th street-far from the stereotype of the lair they knew it to be. Remy/Emily stood across the sidewalk from it, a lone figure in a place that should have been bustling with New York City vigor. The strangeness of the situation left a tightness in their throat.
It's so. the thought trailed off, the description wrought in feelings rather than words. Are we sure?
Yes. Question and answer came almost at the same time, the shadow personalities of Remy and Emily interacting, diverging and converging again like strands of DNA interlocking and twisting out the expression of life.
They closed their eyes for a moment, reaching out to feel the sink in the astral plane, like a black hole that swallowed hate and anger rather than light. It was here, so strong it threatened to pull them in, and it was very hard to resist it. There was so much to be angry about. fury for the pain and death that had come out of the human-mutant war, residual resentment at being abandoned in Antarctica by the people they'd trusted as friends, agony at watching their parents die, so traumatized that they lived in denial until the man that had been responsible-themselves in another reality-confirmed it to be true. so much to fill them with dark, black, negative emotions.
But the memories didn't fit-two perspectives fused together with a telltale seam of confusion that allowed them an awareness of Shadow King's attempts to control them.
We need to strengthen out mental shields.
Jean isn't here to help us anymore. she probably doesn't even recognize us on the astral plane.
We have the strength of two minds now, we can fight him.
There was truth in the thought. and also some doubt. If they failed they knew what it would mean.
They walked across the street that was unnaturally empty, into the lobby of the building where no guard stood. Everything was eerily quiet.
The eye of the storm.
The action was happening farther downtown, where all the tumult was, all the disaster, not a soul left to consider this lonely office building that harbored a monster. Shadow King had fooled everyone, even Jean into focusing on the wrong place. But they knew, somehow what used to be Emily had always known, exactly what to look for.not for the darkness, not this time, but for the light. Shadow King was sucking up negative feelings so rapidly and completely that where he was there was an absence of darkness. The black hole analogy wasn't quite right because in reality, its exact opposite was true. Shadow King had learned some new tricks since the X-Men had last met him, had become more powerful somehow.
But they were more powerful too.
They walked soundlessly, as if a loud noise would shatter the peace here. The floor was patterned with black and white tile, glossy in the fluorescent lights of the room. The sun filtered in through the windows, low and vengefully bright. It would be full day soon.
Carefully, they slipped off the trench coat that had been reduced to tatters and tears and was now hindering their movement. It fell with only the slightest "clack" on the floor, leaving them to move freely in only black and fuchsia spandex. Ahead the elevator was prominently displayed but they avoided it, finding a stairwell instead, knowing it would be safer. They felt supremely aware of their surroundings, more than they had ever been before. It was. invigorating.
They were even able to feel it through their kinetic field sense when something moved on the eighth floor, six floors above them. Their steps quickened, taking the stairs two at a time and never making a sound, neither physically nor on the astral plane.
The eighth floor seemed to come in only a handful of heartbeats. They stopped, hand on the doorknob, staring at the bold black number "eight" painted on the door and concentrating on steadying their breathing.
We need a plan.
There was another movement. All senses able to focused on it instantaneously. They were a predator perfectly attuned to their prey.
Surprise is our ally-
Attack him-
Astral or physical?
Physical. kill him.
Astral-trap him.
We've got it.
They waited a moment more, running through the scenario they had just created in their mind, preparing themselves and assessing the dangers.
This could kill us.
Wouldn't be the first time we've faced those odds.
They took a deep steady breath, tightening their mental shields, not so much as stepping a foot on the astral plane in case they might be seen.
And then they opened the door.
The hallway on the other side was long and still, lined with offices on either side, doors for many flung open wide. They paused, scanning for a movement, for any indication of where the Shadow King was. There was nothing.
We could find him on the astral plane.
No, too dangerous. We're too close. He'd see us and we might not be able to fight him if he focused in on us.
Deftly, they pulled a card out of the holsters at their waist, clamping it between their fingers. The bow staff telescoped out easily with a "swish" of air. It had been strapped against their left thigh with elastic bands and they could feel the pressure of them against their leg.
They began walking down the hall, using the hallway wall for cover as they glanced into each room. The first one was empty. So was the second, and the one after. All empty. Papers scattered the floor of many, a few lonely pens dropped there. It had been a rush when everyone left. The people had been afraid, afraid of something-
A movement. They felt it at the end of the hall. Emerging from the office they were currently checking, they looked to the closed door that stood there, opaque glass glowing just enough to tell of a light on inside.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
It wasn't very far. They passed a handful more offices and came to a place where the hallway opened into a collection of cubicles. They glanced at the desk of one as they passed. A screensaver of a shiny red ball bounced around on the computer there, endlessly slamming into the imaginary walls of the screen. No, not endlessly, everything has an end. They tapped the mouse gently as they passed and the screensaver flickered off.
The door stood now only a few steps away from them. They stopped, listened. No sound, no movement. The card charged up in their hand, warm with kinetic energy to give it a little extra speed when it was thrown, the rest stored as potential energy to explode on impact. There was noise on the other side of the door, a squeaking and the sound of somebody's laboring exhale to go along with some slight movement. They concentrated on it and it felt like somebody squirming back and forth slightly, struggling with something maybe. There was only one way to be sure, and that was to open the door.
With a few more cards in their hand and charged, they turned the doorknob and pushed through, the movement controlled and tight. They just barely managed to abort the barrage of cards they were automatically throwing as they entered and realized they weren't facing what they expected. What they expected was the Shadow King, a man of power.
What they found was a timid, young man tied to a chair, eyes wide and terrified.
End Part 13
Part 13
Emily knew what had to be done. As much as she hated it, she knew it was the only way. The X-Men would be no help, Jean had just confirmed that, telling Remy psychically that the building was too close to collapsing and the X-Men were too busy trying to tame the violence to be of assistance.
It all came down to here and now. Today. This day would be the turning point of history, either for good or for bad. Today would either be the birth of her future, or of a better, brighter one. She felt that completely, her very spirit was invigorated by an urgent anxiety. It wasn't just the newspaper clipping she had seen worlds away, because even that hadn't held enough information to really be sure of anything. It was something deeper. intuition maybe.
So today she would risk all, even giving him his power back, the Omega strength powers that she had been restraining since he'd overpowered the safeguard of nanos in Sinister's lab. It had been easy to build the wall of energy around his mutant abilities, with tiny holes like Swiss cheese allowing only a small fraction of his power to leak through, especially when he had been unconscious at the time and near death. There had been no resistance from his mind, no reflexive fight against her. But so much had happened since then.
She was so much weaker, so much more tired, so much more. hazy.
She was dying. Her body had been left behind long ago, and now her life energy was slowly being used up, diffusing away into.
Nothing.
He didn't know because he didn't choose to know. Remy had given her her privacy from the very beginning, a side effect of his affinity for blocking unpleasant memories. He tended not to wade around in the depths of his mind anyway, too much pain was there to find. As interlocked as they were, she was still very alone.
There was so little of her left now, after all she had done-giving him life once again after Sinister, healing him of his injuries, restraining and controlling his power for so long, simply holding herself together. She didn't know if she would be able to restrain and control his powers again if she let them lash out once more to free them from their prison in the tunnels. No, she did know. She wouldn't be able to.
There would be only enough of her left to free them and destroy the Shadow King, all in one continuous motion. She knew, as soon as she stopped, as soon as she pulled back, it would all be over, and she would fall apart.
She had known from the moment that she came back to the past to stop the future, had known then that her end had been sealed.
But there never had been a choice.
The future needed her.
*******
It was beginning to get very hard to breathe. It took Remy a lot of effort to keep from gasping the stale air Storm vigorously whirled around their small cave, as if she felt that making it move faster would somehow give it more life energy to impart onto them.
They were running out of time. He was acutely aware of Storm's body against his, where she was still wrapped in his arms, and he wondered if he wasn't starting to feel some effects of claustrophobia himself. She was starting to get nervous again, growing more panicked as the oxygen become increasingly rare. He could feel her shaking, chills raising bumps on her skin though he knew it wasn't the cold that made her shiver. They had to do something, and they had to do it now.
The X-Men couldn't help. They had tried and failed. That meant it was up to them, to him. He might not be able to blow up the entire rock tomb they were buried inside, but maybe he could hack away at it little by little. And if it all came tumbling down? He consoled himself with the thought that at least it would be quick. He looked at the frozen terror of Storm's countenance. Anything was better than this.
Gently, he let Storm go and slid away from her. He could see the child- like expression that suddenly whipped around to face him, eyes so large and terrified and innocent. "It's okay, Stormy. It's time we got out of here."
She said nothing, only watched as he stood and walked to the opposite side of the enclosure, resting his hands on the rock wall and still holding the card that he'd been using to provide light for them. The devilish glow cast strange shadows across the dips and crags of the rock, and his mind unconsciously started to pick out faces in it, creating monsters to torment him. He fought the thoughts away, wondering if it was fear or oxygen- deprivation that brought them.
"Don't fear. I've got your back."
Huh? It was such a weird comment, especially from the usually hostile Emily. He tripped over the thought, still not used to thinking of her by that name.
"We can't stop the Shadow King from down here. I'm going to help you get out."
How?
"Your full powers. You may not be able to control them but I can."
He felt the reflexive tightening of his stomach. Y' trust me as an Omega? He wasn't really sure what he meant by that question. Suspicion? Shock? Uncertainty?
He could feel her sardonic laugh. "No. I trust me as an Omega."
He gave her the equivalent of a mental furrowing of the eyebrows. What does dat mean?
"It means we are going to be sharing your higher conscience for a while."
Non. He thought it like a fist coming down on a table in finality.
"You have no choice." A pause, then: "Look at her." There was a strange feeling like she was pointing over his shoulder. He glanced back at Storm who was still watching him with that same open, vulnerable stare. "Do you want her to die?" And he knew Emily was right. He had no choice.
He sighed deeply. Okay, you've made your point. What do I have to do?
"Trust me" she said.
And then, suddenly, she was moving forward, advancing through his mind. .It felt strangely like he was high or drunk for a moment, as he felt himself losing full control of his body. he didn't feel grounded in reality. everything so far away. And she was there, so close. Joining with him, melding their consciousnesses into one in a way that he had never experienced before. He felt himself drowning in the sea of her essence and there was the sudden reflexive fear of being lost in it. Desperately he began to claw himself back to the top, refusing to let go of what was left of himself. He couldn't let go.
The cave disappeared and he found himself huddled in a ball in the corner of his mind. She was there, ethereal in the unearthly glow her feminine form produced. Tendrils of her green light wrapped around him, warm and soothing, but he refused to let them inside, to touch the core of himself that he protected.
"Please," she said, and her voice was soothing, actually pleading. Her hard exterior had been stripped away by the beginnings of their joining and what was left was a desperate being, much like himself, begging him to help her.
He looked at the hand that was outstretched to him, the fingers delicate and reaching. "You want me to touch you?" he asked.
She nodded. He remembered the last time he had touched her, how much it had upset her, remembered how a simple touch destroyed all her defenses. She was giving herself to him, and asking him to do the same, giving up every last shred of privacy, every last shred of self. For what?
"For the future," she answered. He realized that she knew his thoughts, that she could know everything about him if he would just let her. and he would know everything about her. She really was willing to make any sacrifice for her mission, and in that moment he admired and respected her more than any time before. Slowly he unwrapped his arms from around his knees where they had been holding him in a protective ball. He felt her fear just as she felt his. Fear that sounded like static in the crackling energy of his mind.
"Our mind," she said.
He stood, looked into the emerald abyss of her eyes. "Will we be able to separate again?" he asked.
There was an uncertainty in her expression, more fear. "I don't know."
He could hear the echoing of their less conscious thoughts around them, background noise like whispering ghosts. "There never had been a choice," one of them said, and he wondered whose mind that had originated from, hers or his.
It didn't matter though, it was right.
Slowly he reached out his hand to touch her, keeping his eyes locked in her gaze. And in the moment before they touched, he heard her say, "I knew there was something noble about you, Remy LeBeau." And then his fingers slipped around her hand and it all disappeared.
For a moment more he couldn't help fighting it, couldn't help greedily clutching the control of his mind and body tightly to himself, but then there was her voice coaxing him to let go and it wasn't just her voice anymore, it was his.
"It's okay."
It felt like he was dying and being reborn again. It was so different this time, so different from last time when they had been fighting for control of his mind at the Congressman's house. This. this was something amazing, somehow beautiful, surreal.
Two minds made one. Completely, with only the slightest distinction between the two. It was invigorating, the kind of feeling you spend your whole life searching for in a companion.
And here it was.
Gradually, the world snapped into focus again. He-they could see the rock wall before them, their hand resting on it, a glowing two of hearts wedged between the long graceful fingers. Their long graceful fingers. The air felt like tissue paper-thin, transparent. There were sobs lifting on the wind behind them, quiet and restrained. Stormy.
We are ready.
Yes.
Let's go. The thoughts came together in a barrage, with almost no way to tell whose personality they originated from. But despite the loss of distinction between them, there was no fear. Only calm. Focus. Power.
It was time to free themselves from their prison. They felt the walls melting away, so easily destroyed under the force of their combined focused will, and the scalding fire-storm of power that began to pour out and into the rock wall they were now gripping with both hands, nails digging in as energy poured out. It started as a low rumble and a gentle vibration that grew into a deafening roar. Their eyes had slipped half shut with concentration, but they could see through the edges of the lids that the room was glowing a blazing red. The heat from some stray energy that they hadn't quite managed to hold in potential form. the pain of breaking open underused passageways for energy to pour out of their body. it was like they were burning alive in an inferno.
Almost done.
Can we hold it long enough? If we release too soon there won't be enough power to vaporize it all...
We have to.
The power was still pouring out, and it seemed as if there was an endless supply. so much to control. Too much for one, but together.
We've got it.
Almost.
Now?
Now.
They could feel Strom standing behind them, turning slowly and staring at the glowing walls, could feel her amazed terror. They held on to that, directing the energy away from her, creating a bubble over her and themselves and directing the power up, all potential, all restrained, controlled with so much effort.
And then. they simply let go.
To them it was like the sky was falling, the heavens were being created, the world was ending and a volcano was erupting all at once. That was the only way to describe the searing temperature that burned their skin despite their effort to shield themselves, the way the rock just disappeared above them, and the noise and light that left them stunned in black silence. So much to take in and yet all at once.
It was done.
And they stood, choking on the dust in the air, blinking at the moonlit crater that had formed around them, trying to see through the spots that almost completely blocked their vision.
. We did it.
You think?
And for a instant it seemed time had been put on pause just to give the universe a chance to catch up with the sudden series of events that had happened in such a condensed period. The next moment came years later as they whirled around, all at once moving toward Strom who was still standing there, eyes just now fading from white to brown as she stopped using her powers and concentrated on breathing.
Is she okay?
She looks frozen.
"Storm?" they whispered gently, not even sure if they really said it that quietly or if it just sounded that way to their deafened ears.
The eyes slowly focused on them. The skin around them looked sunburned and her hair was whipped about in a net of knots. Her lips were spread apart and slowly they began to move, trying to form words.
"Remy. your eyes. they are green."
They blinked. "Green?"
"On black." And then she was silent, as if it didn't even occur to her to ask why.
She's traumatized.
She needs help.
We can't stay. We have to find Shadow King.
We'll call Jean.
They searched for Jean on the astral plane, finding her so much quicker than Remy could have alone. They called to her over the interference of a mass of anger-filled minds tainted by Shadow King's poison. *We're free. Storm needs help.* They waited a moment to feel Jean's acknowledgement, and then retreated before she could ask all the questions that they knew would come. She would know they were. different now. But there was no time to explain.
We have to go.
Calm down.
There's no time.
They put a hand on Storm's shoulder to comfort her. She looked at the fingers that tried to comfort her, glove ripped off. "Jean is coming, you'll be safe with her."
She looked back at them. "Where are you going?"
"To find the Shadow King."
She seemed about to protest, but they backed away before she could. Bowing slightly: "Au revoir, Stormy. We'll be back soon enough."
And then they spun around, running off to climb the crater walls created by the explosion and ignoring the question they could hear her ask behind them:
"We?"
But there was no time to explain. They had a world to save. together.
******* Interlude
Jacob Gavin Jr. had almost made it. He'd even rented the car to drive off into the sunset, or at least into the New York traffic. He was ready to get far, far away from New Son and the craziness of the big city, lay low for a while. Maybe sip a few martinis on a little-known beach in the Caribbean.
So close.
And then his conscience started talking. And talking. And talking. Going on and on about how New Son seemed different than the other crime bosses he'd worked for, how something wasn't right about the deal with the Congressman, how suddenly he had a duty to make sure it was nothing too horrible. He scoffed. Duty. He must have bumped his head very hard somewhere along the way. Even blasting the most annoying pop he could find on the radio hadn't shut it up. Finally he relented, turned the car around, and ended up here.
Here, on the walkway to Congressman Schecher's opulent home, wearing a perfect likeness of the house's cook. It was just before dawn, maybe a half hour earlier than when the cook usually arrived. That meant he had a half hour to break into the Congressman's office, find the information he needed, and get out. Maybe more if the situation in the city kept the cook from being on time. A half hour and hopefully that little nagging voice in his head would finally leave him alone.
Jake wondered when he had picked up something as annoying as a conscience. He knew what it meant, it meant his career was over, whether he got caught or not. He was useless as a middleman if he cared about the morality of the packages he carried. Not even thirty yet and he would have to retire, which at the moment, didn't really sound all that bad. It would be nice, relaxing. No more of this high-strung desperado stuff. He really wasn't cut out for it.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of the long gray wool jacket he wore. The cook was a tallish Italian man, slightly stocky and with an open, friendly face. It hadn't been too hard to duplicate him. Jake always made sure to have a record of the appearance of all clients and related figures before he took a job-just in case. He often posed as a photographer for a fictitious photography magazine cleverly (he thought) called, "The Morpher." Most ordinary people were flattered enough that they never noticed they were having their portrait taken for a magazine that didn't even exist. Jake remembered that the cook had given him a charming grin, a signature trait of his, for one of the series of pictures he had snapped. Jake tried the grin. It felt natural on his new face.
He was thankful now for the paranoia that drove him to take such photographs, all a precaution. It made him feel safe, and Jake liked being safe. Only presently, he was very far from it. He started up the brick walkway to the large wooden front door. His hands were sweaty in his pockets. There was an uncomfortable knot in his throat. So this is what it felt like to play "hero". How did Remy stand it?
The door opened only minutes after he knocked. A butler appeared and nodded at him, recognizing the face and letting him in with a "Good morning, Tony." He gave the butler his practiced, signature grin and said nothing. The butler didn't seem too concerned with the cook's early arrival, and after closing the door again, he turned and walked off without any further delay. Jake was left alone in a large living area-high ceilings, polished wood floor, brick, unused fireplace, some very cushy looking furniture. The butler had disappeared down a hall straight ahead of him, but there was also a staircase to the left and another hall that opened off of the right side of the room.
Jake felt like a wanderer standing at the crossroads where all the signs for the streets had been turned around and lost. He had absolutely no idea where to turn next. He wasn't a thief like Remy, used to finding his way around strange places, and he hadn't been able to get a hold of a floor map for this place. That wasn't the kind of thing they published to the public.
If I were a Congressman, where would I keep all the important papers I didn't want anybody to see? he thought.
And the answer was. he hadn't a clue. He wasn't a Congressman and he didn't keep important papers. If they were important then they didn't belong on hardcopy where somebody could easily steal them.
Jake took a deep breath to sigh, but then restrained the release of air, remembering that if he was going to be covert about this, he should probably be quiet. The stairs would be more likely to lead to private rooms, kept away from where any guests would be if entertaining in the living room. He decided to try that.
He went up the first step. *Creak* He froze. Creak? He hadn't considered the possibility of a stair saying, "Creak." Carefully, he took another step, again the wooden stairs squealed under his weight, though slightly quieter this time. He considered for a moment turning back, in case the butler heard him going up the stairs that he was sure a cook had no business going up. But then he had a better idea.
He morphed into a dog. A dog with four legs whose weight would be more widely distributed and therefore make less noise. It was difficult to do while being careful not to rip his clothes so that when he shape-shifted back into human form he wouldn't be naked as the day he was born. He managed to make it work and to climb the staircase with no further creaking, though the wool coat dragged a little with a scratching sound. Still, it was an improvement.
He changed back into the cook and began checking rooms, first looking under the doors to make sure the lights were off. The first one ended up being an empty bedroom, one which sent his heart racing until he realized it was unoccupied. The next one was the same, though this one he was sure was the Congressman's. It was very large, reserved, polished. It had the feel of a master bedroom that had a lot of attention paid to it. The Congressman was gone, and Jake wondered if maybe he wasn't even in the house, if he'd been called away to help deal with the sudden crime explosion in the city. An explosion that Jake had a strange feeling New Son was involved with, though he couldn't begin to imagine how.
There was an office attached to the side of the bedroom, the door to it left open. Jake walked around the large waterbed in the center of the room, fighting back memories of the first time he'd jumped on one of those things, only to have it break and spray water everywhere, while he squirmed around trying to get off and sure he was going to drown.
The office was also of notable size. Out of a large window with dark drawn curtains, Jake could see the preamble of another sunrise, traces of light streaming in to touch the desk against the far wall. A computer sat there, turned off. Next to it were some papers left out, a pen dropped across them and uncapped, the whole pile disheveled looking, as if somebody had left in a hurry.
Jake sat down in a comfortable, leather-lined swivel chair in front of the computer. He turned it on, waiting for it to power up as he looked at the papers on the desk. New Son had sent his information to the Congressman by disk, so that meant that what he was looking for would be on the computer. He'd put quite a bit of effort into making sure he became an accomplished hacker, and being that he worked for some of the most secretive in the crime business, he'd had quite a few opportunities to pick up some tricks of the trade that most didn't get to find out about. Of course, it was one of his less advertised talents. His employers felt safer thinking he was the naïve, defenseless little messenger.
He, of course, felt safer knowing that wasn't true.
It took some effort, and there was some information he wasn't able to get to in the handful of minutes he had, but by the time he heard steps coming up the stairs he'd found enough. And as he climbed out the window, cursing himself for his sudden bravado and knowing he was going to fall and break something wearing this heavy wool coat that wanted nothing more than to trip him, he tried to make sense of everything he had just learned.
Something big was happening, something that directly effected him and those like him. But it didn't make sense. He'd had some idea of what the deal with the Congressman was about before, though only a very vague sense. He'd just assumed that New Son's interest in the Mutant Registration Bill would end up helping mutants, especially since from his last experience in New Son's office he'd figured out that the man was a mutant himself.
So then why was New Son trying to start a human mutant war?
End Interlude
*******
The building was an ordinary one, maybe ten stories high, pollution- stained, lost in ambiguity between Greenwich Village and the commercial business of 34th street-far from the stereotype of the lair they knew it to be. Remy/Emily stood across the sidewalk from it, a lone figure in a place that should have been bustling with New York City vigor. The strangeness of the situation left a tightness in their throat.
It's so. the thought trailed off, the description wrought in feelings rather than words. Are we sure?
Yes. Question and answer came almost at the same time, the shadow personalities of Remy and Emily interacting, diverging and converging again like strands of DNA interlocking and twisting out the expression of life.
They closed their eyes for a moment, reaching out to feel the sink in the astral plane, like a black hole that swallowed hate and anger rather than light. It was here, so strong it threatened to pull them in, and it was very hard to resist it. There was so much to be angry about. fury for the pain and death that had come out of the human-mutant war, residual resentment at being abandoned in Antarctica by the people they'd trusted as friends, agony at watching their parents die, so traumatized that they lived in denial until the man that had been responsible-themselves in another reality-confirmed it to be true. so much to fill them with dark, black, negative emotions.
But the memories didn't fit-two perspectives fused together with a telltale seam of confusion that allowed them an awareness of Shadow King's attempts to control them.
We need to strengthen out mental shields.
Jean isn't here to help us anymore. she probably doesn't even recognize us on the astral plane.
We have the strength of two minds now, we can fight him.
There was truth in the thought. and also some doubt. If they failed they knew what it would mean.
They walked across the street that was unnaturally empty, into the lobby of the building where no guard stood. Everything was eerily quiet.
The eye of the storm.
The action was happening farther downtown, where all the tumult was, all the disaster, not a soul left to consider this lonely office building that harbored a monster. Shadow King had fooled everyone, even Jean into focusing on the wrong place. But they knew, somehow what used to be Emily had always known, exactly what to look for.not for the darkness, not this time, but for the light. Shadow King was sucking up negative feelings so rapidly and completely that where he was there was an absence of darkness. The black hole analogy wasn't quite right because in reality, its exact opposite was true. Shadow King had learned some new tricks since the X-Men had last met him, had become more powerful somehow.
But they were more powerful too.
They walked soundlessly, as if a loud noise would shatter the peace here. The floor was patterned with black and white tile, glossy in the fluorescent lights of the room. The sun filtered in through the windows, low and vengefully bright. It would be full day soon.
Carefully, they slipped off the trench coat that had been reduced to tatters and tears and was now hindering their movement. It fell with only the slightest "clack" on the floor, leaving them to move freely in only black and fuchsia spandex. Ahead the elevator was prominently displayed but they avoided it, finding a stairwell instead, knowing it would be safer. They felt supremely aware of their surroundings, more than they had ever been before. It was. invigorating.
They were even able to feel it through their kinetic field sense when something moved on the eighth floor, six floors above them. Their steps quickened, taking the stairs two at a time and never making a sound, neither physically nor on the astral plane.
The eighth floor seemed to come in only a handful of heartbeats. They stopped, hand on the doorknob, staring at the bold black number "eight" painted on the door and concentrating on steadying their breathing.
We need a plan.
There was another movement. All senses able to focused on it instantaneously. They were a predator perfectly attuned to their prey.
Surprise is our ally-
Attack him-
Astral or physical?
Physical. kill him.
Astral-trap him.
We've got it.
They waited a moment more, running through the scenario they had just created in their mind, preparing themselves and assessing the dangers.
This could kill us.
Wouldn't be the first time we've faced those odds.
They took a deep steady breath, tightening their mental shields, not so much as stepping a foot on the astral plane in case they might be seen.
And then they opened the door.
The hallway on the other side was long and still, lined with offices on either side, doors for many flung open wide. They paused, scanning for a movement, for any indication of where the Shadow King was. There was nothing.
We could find him on the astral plane.
No, too dangerous. We're too close. He'd see us and we might not be able to fight him if he focused in on us.
Deftly, they pulled a card out of the holsters at their waist, clamping it between their fingers. The bow staff telescoped out easily with a "swish" of air. It had been strapped against their left thigh with elastic bands and they could feel the pressure of them against their leg.
They began walking down the hall, using the hallway wall for cover as they glanced into each room. The first one was empty. So was the second, and the one after. All empty. Papers scattered the floor of many, a few lonely pens dropped there. It had been a rush when everyone left. The people had been afraid, afraid of something-
A movement. They felt it at the end of the hall. Emerging from the office they were currently checking, they looked to the closed door that stood there, opaque glass glowing just enough to tell of a light on inside.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
It wasn't very far. They passed a handful more offices and came to a place where the hallway opened into a collection of cubicles. They glanced at the desk of one as they passed. A screensaver of a shiny red ball bounced around on the computer there, endlessly slamming into the imaginary walls of the screen. No, not endlessly, everything has an end. They tapped the mouse gently as they passed and the screensaver flickered off.
The door stood now only a few steps away from them. They stopped, listened. No sound, no movement. The card charged up in their hand, warm with kinetic energy to give it a little extra speed when it was thrown, the rest stored as potential energy to explode on impact. There was noise on the other side of the door, a squeaking and the sound of somebody's laboring exhale to go along with some slight movement. They concentrated on it and it felt like somebody squirming back and forth slightly, struggling with something maybe. There was only one way to be sure, and that was to open the door.
With a few more cards in their hand and charged, they turned the doorknob and pushed through, the movement controlled and tight. They just barely managed to abort the barrage of cards they were automatically throwing as they entered and realized they weren't facing what they expected. What they expected was the Shadow King, a man of power.
What they found was a timid, young man tied to a chair, eyes wide and terrified.
End Part 13