NOTE: As of October, 27th, 2005, I have restructured this piece of fiction to make more sense. Part I will deal with the past and Part II will deal with everything that is currently happening in their timeline at the time of the Prologue. Part I, Chapter One is called How the World Falls Apart, Part I, Chapter Two is called Dreams of Escapism and Part I, Chapter Three is called Run for Your Life.
Disclaimer: Let's see now, uh, never owned X-Men Evolution and never will.
Author's Notes: Hey guys, I know you're probably wondering where my other fic is, but don't worry, the next chapter is nearly done and I'm also finishing a one-shot with Romy. In the mean time, this is basically just a fic that sorta just flowed out after an idea for one I gave to ForbiddenScars on her 'The Midnight Air' audience participation fic. She liked my idea and wrote about it…I read it, and it gave me more ideas for my original plot idea that ran through my head and just had to come out. It'll have a different feel though…and it will be a Romy, eventually. So here's a totally random fic, that'll have gain me even more problems with updating…sigh…but anyway, here's Underground Resistance X.
PROLOGUE: MISSING PIECES
She was tall, blonde and voluptuous, a woman that any man would want. Except to me, it was all wrong. It was imperfect and lacked all the perfections of the flawed reality of truths. Her eyes were a combination of blue and green, and her features were beautiful, but not matching to the rest of her. She had full lips, a defined nose that was soft and feminine, yet cutting, a strong chin and jaw and a tanned complexion. Her dress was a mysterious deep royal ocean blue and clung to her curves perfectly with a full skirt and had a V-neck line that formed into a halter dress that showed off a hint of cleavage and a slit up one side that stopped slightly above her knee where the fabric tapered slightly and wove gracefully down her long legs to her feet and spread out on the floor.
She was sipping a glass of champagne at an empty table whose inhabitants had all gone to drink, dance or mingle in the extravagant party. She looked to be waiting for something, something that only I knew. The hall was gargantuan carved from marble, highly ornate and decorative. It boasted an imposing grand staircase, rich oriental carpets, marble floor, fountains, high windows, ornate furniture to the pristine dining tables, shining crystal chandeliers, stunning statues and other art work and the best food on the planet, a true rich man's affair with all the movers and shakers.
I approached her and touched her soft bare shoulder slightly.
"Care to dance, beautiful?" I ask with a smirk, offering her my hand.
She looks up to me; I can tell that she can see all that is wrong about my appearance. My eyes that are a dark blue with flecks that seem a stony silver, and dirty blonde hair don't fool her, just like she doesn't fool me, but everyone else believes it to be true. But truth can be spun in a million different ways and varies to opinion. I can sense that she knew I was what any woman could ever want, that I was that perfect handsome match to her beauty. I wore a black suit that was of the deepest midnight black, with the long loose pants to match the jacket and vest with a navy shirt and stone silver tie.
She then smiles at me and I notice the spectacular sapphire and diamond necklace she's wearing around her neck that sported a healthy glow to it, with matching chandelier earrings and a platinum tennis bracelet with sapphires embedded into the various charms. To me those sapphires didn't do her justice the way that another would. Her long blonde hair cascades down her bare back from the cut of the dress in loose curls. To anyone else she looks a goddess, but to me, it's not right.
"Of course," she says in almost a purr as she clutches my hand with hers and looks me up and down, "how could I refuse someone like you?" I support her weight with my hand and she takes a step forward, revealing to me her strappy black heels with satin ribbons that wrapped around her ankles to keep them on, allowing her to stand up and follow my lead to the dance floor a little ways away.
I placed my hand on her waist, and she placed her hand on my shoulder, our hands still clasped together perfectly, and then effortlessly, we began to dance gliding across the floor amongst the other couples. We were both dying to put all our hearts into this dance, that I could ascertain, but we could never allow ourselves to be noticed, so it was modest yet graceful, but had an ethereal quality to it. Soon we both began to relax slightly and we came closer to each other, with her resting her head on my shoulder and I resting my head on top of her hair, observing our surroundings as I knew she was even though she seemed docile and unaware to others.
"How are you this night, Liz?" I ask, listening to the way the name seems to dampen her slightly.
"Same as always, Brock," she says, sounding bored as she rolls her eyes, making me laugh slightly, as we continue to dance effortlessly, "You know, same boring, gossiping people, same lame, extravagant parties."
"How true, although there was that one time in London when Pettigrew fell off his chair, doing toasts, taking a curtain, a full table of food, and several priceless works of arts with him, and that time in Madrid when you kicked and severely injured that man for trying to force himself on you," I said slyly.
"I believe there was also that time in Los Angeles when you got two of London's most prim and proper society girls to make out with each other in front of the disapproving guests, adults, tabloids and cameras and that time in New York when you broke that man's jaw for trying to cheat you out of Poker money," she returned.
"Don't you just love high society?" I say.
"Don't you just love its need to show off its opulence in such a grotesquely obvious fashion of 'I'm so much better than you'?" Liz says to me.
"Don't you just love how it turns normal men into such backstabbing greedy bastards who want nothing more than to run his so-called friends to the ground?" I return.
"Don't you just love how the women are all greedy little whores trying to worm their way into an arm of a wealthy man in hopes of killing them for their money?" Liz continues.
"Don't you just love it all?" I ask smirking.
"Immensely," Liz finishes, smiling up at me with her brilliant ruby lips that seem strange on her, at least it does, to me.
"Hey, Brock," she starts.
"Hmm?"
"Let's get some air, it's getting hot in here," Liz says, looking at me, like she's about to droop over and die.
I smirk and say, "Sure."
We head to the huge dark wooden French doors that lead to a terrace and whose steps lead to a rich garden with marble chairs, exotic flowers and animal shaped shrubs. We walk leisurely onto the terrace in the cool summer air of Paris and take the steps into the ornate garden, wandering a ways in, before stopping at a marble cut chair. I place my jacket around her shoulders as we sit down as she shivers slightly, and she sends me a look of gratitude.
"Y' got in, chere?" I ask, in my regular voice and accent after I make sure that nothing will overhear us.
"Of course, swamp rat," she says, "Who d'ya tahke mah foh? Ah'm no amateur."
She says it in her normal persona and accent, better and more alive than her false one.
"Well, aren't we getting' a tad cranky. Too much time around de boisterous rich folks fer y'," I return as we fall back into our ways of bantering, even on a mission.
"Yah're from a rich family, so ya reallah can't say that, Cajun," she says with an annoyed roll of her eyes.
"Y' sure dat dress o' yours not too…constraining in some areas, dat got y' all fired up?" I say to her. She smacks my arm.
"Ya sure those contacts aren't making ya delusional from pain?" she says.
"I'm a man. I can take de pain," I say sniffing in a mock insulted stance.
"I happen ta remembah that tahme in Moscow, when SOMEBODY got a papah cut and wouldn't stop complaining about it for two freaking days," she says with an insinuating death glare.
"Whatever, river rat, now what've y' got?" I ask.
"Ya know that we're naught done with this, doncha?" she glares at me. I just smirk at her, causing her to roll her eyes in annoyance, similar to the way she's done for the past three years of being my partner.
We're close, we know each others habits and mannerisms, how to read each other. We seem to know everything about each other that way. But in other ways, personal ways, we're closed books. We close ourselves to meaningful human relationships outside of select people. We've been burned. However, in knowing so much about each other, we still don't truly know each other at all. We trust our lives with each other, but there are secrets that we'll keep to our graves and never tell anyone, even each other, in a marriage of minds, where we're supposed to, and it's those that are our weakness. No one knows those yet, no one that would matter, anyway. And it's those secrets that we know, when they come out will test us, hurt us, and ruin us the most.
We're part of the best team of agents in our agency. So secret that few know about it, not even the high ups at the Pentagon know about our agency, we're just that good. We're the best partners, the two best for any job. Our team has been given one name Ferocity. I met her three years ago, in New York. We were a test for each other, a game of cat and mouse that always switched, to test each other's worth. Even in the beginning, it was like we could sense that we were the perfect pair in every way that mattered. We were flawless in fights with each other; we are equals and compliment the other. Although it's like we can infuriate each other to no end, and as always, it circles back from perfection to infuriation. Our arguments have always been this way, we're somewhat friends, but we can go on for hours, with our seemingly pointless bantering and arguments. Our friends have taken to using score cards to keep track of the scalding remarks dealt to each other in our own brand of wit. They think we have an unresolved sexual tension, but the truth is, we're like brother and sister in more ways than one. And here we are again.
"Well, what y' get?" I ask, getting serious.
"Nothang much, but they've got him, Remy, I know that foh sure," she started, "Everything's on this disc. It's highly encrypted, but Ah know it's on there, Kitty'll have no problem with it."
"Right, chere, but he's not who he is anymo'. Y' know dat, right?" I ask.
"Ah know, Rem, Ah just hope we can help him, befoh it's too late. Ah just want him back," she says, near tears. I hold her to me for a few minutes. Out of everyone, it still amazes me that she shows the most emotion to me, even though she can touch whomever she pleases now that she got control.
"We all do, Rogue, we all do. Kurt's gonna have m' ass, if we don't hurry up," I tell her. We're a family, out of all the teams and divisions in the black ops of Underground-X, we're the closest one. They took Logan a few months ago on a full team mission that went wrong. It had been a trap, a set up, for us. The information that we had wanted was false. When we took it, they knew we were there, and it all went wrong. We were two steps from the best escape from capture in history, but they cornered us, knew where we'd be because of their mutant detection devices. We all fought long and hard to get out, but the waves of soldiers were too many, and he made us abort, made us get out and leave him, because he was the only one that was undeniably unable to be broken by any enemy. So he was captured. We didn't know where they put him, or even if he was alive for weeks, but then, two months afterward, we saw him.
It was in Cairo. He was on surveillance camera. We were all overjoyed, we'd found him, our teacher, friend, mentor, leader and father. Only we learned bitterly that it wasn't, they'd changed him, unleashed his beast and drove the man we all knew he was out, leaving the raging animal to take control, the Wolverine. He became ruthless, a killer. The assassin they sent out to kill all that stood in their way. He was bloody and cruel, not the gruff, but kind man who personally recruited each of us all those years ago. Mystique, his friend, secret lover, tried to talk to him, reason with him, but failed, he wasn't Logan in control, it was the Wolverine that had inhabited him and taken control of him all those years ago, after the same people took away his memories and life, it was Raven who broke him out, and coaxed the human side out of him and turned him into the man we looked up to and lead us to our goals.
And this time, to win, the war that had waged so long between us and the Three, we had to take back Logan and finally destroy all of that organization. They were the ones who made us outlaws in our own homes, who took away our rights, who imprisoned us, tortured us, alienated us, and destroyed us, to purify the so-called 'tainted gene pool'. We had to win, for our freedom, for our continued existence and for our lives.
"Ah'm ready ta go now, Remy," she whispered softly. She was the new secretary in the company that the Three owned and operated. This was one of their company parties and the perfect opportunity to get information because of all the random people milling around. She is our mole for now. I am a disguised investor of the company.
So we get up and walk along the path until we enter the building again, back into the characters we play for tonight, until we meet again. I'll have to give the information to them soon, but for now, I stay with her, and make sure she'll be okay, she could be ruthless, but I knew that this was all taking a toll on her, as it was everyone else.
So what do you think, should I continue, or not, I've got the rest of the characters lined up and their roles, but this fic will only feature a select few mutants from the X-Men, Brotherhood and Acolytes that will be on the team I've dubbed Ferocity. Basically, the dynamic that is the X-Men will be completely changed, and Scott and Jean, I plan on just having as Xavier's right hand as he's running the resistance, but they'll have smaller roles, since I'm focusing on just a few mutants in this tale, primarily Romy. The other characters like the New Recruits will be contacts and middle men, people just in the agency that do the minor things but never got noticed, I think. But the team will consist of Storm, Beast, Wolverine, Mystique, Rouge, Gambit, Shadowcat, Nightcrawler, Scarlet Witch, Pyro, and Colossus. I'll probably be doing a Kiotr and Johnda as well, as the Romy, and some Kurmanda.
UP NEXT: CHAPTER ONE: HOW A WORLD FALLS APART
REVIEW! I'll write faster if you do…and shorter chapters, I think will mean faster updates, because long ones make me not want to type out stuff.
simba317
