Moving On – Chapter 16

By

Gimpy


Pain, ungodly, all consuming and heart wrenching pain that clouded the mind, dragging Mystique crudely back into consciousness. Every morsel of nerve and muscle cried out as it pulsed with the sharp, searing agony. Screams followed. Earth shattering, tormented screams hit the barely lucid woman accosting her ears, seeping through the enforced metal barring her from escape. On the outer edge, just pasted the tormented cries blazing thunder echoed surging fear through her tender spine. The gunfire ragged in violent swells forcing the aching woman to act further from the foggy comfort of nothingness.

Biting back her own gargled cry, she forced her protesting upper body from the cool metal table. Mystique lurched forward, muscles turning to dead weight, unable to steadily contain the movement. A sticky substance trickled down her forehead, slicking into her eye before she had time to react. She tried to blink passed it, moaning as the potency stung the sensitive flesh.

Squinting, she surveyed her surroundings, cringing at the darkened sterile white. The fog in her head persisted, resurfacing memories unclear and confusing. Rogue, drenched and trembling at her door, she'd wanted… no, needed. She'd needed help. The car ride, Rogue's break down, the motel room. Everything after that remained huddled in the dark abyss of her memory.

Exploring the room further with harrowed eyes, she let out a startled gasp.

Blood.

The floor was drenched in oceans of hardened blood, the wall covered in splattered droplets, rivers dribbling to pool where wall and floor met. Its stale copper stench choked the woman perched atop the metal table. Turning her back on the grotesque display, her thoughts quickly traveled to Rogue, her stomach clenching.

The sounds of a massacre outside the large room stopped the damning trail of thought and she quickly sobered. Willing her unstable legs onto the freezing floor, she fought passed the cruel pain. The horror outside was creeping closer and she knew she had to be prepared when it came for her. Taking in what her surrounding truly meant she tried to change her form. As she willed her skin to morph a pinch scoured the back of her neck. Ignoring the prick she pressed harder for her mutation to work. The sting became too great, forcing her to give up with a muted whimper. Reaching for the pain she whimpered again, clasping and fingering the rubber knob that burrowed deeply through the skin.

The purpose of the small button was blatant and her fear, her despair grew twofold. Her once constant source of protection, her power, had been stripped. She felt disgusted, naked, horrified. She fought to conquer the absolute devastation, hyperventilating passed the terror enough to search the room for anything remotely weapon like. A row of surgical tables lining the side caught her attention and she hobbled over to it. Casting aside the paper cloth that covered the utensils, she tensed at the horrific array of blades and scalpels. Seeing them resting ominously on a bed of blue cloth, the amber light catching and glimmering on the smooth metal, brought unsettling images to the hardened woman. A tidbit of thought surfaced and she shuttered as it assaulted her with the idea that these crude weapons of torture had been used on innocent people whose only fault was their differences. The idea simply reinforced her stance on the human problem, something she hoped Rogue would now understand.

Ignoring the heinous intent of the blades she settled on the largest, testing its weight in her hand absently as she crept towards the two metal laden doors.

Rapid fire surged, crushing another tormented wave of desperate pleading. Holding the blade tightly to her chest, she quarreled with the fear as it swept up and threatened to blanket her instincts. The monstrous presence on the other side of the steal doors grew closer, another death resounding. Pity echoed in her heart for the lost life, a life she wished she could have saved.

At the coarse sound of heavy boots she dug her shoulder blades into the concrete. The nearer they came the softer they sounded until nothing but the sweet torturous rasps of her own haggard breathing could be heard. Time stood still, livened only by each inhale and for too long the silence persisted, tormenting the expectant woman.

When the crash came and the doors burst open she bit her tongue to keep the shrill scream from leaving her parted lips. Stilling her very breath, she waited. Red light beat through the new opening, following the rhythm of her quaking pulse. The whisper of a shadow forged with every flicker, a demonic head growing, dipping deeper each time amber light caressed the floor. The barrel of a gun inched through the threshold, its mussel eye level with the petrified woman.

The hand that clutched the weapon appeared with the next flash, then the wrist, then elbow. A shoulder graced her vision then the shadowed, invisible face, masked by a black helmet. The gun snaked along the room, coiled to strike its impending victim.

The blade twisted in her hand as she converged upon the executioner. A scaled, cracked arm curled and then jerked, stunting a sharp exclamation. The blade grazed, dug and slid along his jutting Adam's apple, warmth spreading from the narrow slit left in its wake. Loosening her hold, Mystique indifferently watched the lifeless body collapse.

Blood dripped from the blade, spotting the rocky floor as she rounded the body. Discarding the blade, she confiscated the gun, absently checking the chamber as she crept from the condemned lab.


The reverberation of inhuman pleas for mercy clawed and nipped at the numbing veil precariously guarding the desolate woman. The will for vengeance, once all consuming, was now abandoned. Her cage had been sealed and escape had become unreachable. Confined with the traumatic and hideous reality of a crime committed out of necessity, she inverted, became trapped within her own mind. Dim, blind, forest green pools fixated on a meaningless spot, the spirit within smothered, it's glorious light snuffed out.

Huddled beyond reach of the amber light, she coddled her mother in her lap, a disembodied hand solemnly conforming to the contours of the deceased woman's face. Steadily she brushed along the temple, dipping into her wiry, ragged hair and back again. The action became separate from the mind, not fully registering passed the catatonia.

On the outskirts of the mental blockade, beyond her barrier of recognition, the lock on the sealed doors unhinged, the separation between her and freedom cracking open. Leather gloves guided it apart, a foreboding shadow appearing at its threshold. It loomed within the narrow stripes that bordered the entrance, slowly, tantalizingly, devouring every surface and crevasse of the dank and eerie prison cell. Beady, morose eyes grove the hollow woman, thin, tight lips curling with condescension.

"Princess?" the towering man crooned spitefully, leering at the shell before him.

The mask remained, the woman showing no signs of having heard his taunt. A brow furrowed with contempt, the man daring to venture closer to the passive vessel. Skepticism narrowed his gaze, knees folding as he bent down. With his face a breath away from hers, he penetrated the distanced stare. The deadened eyes, pupil's pinholes amongst a sea of white, stared right though him, her state unchanged by his presence.

"Well," he chided, shifting closer, his sour breath rushing along ghostly white cheeks. "Isn't this convenient?" he sarcastically spat. "You think this is going to save you? Cowering like a child?"

The hateful words spilled from the shadow but none managed to pierce the protective bubble. Syllables intended to rouse and devastate only found indifference. The man knew her strength, had barred witness to the fires she contained, been on the receiving end. The first time he'd encountered the mutant she had stood in defiance, refusing to obey his orders. The flames existed, hidden beneath the shriveled exterior, he simply had to coerce them out.

"You think I won't kill a defenseless woman? That I'll think it's too barbaric, too inhuman? You're right," he forcibly murmured. "About one thing anyway, it is barbaric. The thing is," he seethed, leaning in, lips hovering next to her ear. "So am I… I don't give a rat's ass if you're too weak to defend yourself."

Drifting away, his beady eyes befall the body rigidly resting in Rogue's lap. With the tip of his leather glove, he lingered behind the ministrations of Rogue's hand, mocking her poignantly. Continuing to mimic Rogue's movements, he found her hardened stare once more, snarling venomously, "It seems neither do you."

The barb achieved its desired reaction, the barrier easing, hollow eyes twitching.

Sneering triumphantly, the soldier pressed harder. "People around you end up dead a lot, don't they? Not that I'm complaining," he quipped, elbows resting on his thighs, hands hanging down. "Kale Peters… I owe you for that one, Princess."

The protective wall loosened a little more and fresh tears dangled heavily. A semblance of reality clawed at Rogue's sides, gnawing and nipping. The steady trail her sluggish hand was traveling became erratic, long fingers trembling.

"It felt damn good to put him in his place, and I have you to thank, don't I?"

Rogue's pupils widened as a single, striking tear broke free, glimmering in the soft red hue. The caress halted completely, blistered fingertips clinging desperately to the dead woman.

"Do you hear them? The screams?"

Vaguely the horrific sound was granted access, her shivers growing fiercer.

"Those are because of you!" Monstrous palms snatched the timid woman, forcing her from the floor. The body slipped from her grasp followed by a soft, sharp whine. The soldier shoved her into the wall, seething, "If it weren't for your little friends coming to the rescue those people wouldn't be dying!"

Rogue's eyes finally shifted, snapping to gaze up at the man. The words, their meaning, rushed through her like a demolition ball, slamming and shattering the numbing barricade.

"You're weak," he roared as more salty tears were released. "Just like Kale. He never knew what it meant to be a man or a soldier for that matter. He let his guard drop. And for what? You? You got him killed."

Rogue's watery eyes flickered, her face and neck reddening as she strained to physically deny the brutal words.

"You're a danger to everyone around you," he maliciously crooned. "She found out the hard way didn't she?"

The fiercely trembling woman automatically bowed her head, cowering from him. Through her tainted vision she tormented herself, gazing forlornly at the woman she loved, who had risked everything, gave up everything for the dream of keeping Rogue safe.

"You're a poison," he accused, long, thick fingers imprinting their mold into her forearms.

Rogue's line of sight jumped at the intense pain, coming to rest on the shiny, black metal, perched on his hip. The self-induced haze refused to evaporate, her every movement and thought too slow to grasp fully. The handgun hung precariously, tempting her to use it but her mind refused to formulate the want into action.

"Guess that makes me the cure." The man was mocking her, chuckling hoarsely, venomously, at his own inept musings.

A sickening dread consumed her, the will to live beyond this moment meant the death of another man. There didn't seem to be enough strength left within her to do it. Words he'd spewed returned to her - 'little friends coming to rescue you…' - They're here. Instead of relief she felt anguish. The mere notion of those she loved seeing the kind of monster she'd become was terrifying. She couldn't let that happen and it became her driving force.

Jaggedly she struggled to speak, the words breathy, uncontrolled. "Ah… am poison…"

The muddled sound startled the man, the power of his hold pressing her into the wall more harshly. He hadn't expected complacency and found himself lost for words.

"But… yah are… no cure." The broken sentence became accentuated but shallow inhales. The once mellow, despondent green eyes returned menacing and spiteful.

The sudden change, the renewed voracity that weighed heavily on her bruised and battered face, sent waves of uncertainty through the man. Feigning courage, the soldier retorted, "No? Then what am I, Princess?"

"Just… another… victim," she murmured, seething the words with an absolution that could not be denied.

The man glared at her in confusion, questions radiating. A muted but sharp clicking resounded in answer. His eyes widened, hand swiftly reaching for his sidearm only to find the holster empty. Their eyes connected, a second of mutual hate resonating. Rogue pulled and a single shot exploded between them. The darkened man stumbled back, a hand clasping at his side, crimson gushing between tightened fingers. Shock reigned on his callused features. Without the man's powerful grasp holding her up, Rogue slid, barely managing to keep herself upright.

Gawking at the blood flowing from him, a deeply disturbed chuckled forged from his twisted lips. More blood stained his teeth as he grinned maniacally up at her. "This, just proves, what I said," he sputtered, sick laughter coursing through him as he dropped to his knees.

"No," Rogue gasped.

Grunting, he arched forward, pressing against the spilling wound. Impassioned, she watched as his life slowly drained. Doubled over, hunched in pain, his seedy eyes leered up at her. She pushed off the wall onto unstable legs. The gun targeted him once more, the woman behind the weapon, cold, calculated.

"Ah am poison, Captain… Always will be. Ah didn't, need yah, ta tell me that. But what happened ta Kale… was his choice, not mine… His guard didn't drop, an' he wasn't weak… his death was his freedom, yours will be your damnation."

"No!" he grunted viciously.

Anticipation overwhelmed her, another shot echoing within the small cell. The man's diving form collapsed, the second bullet burrowing into his chest. A guttural, hacking cough convulsed his crumbled form, the hint of masochistic laughter still sounding as he rolled onto his back. Training the weapon on his quaking chest she dropped to his side. His mocking eyes, trailed in fear, found hers. No emotion showed on her blank face, even as the man cried out at the violent pressure of the gun digging into his stomach.

Rogue slowly leaned over, using the gun as leverage, bringing her pale, cracked lips to his ear. Softly she wheezed, "Where's… Kemelman?"


A deformed foot, no toes, just a stub, bubbled and blistered, twisting in its connection to a bone thin ankle. A calve few inches too short, scrawny and lacking muscle with tendons bulging from stretched, translucent skin. A knee that's potholed and engorged, draped by a ratty tainted smock that refused to sustain her shame. Her hands are grown to perfection, every digit present and immaculate. Her slender arms are demure and elegant. Humble breasts are round and enticing but unmoving. Lips are swollen and lush, womanly. Nose is sloped and pointed yet graceful. Eyes are too far apart and milky, brows bulging, stretching taunt skin to accommodate. Hair is tousled and muddy, holes baring scalp and scar alike. Skin is coarse, gray, and coated in dust and dirt. Torso is long and sleek but marked, burrowed and ravaged by holes, each one releasing life.

A man is posed beside her, his life mixing with hers. His skin and bone is natural, normal, without defect but he has a useless mutation and thus no chance. A younger man is recklessly slumped against him, his skin discolored, blotchy and peeling. A woman is draped at his feet, no imperfections with a useful mutation but a spirit that refused to give in. Another man contorted and unfinished. A dozen more rest beyond, each spilling precious life onto curved, warped rock. Each grown but deemed unworthy, pushed aside, studied and caged, then discarded, murdered when they only bared liability.

Surpassing the sacrilege came an oddity amongst oddities. A man guarded in black, blanketed in the shadowed uniform, indistinguishable beneath military apparel. He was the murderer of blameless innocence and cavities gouged poorly crafted protection, his worthless life mingling unfairly with that of purity. Five others mirror the monstrous man - murderers slaughtered in kind, karma fulfilling its purpose.

The avenger was unknown to the stalwart observers who stood crushed by the complete and total lack of respect for life. The bellows of the innocent ones had drawn them, their hearts seared to heroics. But they were too late.

Were they doomed to repeat? Would they make it in time to save the angel they'd come in search of? Hope seemed to dwindle the longer they stood within the horror. The worst came in the form a lingering, minute, whisper that each member would forever refuse they heard. Had their angel reaped this havoc? Had it been her hand to avenge?

The bearded, hardened Logan could not deny her sent as it weaved around the jumbled mess of copper, gunpowder, and tears. It was faint but ultimately there and it instilled in him emotions that scared him - pride and admiration. The scene before the small team was beyond description in its gore and yet his sickened mind felt pride.

"You… don't think that she-" Jubilee gave voice to his thoughts.

None of them had the courage to answer, too disturbed by the thought alone. Swallowing stiffly, Logan sought out the leader with burden heavy eyes. The man, still standing because of the boy, met the gaze half way. A moment of understanding passed between the friends. They had to continue on, both knew it but neither one was confident in their ability to remain strong. Not if what they found was more death, one in particular.

There was so much unsaid, so many threads left unfinished that neither man could stand the idea of not finding closure. The confusion, the intention, where hearts lay, it all needed to be dealt with. Answers, they needed answers and finding them was to become their driving force, the reason why Logan cautiously and respectfully weaved around the bodies of innocence, taking point with his sensitive palette.

The others solemnly followed, Scott resting heavily on Bobby who said nothing, simply adjusting the man's weight further onto himself. The boy looked haunted, his own innocence devoured by the gruesome reality. He questioned wanting to be an X-Men, now understanding fully why the man he half carried had been so adamant against his being there.

Scott wanted to reassure him, ease the troubled darkness that was clouding his boyish charms. Yet the truth negated that comfort and the boy was old enough to see through any lie he'd try and throw at him. So instead he remained quite, bowing from the carnage as they passed it.

Once a fair distance was placed between them and the sacrilege a scent different from the rest invaded Logan. The familiarity of it made him pause, the proximity sending alarms off in his overrun mind. His senses swiftly heightened as absolute recognition settled.

"What's the Brother Hood doing involved in a place like this?" he seethed in no particular direction, stunning the members following him.

All bodies stilled, Logan awaiting response with the other four simply mimicking, hoping insanity wasn't the cause of the sudden outburst. A shallow, beaten laugh splurged from nowhere, catching all but Logan off guard.

"Does that metal simply outline your brain or is it made out of it too?" a woman sarcastically spat, the voice finding familiarity with everyone.

"Funny," Logan snarled back.

"No, what's funny is you thinking that an organization hell bent on preserving the mutant race would have anything to do with a place like this," the woman bit out.

Logan tilted his head towards a shadowed corner, leering menacingly as he grunted out, "Then why are ya here Mystique?"

Slowly Mystique's long, sleek and battered form immerged, a striking sadness devouring her normally sterile face. "Look at me," she demanded sorrowfully. "Why do you think I'm here?"

Indignantly, Logan drank in the damage that riddled the ocean colored woman. Outside of the cuts and bruises what stood out most was the horrifying amount of blood. "It was you, you're the one-"

"I did what had to be done, nothing more…" Mystique interrupted, her entire disposition somber.

The glare Logan harbored for the nemesis eased, gratitude replacing it for barely a moment. Something seemed off to the sensitive man and he advanced on the weary woman. Unfazed, Mystique allowed him to inhale the air around her, knowing full well what he would find. Logan growled hoarsely and she jolted, finding his gaze and holding it.

"She came to me," she defended to which Logan scoffed.

"I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want," she choked back.

Eyeing her suspiciously, Logan barked, "Why would she do that?"

Mystique shook her head and scoffed. "There is so much you don't know about her."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Logan retorted defensively.

An understanding gradually furrowed Mystique's brow, the hardened glare softening despite the mutual dislike she felt for the shady man. The tension holding her together faltered and she slumped back, utilizing the stone wall to keep upright. Once again shadowed with the darkened haze, only Logan's acute vision could make her out. The sudden alteration confused the man and he dipped into the darkness with her.

"I won't be the one to tell you," she admonished softly. "It's not my place."

"Why would she go to you?" Logan brashly grilled.

"Because she trusts me," she bit out through clenched teeth. "Believe that or not I don't care. I have to find her…" The woman's husky voice trailed off, her nimble fingers reaching to brush against the black knob attached to her neck.

"I don't trust you."

Briskly, Mystique grabbed his arm, ignoring his resistance and bringing his burly hand to the base of her neck. "You feel that!" she snapped. "I don't know what the hell it is except that I can't use my mutation."

Tearing out of the sickening hold, Logan fled the shadow, his glare searing. "What's your point?"

"You are so dense," Mystique raged, disentangling herself from the gathered darkness. "If they put one in me what would stop them from putting one in her? Her only defense is her mutation! Are you really willing to stand around arguing about semantics while she's an open target?"

Irate, Logan fought an overwhelming need to smack the righteous look from the woman's face. The mistrust he harbored raged, the man unwilling to be persuaded by the cunning woman. The choice was ultimately take from him when a clear, concise discharging of a gun rattled through the halls.

Mystique's heart fell at the sound, the ruin visible on her marred features. Scowling at the abrasive man, she stormed passed him, her pace picking up into a full on run.

TBC…

Author's Note – Okay my beta has mysteriously disappeared so she never got to this or the ones before this, as I'm sure you've all been able to tell by the mistakes. I got antsy about leaving this go for too long so I'm posting anyway, apologies for any massive mistakes you might find. Enjoy and thank you all so much for the reviews.

Much Love,

Gimpy