Disclaimer: Don't own them, never did, never will...unless I get supremely lucky someday.

AN: Ok, so I lived in the greater Detroit area about fiftyeleven years ago...but I never had any reason to go to the morgue or anywhere else that they kept dead people...so I can't say for certain how accurate my description of the place is...so we'll call it artistic license and leave it at that...:)

Chapter 6.

(Angela)

We had a grand total of sixteen good days from the first time he walked into my dive. We should have known it wouldn't last forever, trouble always seemed to increase exponentially when we were together. To credit the gods, it wasn't the military that found us. That was the only small blessing in the whole thing. No, it was a modern day witch hunt and it never would have happened if Logan didn't like to ride that bike so damn fast and if it hadn't been raining.

I always took Wednesdays off from both of my bars so I could have at least one day to do stuff like shop or slack or whatever. This particular Wednesday I decided to take Logan out and prove to him that Detroit isn't nearly as scary as the movies make it out to be. Granted, a lot of the nice parts of Detroit are actually suburbs of the city, but it has a few jewels within its limits. Of course, we were less than a quarter of the way through the day when it started to rain. For those who are not familiar with weather in Michigan, it isn't like weather anywhere else. Since the whole state is surrounded by water, the weather is unpredictable and when it wants to be nasty, it doesn't fuck around. This storm was no exception.

I liked the feeling of freedom that the motorcycle gave us, so we were out on that for a change. Logan grumbled all the time about the helmet law in Michigan, especially since we both technically had built in helmets. But I didn't feel like dealing with any tickets so he reluctantly agreed with me and we wore them. Unfortunately, the helmet doesn't protect you from the neck down.

We were cruising down I-96, heading back to my apartment when the car in front of us started to hydroplane. That was unfortunate circumstance number one. Number two was the construction going on, with lots of really nasty rebar all over the place just sticking out of the ground. As if that wasn't enough, number three was the outrageous speed that we were going. Logan reacted to the spinning car ahead of us and jerked the handlebars a little too hard. Our bike started to skid and I could feel it starting to go down. I braced myself for the crash, but the front tire hit a crack in the pavement and I was catapulted off the back of the bike. As I was flying towards the aforementioned rebar, I saw the bike go ass over teakettle and Logan sliding underneath it. Then, there was only pain.

I blacked out for a few seconds and everything hurt, but I didn't know how bad it was until I looked down and saw that I was impaled on at least three lengths of the steel. I took a breath and realized that at least one had gone through my heart. Damn it, I was going to die again and soon, before they could lift me off this and I knew it. The problem was the part where I'd be back again tomorrow. The other problem was Logan and how he'd blame himself for killing me again. I distantly heard voices: "Holy shit, she's still alive!" "For now, but look at her, she's bleeding too much." "Crap, I can't believe that guy is standing!" So Logan was all right.

I heard footsteps pounding over to me and I knew it was Logan. I could hear him saying "no no no" and then he was standing over me.

"Logan." I tried to say, but it was barely a whisper. I tried to lift my hand to touch his face, but my arm was so heavy.

"Angela, no! No honey, you'll be all right, just hold on." I vaguely felt him grasp my hand and kiss it, but I couldn't squeeze his back. "Come on, hold on."

I smiled at him. "Just don't wait. Understand? Don't let them wait." My eyes closed and the blackness overtook me. I could hear him screaming at me, but I couldn't hold on any more. We both knew I'd be back. I could only hope he understood what I meant with my last words to him. Finally a feeling of warmth came over me and with a last gasp, I died.

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Southern California, home of movie stars, recording artists and enough desperation that you feel right at home. It's been two years since you'd left Logan on a cold road in Canada, but it feels like a lifetime.

It's a shame you have all that extra metal in your body, it makes you very afraid of water. So why you came to the land of all that is beaches is beyond you, except that some of the people you've met seem a lot more like mutants than you do. Maybe you've just been around too long, seen too much. But even with the shit you did and the people you killed while under Stryker's thumb, you still tried to believe that other people would be different. On the contrary, the human race seems to be cheerfully killing each other in ways even you never thought of and it's the stuff of nightmares that makes headlines. Why the hell did you have to be in one of them?

"Unknown Woman Killed During Robbery Attempt" it said. Yeah, right. It's a good thing they never got far enough to try the autopsy portion of the proceedings. You're pretty sure if they remove your heart, you can't come back. Not to mention the fact that your corpse will certainly wind up in the wrong hands right after the headline "Robbery/Murder Victim's Skeleton Covered in Indestructible Metal" comes out. Of course, Logan would probably hear about that and come down here to hunt them down to kill them. But hell, you came back. You always do.

It's the middle of the night and the morgue is pretty much empty except for the night clerk and a security guard. You wake up on a cold metal table, naked except for the sheet covering you and the tag on your toe. Christ, if you never have to see another one of those, it'll be too soon. You quietly get up and poke around until you find where they keep the scrubs around here. Finally somewhat clothed, you peek out of the autopsy room and find the hallway blissfully empty. You hope this place is like others you've seen so you can find a locker room and hopefully steal some shoes. It takes a couple wrong turns and at least one near miss with the security guard, but you finally find it. You hit pay dirt on the fourth locker and the shoes are even your size. You borrow the brush that's in there, silently thanking whoever owns this stuff. For now, you leave the shoes off, better to move silently without them. Stretching your hearing to the limit, you cautiously make your way out of the morgue and out onto the city streets. Pausing a block away to put on your shoes, you walk a little more casually until you come to an alley. Finally certain that you've made your escape, you run all the way to the tiny studio apartment that's been your home these past 6 months and stuff the necessities in a backpack before heading out. You leave a month's rent and a note on the kitchen table, telling your asshole landlord to just sell your stuff, you won't be back.

Very early the next morning, you pop into one of those storefront hair salons and have your hair cut off short and spiky, colored black. You make another stop at a thrift store for some right proper tattered clothes and a pair of old combat boots. It's a shame piercings don't last on you, a couple in each ear and one in your nose would do wonders for your disguise, but they don't so you have to content yourself with the old black eyeliner and lipstick routine. As you exit a fast food place where you grabbed a quick breakfast, the latest headline causes you to smile. "Body of Unknown Robbery/Murder Victim Missing". You bet it is.

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The problem with dying in the middle of the day is that, when you come back, there's usually a lot of people around to see it. And it's not like you can continue to play dead, because eventually there's stuff like Y-incisions and they always want to weigh your brain. Since I had no intention of allowing either thing to happen, I could only hope that they wouldn't do a detailed autopsy because it was pretty obvious what killed me. I only know one other person who could survive a rebar through the chest and he wasn't here right now.

At any rate, when I came to, I was covered with a sheet in a cooler. That makes things tougher because it means I have to bide my time until someone either comes in that I can knock out and steal their clothing or someone comes to claim my body. Having never had someone to claim me, I usually went for option one. There's also the part where it's damn hard to convince someone you're still dead when your previously unhealthy shade of grayish-blue has suddenly become a marvelous pink usually only seen on children and certain varieties of roses. Gods, I hate dying. Maybe I will become a nun. It would certainly be safer.

After an eternity, I finally heard the cooler door open and the sound of another stretcher being rolled in. The door closed softly behind the technician, who gave a jovial yet somehow creepy "Good morning" to all the other corpses in here with me. The bad part was the hustle and bustle I heard outside the door while it was opened, reduced to a bare whisper now that it was closed again. I'm sure my friend here couldn't hear anything, but he's not me. My heart sank even further as I heard him approach my stretcher while whistling a jaunty tune. I held my breath and hoped he wouldn't be long.

"Hello, Angela. So sorry about your accident. Well, Dr. Mason is waiting for you in room two to give you another once over before we release you. I'm sure you won't mind." Is this guy for real? Maybe I should kill him on principle. I'll bet he has a collection of true-crime books with serial killers as the major theme. And they think mutants are scary? Let them spend half an hour with this guy and they'll elect me president.

My morbid buddy circled around to the head of my stretcher and started wheeling me out of the cooler. Shit, outta time, I had to do this now. Besides, I couldn't hold my breath anymore. Quick as I could, I brought my knees up and kicked him full in the face while rolling towards him off the stretcher. Good, I freaked out the freak. The day wasn't a total loss after all. I stalked over to him, stark naked and stood over his quaking form. His nametag read "Stan Stephens", which made me shiver and not from the cold. Alliterative names are a sure sign of psychosis, I truly believe that.

"Hi Stan, thanks for your condolences. Now, give me your clothes and get me the hell out of here. Dr. Mason is just going to have to be disappointed today." Stan didn't respond, so I knocked him out and stole his scrubs. At least he was wearing underwear. If he'd been going commando, I would have chanced walking around naked. He had a huge tattoo of a weird gargoyle on his entire back. Yet another creepy thing. Someday, we'll hear about the Detroit Slasher or something and it'll turn out to be him, mark my words.

Clothing obtained, I had to find a way out. The cooler door was not an option, I could still hear way too much activity in the hall. I looked around frantically and spotted a vent near the ceiling. Sliding out my claws, I jumped up, grabbed hold of it and pulled the grating off, then pulled myself up and in. It was barely big enough for me and I wasn't even sure if it would go anywhere helpful, but at least it got me out of the cooler. I crawled along for about five minutes before the vent finally took a 90-degree turn straight down. There wasn't any heat down there, so at least I wouldn't wind up in a furnace. I braced my hands and feet on the sides of the shaft and slid down as carefully as I could. After about ten feet, I came to another shaft leading to the left and right. When right proved to be most unhelpful, I retraced my path and finally found another grate.

Yep, basement. I hate morgue basements. I think they're all designed to be damp and creepy on purpose. I carefully removed the grate and climbed down, replacing the grate as quietly as I could. There were no sounds in my immediate area, so I went exploring for the locker room to find shoes. Fortunately, it was empty, so I had no trouble grabbing a pair out of one of the lockers and a jacket out of another. So far, so good.

But I had forgotten how trouble increases exponentially (scratch that, make it geometrically) when Logan's around. I had just made it to the basement exit when a security guard rounded the corner. I figured that acting natural, like I was just on my way out would work, but to no avail.

"Hey you! Let me see some ID." He yelled down the hall. Crap. It meant they knew I was missing and they found good ol' Stan. I knew I only had one shot to get out of here, so I crashed into the door and out into the parking lot. Of course, no cover out there. I immediately took off to the back of the building, kicking off the shoes as I went. I knew I would have to climb the building if I was to have any chance of getting out of here alive (again). Fortune smiled briefly as I noticed that the back of the building didn't have windows. Good, that meant I didn't have to try and avoid them. Sliding my kitty claws out again, I took off straight up the side. It was only three stories and I was up on the roof before security even knew where I was.

I paused to catch my breath and to search the pockets of the jacket for anything useful, like a cell phone. Hooray, a little more luck. I flipped it open and saw that the battery was almost dead. Well, I didn't need it for long, just to call Logan to help me get the hell out of there. I called my apartment, hoping he was still there and waiting for me. He was.

"Angela! Where the hell are you?" He said as soon as I said hello.

"City morgue. Well, on top of it actually. Escaping during the day is a real bitch, let me tell you."

"Why didn't you wait?"

"What, and risk Dr. Mason finding me alive? Or worse, Stan the Orderly could be a psycho necrophiliac and there I was, all dead and naked. No, I couldn't wait any more, they were gonna autopsy me and I can't chance that. Can you help me get outta here?"

"Yeah, of course, what do you want me to do?"

"Get down here and be ready to drive really fast." The phone made a plaintive beeping sound. "Shit, this phone is almost dead. Gotta go. Hurry!"

His reply was cut off by the phone dying. Not wanting anyone to figure out where the last call went to, I smashed the living shit out of the thing, grinding all the little chips as best as I could under my heel. That's one of the nice things about the metal skeleton; it makes covering up evidence a snap.

After another eternity, I heard my car swing into the parking lot. I chanced a peek over the roof to see if any of the security guards were still down there, but they seemed to be gone. I crawled quickly to the edge and waved Logan around to the back where I could climb back down unseen. He brought the car around, turning it so the passenger side was facing my way. I slipped all my claws out again and shinnied headfirst down the wall. Of course, right when I thought we were home free, a security guard rounded the corner in time to see me take the last six feet of my journey down the wall before leaping into the car.

I pulled the door shut as Logan sped out of the alley and into the street. But we had both seen the guard on a radio and I knew that pursuit would be hot on our tails. Fuck me running! I took us on a rather convoluted route back to my apartment, but I knew without a doubt that my days in Detroit were now officially over.

We burst through the front door of The Dive and I immediately began issuing orders to Logan. "We don't have time for much. Call Ricky, he's number four on the speed dial and tell him to get his ass here ten minutes ago. Then hit speed dial number nine and tell Buzzkill I need him ASAP."

Logan picked up the phone and dialed Ricky. "Buzzkill? What kinda name is that?"

"It's not, it's a handle. He's a hacker. We'll need him more than anyone else, I'd wager." I sat at the computer and immediately began transferring the largest portion of my cash from the main accounts to a secure account I kept in the Bahamas. Being alive this long has made saving money insanely easy and I like to keep it where it'll stay mine. I left enough in the regular accounts for both of my bars to be taken care of until Ricky could get all the info switched to his name.

"Right. Ricky's on his way. Buzz isn't answering."

"Leave a voice mail, tell him it's a code thirteen. He'll know what that means."

"Maybe, but I don't."

"It means 'I need fake documents and I need them fast, money is no object'. You sure are nosy when I'm trying to run." Typing swiftly on my computer, I executed a series of commands that would lock up the whole system and wipe the hard drive in 48 hours unless Buzzkill came in and reopened the whole thing for Ricky. "Once you're done with that, go up to my apartment, pack your stuff and make sure to get my box out of the cabinet. I'll be up to get my emergency kit in two minutes."

"Emergency kit?"

"You break out of as many morgues as I have, you learn to be ready to fly." I grabbed a legal tablet and a pen and dashed off a quick note to Ricky.

Ricky,

I'm sure you knew about me all along, so I'm sure my leaving is no big surprise. Take care of my bars, I want to come back here someday and find out you've made them even better. There's plenty of money for both and a little extra for you. Take my apartment, I know you've been coveting it for ages. Burn this whole tablet after you read this and if anyone asks, all of this was an inheritance from my untimely demise. There's a will in the safe to confirm that. Take care.

All my love,

Angela

I left the note in the middle of the desk and ran up the stairs. I figured I had about three more minutes before the shit would really hit the fan, but I needed real clothes and not creepy Stan's scrubs. I tossed on a sweatshirt and a pair of cargo pants, shoved my feet into an old pair of boots and grabbed the backpack I always kept ready in the closet. It wasn't until I re-entered the living room that I noticed my cabinet in a shambles. I looked at Logan, who at least had the courtesy to look a little sheepish.

"It was locked."

"Ah, so you killed it. Fair enough. Let's go."

We dashed back down the stairs just as Ricky was coming in. He seemed surprised to see me alive, much less leaving, but I didn't have time for him. "Ricky, give me your car. You can get another one, I swear. I don't have time to explain. I'll call you…someday."

He handed me his keys without a word and we left the bar. Logan wanted to drive, I could tell, but there was no time to argue. I gunned the engine and we took off down the road. I glanced in the rearview and saw two police cars come screaming around the corner. Shit, they figured out the mutant climbing the walls was me. I prayed that Ricky would be able to explain things and rounded the corner. Now to we had to find Buzzkill.

As most hackers, Buzz wasn't easy to find at the best of times. Also, being a minor, he was technically still in school. However, the school thought he had perfect attendance and he always got straight A's, so it's not like the truant officer would be around to find him any time soon. I grabbed a cellular out of my backpack, one of those disposable jobs you can get at any carryout and called him.

"Yo, Buzz here, dahell do ya want?"

I rolled my eyes. "Buzz, it's Angela. You get my message?"

"Sure thing, working on it right now. You need everything?"

"Yep, and change my prints at the police station if you can. And get rid of any pictures you find of me."

"Yer the boss. It'll cost ya."

"Yeah, whatever, I can afford you. Where ya hanging?"

"Tea shop in Ann Arbor called Crazy Wisdom. Ya know it?"

"Yep, be there in an hour."

I broke the connection and prayed we could get out of Detroit. Buzz was good, he'd get rid of my picture and prints first, knowing the documents could wait a while. It wasn't much, just a driver's license, passport and birth certificate with a new name on them. But it would be enough to get me out of Michigan and off to gods only know where.

But the gods still have a sick sense of humor and it seems that being a possible body snatcher is one thing. Being a back-from-the-dead mutant bitch is enough to button up Detroit so tight that the President himself wouldn't be able to get in or out. I don't think the security was this tight when the Pope came through here. It also didn't help that anti-mutant sentiment was still running pretty high; people still remembered both Liberty Island and the White House invasion. I needed to get on I-94 to get to A-town, but the cops had every freeway ramp blocked. Even Michigan Ave. was blocked at the point where it left Detroit proper. I cursed loudly.

"Damn it, we're gonna have to crash one of these." I said, punching the steering wheel.

"Looks like it, yeah." Logan agreed.

"It's too risky, they'll probably shoot at us and if I die again, it'll be another day before I can even try to get out."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What's what supposed to mean? It takes me 24 hours to come back, always. I'll be stuck here, they'll shove me in jail and the next thing I know, a group from the government will be out here picking my ass up and testing me to destruction. It's pretty simple."

"No, what I meant was, what do you mean by 'I'? Don't you mean 'we'?"

"What? No! You have to get out if you can. There's no sense in both of us getting caught."

The look he gave me was fierce. "Let 'em try, but I'm not leavin' here without you. I can't and I won't."

"Logan, you have to. If either one of us is going to have chance, you have to."

"No way, darlin'. Ain't gonna happen."

Men! So damn stubborn at the most inopportune times. "Fine. But we'll have to get everyone disabled so we can have something of a head start. And we'll have to get off in like Taylor or Romulus and steal a car. I'm sure they've seen this one."

"Finally, a little fun." He popped his claws and grinned at me. "I can't wait."

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AN: You're getting two chapters for the price of one today, so i'll leave all of my real author's notes at the end of the next one...:)