Chapter summery: It's time for Mary to finish Lyall once and for all. Yvo doesn't like that idea.
Notes: I'LL BE EXPLAINING THE LAST PART OF CHAPTER 8 IN THIS CHAPTER. I know that it might've confused several people (as I already received a comment about it mere minutes after posting it), and I've taken note of it.
It'll be explained!
On the other hand, I'm trying to make myself get used to deadlines and have made the first of every month this story's update day. I might fail this miserably, but please excuse it. If I've haven't updated, give me a kick please.
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The first thing that registers in my brain is the sharp smell of dirt and unwashed human bodies. Slowly the feeling of gravel and small sharp items digging into my skin begin to seep into my awareness, and it wasn't long before I could move. My eyelids flutter as I quickly scope out the surroundings; bars so closely together I could barely fit my hand through connected the concrete ceiling and floor together. The floor was littered with scraps of dead skin and coated with brown blood and dirt.
By smell, it was only Victor and I. We both smelt terrible, and even in the poor light I could tell the lump in the cell across from me was my brother. We were both wearing mere rags of our clothes we wore on the ship.
"Amy?" Victor's tired voice whispers, voice so soft yet so loud in the darkness. "Are you okay?"
"Not-" I take in a deep breath and force whatever that had been shoved up the back of my throat out by coughing heavily. "I'm not Amy. I'm Lyall." My palms plant themselves in the rough concrete and slowly I rise. My hair falls around my face as I struggle to get up.
"Lyall?" Victor's voice is full of hope and relief. "Are you really Lyall? What happened? Who is Amy?" My body shudders as the healing factor kicks in and everything is back to normal within seconds, bones unbroken, muscles rebuilt, spirit mended.
"As true as the rising sun," I bite out, half laughing.
"Oh thank god. I couldn't work out a way to get us both out of here without your claws and healing factor." Victor's face is suddenly in view, my eyes automatically adjusting to the light. I grip the iron bars and wrench them out of their sockets, a move Amy couldn't dream of doing. With two more gone, there was enough space to squeeze out of.
I wait for the pattering of feet, the cry of an alarm, signs of other life, but none come. I realise, feeling a bit foolish afterwards, that this was 1880s (or at least the 80s). There was no such thing as a security alarm or cameras. Victor appears next to me, iron bars palmed, and envelops me in a deep hug despite our state.
"Missed you." he quietly murmurs in my ear. The hug lasts well over 10 seconds, before we let go of each other. "We ready to go?" Victor grins, not holding back the bloodthirst, and in sync we throw ourselves at the wooden door with all our weight. It is no surprise that the doors smash, thousands of splinters going in every direction. We stumble over each other in an effort to get up, picking our way around the wood pieces and left of our prison, towards the smell of fresh air.
"Why aren't there any guards?" I swivel my body around to guard Victor's back. "They should be everywhere."
"The only guards were Mary's son and grandsons," Victor answers, slowing down so our backs press together. "Can… can you tell me who is Amy?" I bite my lip and tighten my grip on our weapons.
Quietly I spill a small biography of Amy's background. I admit that at first I thought I was Amy, until I knew that she wouldn't do the stuff I would. Amy wouldn't kill. I did nearly every day.
"She was born over 100 years in the future?" Victor takes in a 'whoa' breath, letting it out with a sigh. "That must be why she speaks weird."
"And why I dress with minimum clothes, act and speak like an Australian and know Japanese off by heart." I list off, sniffing when a wave of fresh air rolls over us. Not to mention, the wooden hallway was lit better. "We're getting close to the exit."
The exit is a single door, this time cold to touch as it was metal. However the walls surrounding it was wooden, so all we needed to do was smash the walls around the lock and let it swing open.
"Ever since I realised who I was, Amy eventually became a separate person, hiding in the back of my mind. Whatever Mary did, she made us swap our places. After I got used to it, I started talking with Amy. I heard, and saw some stuff that happened, but I couldn't control my body." I break off to survey our surroundings.
The first 50 metres is blank snow, without a bump or a dip. The sweet smell of the sea washes over us and I take in the forest clustered around the building. The branches are so clustered that it's impossible to tell where one tree ends and another starts. It would look like one gigantic tree if it wasn't for the trunks connecting the floating branches to the ground.
Our foot prints, as none of us had shoes, stand out on the perfectly smooth snow, a clear pattern from the iron door to our trek away. Victor's foot print was far larger than mine, but if you compared a man from today with mine, you'd think I was a man. I was taller than every man I met, except Victor, because my healing factor just kept on pushing, and humanity isn't as tall as I'm used to.
"Marc, the captain, was captured by Mary and tortured into letting her minions onto the ship to capture us, or mainly you." Victor's gruff voice seems dampened against the whiteness around us as we travelled away from the building that held us for a good year. "Her son and grandchildren acting like Mary was the devil and basically refused to touch her and vanished from her presence as soon as possible."
"What?" I sharply turn my head towards my brother. "They hate her?"
"And they seem to love us." Victor quirks his eye brow at me, like he's expecting an answer. Like the fuck I would know.
A smudge of smoke cut through the branches of the trees, dirtying the fluffy white clouds and blue sky. Not long into our trip the smoke of burning tar rolls across the field, obscuring our vision, turning everything into a dark silhouette. My nose twitches as the smell of multiple objects fuelling the fire begins to break through the heavy fog.
It's clear that Mary – or at least someone – is trying to get our attention. The first explosion is almost expected, as is the second and the third. After that it stops, so Victor and I have to rely on the thickening smoke and the reek of fire to guide us to the epicentre.
The first sign of a town is the trees ending. 100 metres from the tree line something rolls along the ground, a carved strip of soot lined cloth. Ignoring the overpowering smoke, I can safely say that there had been no human bodies in the fire, and the houses had been mostly left alone. It only seemed so bad because of the heavy tar smoke was settling down everywhere. A bonfire maybe?
A tug, a sharp gesture up, and soon Victor and I were hopping from one roof to another. Up here, the smoke wasn't so thick, but some of it rolled in the air like water, just starting to settle down to ash on the wooden roofs.
Glowing amber littered the streets, the crackle of wood sounding from all around us. The only place that seemed void of any fire was the centre of the village, a cobblestone hexagon with deep pockets touching all the lining houses.
The point where we arrive at is behind a shabby podium, a line of people down the centre, facing away from us. One is in a wheelchair. They're all facing a ring of people, people with guns pointing to a huddle. Victor is already moving, crawling over more roofs with absolutely no sound, stopping over the two guards stationed at every exit.
"Mary!" I shout, standing up to my full height. "I'm here."
The gaggle of villagers quieten, turning towards the podium. The closest person to Mary turns her wheelchair around to me. She was fragile, that I could remember from Amy's eyes, veins showing in the few places her skin showed. Mary's face was tight from age despite the winkles, and she was beyond that time of transition between baggy-skin middle aged lady to an old woman with wisdom etched into every winkle.
Her voice was too soft to hear, even for my animalistic hearing. With a sigh I step off the roof and land with a roll. It was important to direct everyone's attention to behind the podium so Victor could take out the guards covering the streets in and out of the centre of town.
"So you've finally come." Mary repeats, breaking off into a cough. What she says next is softer, so I have to lean in to hear properly without major guessing the German words. "Where is the mutt of a brother? Why you keep that beast I will never know. Lyall, meet my son, Yvo. I only have him because you killed his father." She raises her gloved hand to wave it at the man who turned her wheelchair before. Yvo opens his mouth to say something, most likely to translate, but I interrupt him before a single syllable exits.
"Oh for fuck's sake Mary, Kyren died at least two decades ago. It's long past the point we should've put this behind us and let his soul rest." I argue, loud and clear in German. Mary purses her lips at the sound of it. Back in the Civil War, Kyren and Mary would often chat in Mary's mother-language, and I would stand by awkwardly as I didn't know what they were saying.
"You killed Kyren. My son and grandchildren don't even remember his name, thanks to you!" So she's bringing this back to family. How many mutant haters have I met with this exact problem? Unlike other humans, I can't just go into a typical argument style, because for the first time I'm the killer. "Yvo, we don't need the villagers anymore. Kill them all."
"No!" I scream, flicking out my claws in preparation to attack them all. The son smiles calmly, and leans back like he's satisfied.
"Actually," he dryly drawls in perfect English, German accent gone except for when you were looking for it. "I have a different idea. How about we kill… you Mary, for trying to kill a perfect specimens ready to be examined."
Mary doesn't react.
"Yvo? Tell them to kill the villagers. You know that they can't hear me because my voice is too soft." It hits me, a surprise so hard I momentarily take a step back and let the claws slide back in. Mary's forgotten how to speak English. I know that German was her mother language, but how can you forget a whole language you spoke for over five years and lived in an English-speaking country? I know that children can forget their mother language with time if they move away before the age of 10, but this is different…
Quietly I repeat what Yvo said in German. Mary purses her lips and her hands half-clenches the arm rests they're on.
"Is this true Yvo?" Mary asks, and seems to slump in her seat. A small spark of defeat lit in her eyes. "You do not love your father?"
"Why should I love a father I've never met?" Yvo laughs out loud at his words. So does his grandchildren, like they're all trying to get his approval. Yvo goes on, and I mindlessly translate as I sniff the air unconsciously. Two mutant smells break through the heavy smell of fire. One… was from the villagers. The other… was a small boy right up the back of the podium, only about 12 and looked scared for his life.
"Fine then, kill me. I don't care what you do after I'm dead." Mary sighs and I have to look down when Yvo plucks a gun from a guard nearby and simply shoots his mother without hesitation. Nobody moves from the blood splattering on the podium.
"From now on, HYDRA exists to evolve humanity. We will hunt mutants like you down and to study the extraordinary, we'll be the ones standing on the top of the world, and the ones to be gods." Yvo holds the gun the sky and his children cheer loudly.
My world screeches to a halt. I replay the words Yvo spoke over and over in my head, panic descending as I come to terms.
What the FUCK did Yvo say?
HY-
HYDRA?
I'm cut out from my break down when Yvo turns away from me, tucks his arm behind his back and points the gun at the villagers. They try to back away, frightened, but the guards lift their guns and point them threateningly to them all. They freeze.
"Unfortunately, Mary was correct. You are need no longer." Yvo cocks the handgun back and lines it up. With a roar I take a running jump at the podium and uses their momentarily shock to shove Yvo out of the way as I launch off the wooden stand to land between Yvo and the villagers.
The guard on my right crumples as the hair trigger goes off. Yvo shrugs and steadies his hand. "Guards… fire." He snaps and flicks his gun to the guard nearest to him. I only had two seconds to locate the mutant and protect it. Unluckily for the humans, I value mutants over humans. The mutant was a black baby held by a white lad in overalls. I slam into him, ignoring the cries of the baby, and cover it with my whole body.
It was over in seconds. Bullets bit into my body and settled there, and all around me I could see people dropping like flies. The baby between me and the younger boy screamed his lungs out, and the lad looks me and the eye and I can see him accepting his death.
"Nick Fury," he whispers, and his head explodes. I don't know if that was his name, or the baby's name, but Jesus fuck more and more people are holding familiar names than I'm comfortable with.
The baby – Nick Fury – is still screaming when I gently settle his body on the pile of bodies fallen all around me. Blood, grey matter and all sorts of odd body fluids coat the bodies around us, a pre-frontal cortex sliding out of the lad's head. I hope the baby won't remember this, because I sure will. Bullets clink as they are forced out of my body and hit the cobblestone.
Victor's snarls reach my ears and I turn to see him holding the other mutant, the 12 year old one, away from the reaching hands of Yvo.
"Oh Nickolaus," he now croons in German, "Why didn't you tell me you were a mutant? You could've been my favourite…" the other Nick (now deemed Nicky boy in my head) twists so Victor was more of a shield than a defence line. He says nothing, but tries to hide his slowly healing leg from view. It doesn't work.
"VICTOR! Up and out!" I call as I kill all the guards that come near me. "Let's leave, take him with us. I'm not leaving him with HYDRA."
A small choke escapes Nicky boy as Victor easily lifts him off his feet and throws him over his shoulder. I pick up Nick, the baby, carefully cupping him with both arms like a football and bolt out of the centre.
A cry of outrage follows us as we exit the town centre, the dead guards not rising like they would've to stop us. I throw a 'good job' to Victor and pick up my pace.
The streets are more of a maze than an alleyway. Debris litters the street, black from burning or still aglow from the heated coats. I ignore the pain that shoots up my leg whenever I step on something still hot and it's not long before Victor and I stumble out onto snow.
"To the trees," I say, and wait for Victor to hoist himself and Nicky boy up in the thick branches, before handing him Nick. "I need your clothes. Nick, the baby, won't last long without protection from the cold."
We both strip, the tiny shreds of what we had been wearing barely covering the baby. I wrap the lengths of cloth around the baby clumsily and wipe off the blood with little success.
"We have to leave. Now." Victor throws Nicky boy over his shoulder and hops from branch to branch. Our nearly white skin, void of any tan, almost blends into the snow, except our hair colouring in my head and Victor's chest and legs.
As we leave, more explosions sound behind us, shifting the branches under us. If it wasn't for my near perfect balance, I think Nick would've been dropped ages ago, along with my footing.
It started snowing again, sharp cold pricks on our skin. With the frozen rainfall, the usual breaths between the four of us and the swish as branches sway in the breeze dampen as the snow takes up more space.
It doesn't take Nick Fury, who very much looks like a younger version of the Marvel character (sans eyepatch), to fall asleep, despite the blood and bits of brain drying on his skin.
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Our fifth stop, a yard coloured brown by dead grass with a house squatting in the middle, Nicky boy finally speaks.
The house is empty. The owners were hanging from the shed nearby, the murder lying next to their bodies. We had stumbled across the girl just about to kill the old man and Victor immediately knocked her out, the rest of us quickly evacuating the warehouse.
Luckily enough the recently murdered family had a baby, age close enough to Nick that it wasn't a problem to cover him up appropriately (it was dress, funnily enough. What a great baby story). We all took a shower each, with me taking Nick in to wash the blood off him.
We took clothes out of the wardrobes, taking the simplest, cheapest clothes we could find and woolly and thick clothes to defend the younger two from the cold.
"The baby is a mutant, right?" Nicky boy quietly asks as I throw useless clothes over my shoulder.
"Yes," I hold up a dress, but threw it away once I realised it has triple layers. "His name is Nick Fury, apparently."
"I think his mutation is slow ageing. He's two years old, but we place him physically around four months. That's the only reason why You-Know-Who's followers kept him, because Yvo could've used it as leverage against you."
"Voldemort?" I ask confused.
"No," Nicky boy gives me a raised eyebrow. It's only now that I identify the German accent hanging from a few words. "Mary. Yvo made it clear that she was not above us, so my cousins came up with that name. I think they got it from you."
"They musta." I mumble and pick up a simple red dress without much holding it down or hanging off it. It would have to do. "So," I start but pause to reef the dress up my legs and to wrap the corset around my body.
"My mutation awoke several months into your capture." Nicky boy quietly answers, expecting a completely different question. "I decided not to tell him because of the way he was talking about you and your brother."
"That wasn't the question I was looking for, but too late." I turn around, facing my back to Victor as he walks out of the shower. He sighs, but laces up the back of the corset and ties it relatively tight. "How long have we been there? What year is it? The Starks always have a X-mas get-together but they change cities with every year."
"It's1902. 1902, September."
Victor freezes in working the corset tighter. All I do is heave a big sigh and motion Victor to continue. Of course four years would've past in the building. Mary was just the one to continue bothering me even in her old age.
"Okay, well, I know it's in the capital city, on 25th of December." I rattle off, viewing the list of dates. They always pick Christmas, as with all the Starks acquiring jobs that demanded full attention, they decided to pick a day they're all guaranteed to be free. "Not quite sure where exactly."
Nicky boy slumps, resting his eyes on Nick sleeping next to him on the bed and lazily rubs his index finger on his incredibly soft skin.
"What are we going to do with them?" Victor hisses quietly. "You know that a life like ours is not suited for any child!" He grips my shoulders when I turn to face him. His nails bite into the fabric, slicing my skin open. I ignore the blood seeping down my back.
"I wasn't thinking," I sigh, dropping my gaze. "Mutant in danger – get it out. We could drop him off at the Starks or hand him over to the Legion, but…" Victor turns his head slightly, raising one eyebrow in question.
"But…" he fishes, waiting for me to finish my sentence.
"Okay, it's something to do with Amy. Nick Fury's name is very, very well known to her and uh, that's in the 21st century. I don't know if this is his grandparent or what."
"We still need to talk about Amy. Not in their presence, but when they're gone off on their own."
"That'll be in a long time, Victor. If I'm correct, Nick as a 1:5 ratio. When he's been living for 50 years, he'll be 10 years old. Victor – in 2012 he'll be 24 years old. I know we'll probably drop him before that, but society doesn't care about how long he's been living for. If he's not physically an adult, they'll treat him like a stupid child, only needing to be baby sat. You know how many times men have tried that on me. Imagine that on Nick."
Victor loosens his fingers and draws his hands away. He just nods and marches over to Nick, picking him up with care.
"We all ready to go?" he calmly remarks like we're going on a trip to the park. I turn and shrug on a thick over coat and smile at my brother.
"As true as the rising sun." I snark and waltz out the door, Nicky boy following meekly.
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I've cleaned up the last chapter and added in a few sentences. Turns out the lines didn't go in the correct align and the Greek didn't bold.
Thank you for reading, despite how awful it is!