A/N: So this is the final chapter of the "A Deal Near the Red Dawn" arc! It's taken the better part of (just under) three years, but I'm so happy that I've done it. Thank you all for sticking by me, even though logic, and convention of the internet, both indicate you would have been better off finding something else from the endless archives to entertain yourselves. Let's go!
Oh, there's a bit of gratuitous Russian towards the end of the chapter, plus a bit of British slang throughout, but I'll include the translations at the end.
Their initial progress into the compound had been reasonable, given the circumstances and the significant amount of pain that Christopher Nord had suffered. However, Vertigo had delayed the two of them long enough for Riptide to close the gap, and now the two of them were behind cover, doing their best to not get caught in the area of effect of Vertigo's psychic waves, and even that was proving a difficult task.
Riptide smirked, drawing his sword.
"You can hide, but you can't run."
The cover that the pair of them had been using, a thick storage crate, started to turn over, and Christy felt herself coughing, then repressing the urge not to vomit as Vertigo took advantage of the opening she had been given. Her father, on the other hand, grabbed a spanner from a nearby shelf, and began striking it against the floor with increasing force, before leaning around the precariously placed crate to aim the spanner directly at her face, and throw it with an amplified force. Vertigo didn't even have time to register the spanner striking her as she hit the ground, unconscious.
"Improved immunity to diseases. When Weapon X tinkered with my ticker, they made it so I can't easily suffer from disease, nausea or vertigo. It stinks to be you right now."
Christy breathed a sigh of relief as the urge to vomit faded, although her relief was short lived as Riptide began drawing everyone in with his high speeds, slashing at Maverick's chest twice before lunging in for a critical strike.
"Urngh!"
The cry of pain was audible, but Riptide didn't have long to gloat as he found himself being kicked in the face, before part of the ground lifted up beneath him, and underground cables, floor panels and soil slammed him into the ceiling, before dropping him and then forcing him into the wall.
"Don't. Touch. My. Father."
With a groan, he collapsed, barely conscious, barely getting a moment to realise what had happened before he and Vertigo were thrown into the approaching Arclight and Blockbuster. The ceiling then caved in, shutting off the way in.
"Blockbuster, start breaking your way through!"
They evidently didn't have long, although Maverick was crouching and leaning over.
"Daddy!"
Her father coughed and grunted.
"I'm okay," he spluttered, and he lowered part of his coat to reveal that he had his old, Weapon X issue body armour underneath, although he had made a point to dye the colours since he'd last donned it. "It's more painful than anything."
"But... I thought you said you were never going to wear that again?"
"I know," he sighed. "I never expected I'd need to. I guess I should be grateful that I kept it; it's finally done me some good."
"We need to move, and quickly. The sooner we get a move on, the sooner we've repaid our debt."
Maverick laughed.
"Sounds good to me. There's a lot I owe Wolverine, and this is just the start. I will say this though. This isn't a father-daughter outing I'd imagine we'd be having."
They both smiled, but behind the joke there was something sobering about his words, and his thoughts diverted to it as they ran further forwards. Christopher Nord was truly glad that his daughter was still behind him after everything that had happened to them, but their time together had been somewhat limited. Granted, five months was not an insignificant amount of time, but it couldn't fully make up for a childhood lost forever to Weapon X, and while he remembered the first six years of her life much had changed since his abduction.
Even with heroes such as the X-Men behind them, there were some things that simply couldn't be reversed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps. A metallic, gunmetal grey wing with sharp, jagged edges protruded from around the upcoming corner, with a faint red and dark grey body suit covering his torso and legs, presumably armour of some sort, followed by the other wing as it came into view. What was worse, however, was the face.
The skin was discoloured in a weird way, so that it looked stone grey, with the eyes a pale shade of white to contrast with the more gloomy colour scheme, although whether or not this was deliberate or just an accidental consequence of Sinister's tampering was unknown. Above that was the red gem embedded in his forehead.
It glowed faintly for a few seconds, before shining brightly. There was no banter, no dialogue informing them about how doomed they were, no gloating whatsoever. The two combatants backed away a few inches, uneasily trying to prepare for their fight.
And with that, Archangel soared towards them both.
The same soldier returned to the cell in solitary confinement that he had visited twice before, hand reaching up to open the control box on the wall, the other readying itself for dealing with trouble. A series of buttons and an indicator light appeared before him, and he pressed the third one.
"Prisoner, stand on the platform."
Even through the wall that he walked through to enter and exit the cell, the automated voice could still be heard, albeit slightly muffled in this case. He waited a moment, as procedure dictated, until the indicator light came on, before taking a step to the left and phasing through the wall.
The point-of-view of someone phasing through objects is one that took time to get used to, although few with the ability lingered around long enough to do so. He saw the insides of the wall, including the heating pipes, the drainage and waste lines and the cockroaches that had started living in the small cracks in between, and then finally saw the insides of the cell-
-and for a moment, he stopped in his tracks, staring at the platform. In place of the prisoner that should have been standing on it was a heap of bricks weighing it down, precisely calculated to match his approximate weight so as not to set off any alarms. It was then that his gaze shifted to the mostly-dismantled cistern, a few loose bricks barely hanging on to the wall.
He didn't have time to turn to his right before the prisoner slammed into him with a lunging yell, driving him hard into the opposite wall. He felt fingers reaching around his helmet, desperately struggling to get it off. It came free as he shoved the prisoner away, bringing up his fist to fire, but he had made his move too sloppily and his arm was jerked upwards.
SHRAAAKK. The jagged blast raked across the ceiling, with small amounts of debris raining down onto both of them, but he had little time to register that as he felt a hand tightly gripping his face, seeing his attacker concentrate deeply.
Then the voice started talking in his head. It spoke in calm, reassuring tones, but the feeling caused his eyes to widen in horror. He knew what was happening, and he was powerless to stop it.
Easy. I'm not trying to hurt you.
Thoughts of resistance lingered in his head, desperately trying to regain control. Slowly, he felt them slipping away, and he found himself subdued.
Good. Now, I want you to do something for me.
Moments later, a soldier and a new prisoner phased back through the wall and into the outer corridor, the latter clad in a black under-suit with pupils dilated, his body language inconsistent with his metabolic state. Once through, the armoured man turned around and faced his captive.
"Return to the cell and go to sleep."
No reply came, as he obediently marched back into the cell.
Allowing himself a hint of a smile, Charles Xavier donned the soldier's helmet and marched down the corridor.
Sinister marched down the hallway, reaching a locked door with a keypad and eye-scanner. He swiftly punched in the code and entered the room, Harpoon following him in and closing the door behind them, barricading it with what little could be spared.
"Your orders, sir?"
"This location is compromised. At some point in the next twenty-four hours, this location will likely be visited by the Russian authorities and the Winter Guard. We need to erase any trace of our activities here and send all data to our central network. Help me with the backup of all essential data; if there is time, back up the less essential files. If there is no time, destroy the mainframe. There can be no victor if there are no spoils."
Without a word, Harpoon and Sinister found themselves calmly opening files and burning them to a backup device that the latter had produced from his belt. The first files to go were those concerning their research on Piotr and Ilyana Rasputin, followed by the files that concerned the next stage of his plan.
It was always a shame to be forced to this next stage of the plan, but it never hurt to be prepared by having backups on standby. He had done this before when confronted by the X-Men, after having learned the consequences firsthand years in the past, although he'd noticed the correlation between his interactions with the X-Men and the amount of times he'd had to back up his research. At some point, he needed to up his efforts in order to resolve the problem.
His brow lightly furrowing, he turned to Harpoon.
"Progress?"
"The genetic data has been backed up, although we still have a few files left to go."
Outside, Sinister could hear shouting, presently faint, but nevertheless they didn't have long until either the core backup was completed or the fight drew closer to their location. He wondered how Archangel was faring.
The blast of energy that slammed into the mutant in front of them would have been enough to knock over Blockbuster once again, but their adversary simply stretched his wings out, using them to cushion his body from the blast, and when Maverick spared a glance back at where the kinetic energy had been thrown, he noticed that there were no visible signs of damage. Whatever this... abomination of a person had once been, it didn't seem to even feel pain.
Within moments of that attack, Archangel found himself entombed as Christy brought down the ceiling on top of him, although to her visible horror he wasted little time in freeing himself, wings slicing through the debris pinning him down, his arms grabbing a piece of girder and throwing it at the duo opposing him to force them to find cover as he did so. He then raised one of his wings, firing dozens of sharp blades towards the pair, one slicing the crowbar Maverick held in half and others grazing them.
"What does it take to keep this guy down?" Christy grunted with annoyance as she nursed one of the minor wounds on her arm.
"Whatever it takes, we're going to need to do more than drop the ceiling on him. He has to have some kind of weakness!"
With those words, Maverick aimed his crowbar half at Archangel's chest, only for the blow to bounce off as a wing. It was at that moment that Christy took advantage of the situation, causing him to sink into the ground as the ground below him was reshaped.
Then darkness overtook him for a matter of seconds, as a kinetic blast hit him in the centre of the head.
"Come on, we haven't got much time!"
Maverick and Christy ran past his unconscious form, aware that he would likely wake up soon.
Something about the darkness felt almost pleasing to Archangel, as the instructions ceased. Emotion had more or less been hardwired out of his body since his encounter with Wolverine and Storm at Worthington Pharmaceuticals, but on occasion faint traces slipped through the screening process that Sinister had implemented.
For a moment, his memories came flooding back to him. The fight in the laboratory had been heated and traumatising at the same time, with him unable to tell which emotions were genuine and which had been planted in his head. One half of him had wanted his father's legacy to burn, the other half... had still been angry, but not quite to that extent. It hadn't simply been mind control- that much was obvious, but rather mind control combined with his despair and rage at a world that had chosen one bad day to break him.
It was thanks to Sinister that he had this opportunity to spread his wings and take flight once more; it was thanks to him that he was stronger than ever, it was thanks to him-
That he had no friends left in the world.
It was as if Sinister had sensed his mental dissent, for at that moment, a few dozen metres away, Sinister reached for another device and pressed the button in the middle. He felt his thoughts slowly slip out of reach, and the darkness overtook Warren Worthington III.
Archangel. Wake up.
The gem on his forehead glowed red, and his head rose. When his eyes reopened, it was Archangel that saw the world around it, his body little more than a puppet or an automaton. It pulled itself from the ground, now breaking into a run as it turned the corner, to find its two victims having broken past a reinforced door.
Alarm bells went off in its head, though it made no effort to visibly react to them. All that Archangel associated with this action was the prisoners they'd been keeping here. If master had made his intent clear on salvaging what he could and terminating the Rasputins, then his servant would save him the trouble and put them down for him.
The black, grey, red and blue blur slammed into Maverick as he wrestled to try and break Ilyana loose from her reinforced restraints, wings serving as a battering ram as he drove his adversary into the generator. The sound of electricity running into the crowbar he was carrying echoed around the room, followed by Ilyana and Christy Nord screaming in surprise and anger. A rock slammed into his chest, but he was running at such a speed that he forced himself to shrug the impact off. The mission was the priority, Archangel reasoned to itself, driving its knee into Christy's chest before she could break Piotr free, following up the move with a slam from both its wings and crushing some cables from the nearby machinery as it did so.
Maverick felt himself being pulled from the generator, the electricity having weakened him noticeably, before he was dropped next to Christy, a wing pointing at each of them, slowly drawing back. They had fought their hardest, and clearly their energy was depleted. Orders were orders, and the lost souls were to be extinguished.
"ARCHANGEL!"
A roar of rage rebounded from wall to wall, and before Archangel had time to turn to its source Piotr Rasputin had slammed into his foe, knocking him back across the room.
Warren Worthington's face remained as stony as ever, but underneath the exterior, the Archangel persona registered pain and surprise. It had to fight on. Master had ordered it to.
The element of surprise clearly in his favour, the Russian man launched an uppercut, throwing it off-balance, before a kick knocked its legs out from underneath it and a hand grasped his neck briefly, before it felt itself being thrown into the generator and grunting in pain at first, then yelling as the electricity coursed through its body. Its arms hopelessly reached out and swiped forwards, logical programming temporarily overridden by animalistic instincts of desperation and panic.
Then, for the second time that evening, Warren Worthington's body went unconscious, and this time Archangel made no effort to rise, the only signs of activity being the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Piotr Rasputin stared at his hands, himself shocked at his sudden freedom. One moment he and Ilyana had been strapped to their tables, the next two complete strangers were trying to free them and proclaiming that they would soon be safe. In the process of trying to free them, the pair had been interrupted, but the girl had tampered with his restraints and collar, and Archangel had inadvertently knocked the last restraints loose during his surprise attack.
Wasting little time to chat, he pulled the restraints off Ilyana's table, setting her free.
"Piotr!"
The cry of joy from his younger sister was enough that it caused him to shed a few tears, not for the first time in recent days, and for a few precious moments both siblings held each other in a tight embrace, joyful that things were seemingly about to improve.
He and the older of the strangers shared a glance, saying nothing but making their thoughts clear. They were each grateful to see the other, but there would be time for introductions later. If they wanted to live, they had to run, and fast.
With Ilyana being carried by her brother, and Christy leaning on her father for support as she tore a hole through the base wall, the four of them limped out into the fresh air and harsh winds, aware that in spite of the bitter weather, sweeter times lay ahead.
The Infinite soldier walked past the cell in solitary confinement, repeating the rounds that he'd become used to doing, only to notice something unusual as he noticed the panel was still open, with the indicator light still on and flashing repeatedly. Normally visits to cells in solitary took two minutes at maximum- clearly something was wrong. Right arm phased with fist smouldering, he phased through the wall as, unknown to him and the rest of the prison, his colleague had done less than half an hour ago.
When he finally emerged in the cell, his eyelids flew open underneath the helmet as he noticed the sleeping form of his comrade on the loosely-covered straw floor. It didn't take very long to put two and two together, and he quickly emerged back in the corridor, slamming an alarm button. A loud klaxon immediately sounded, drowning out whatever screams there had been earlier on. In immediate response, armoured men and women immediately ran past the guard who was walking with purpose in the opposite direction to them, focusing on the lift ahead of him.
Charles Xavier's main priority was exiting this wretched hive and finding something that resembled an actual civilisation, but he couldn't help himself from glancing down below, now standing in a mezzanine area. Below him was a chasm, and what seemed to be the largest prison block in the entire area, as hundreds of cells lined the chasm, each containing five occupants even though the cells were clearly designed to hold less than that. There was more screaming, from men, women and children, and at one point he heard the heartrending cry of a baby.
Who would design such a nightmarish place, and why? There were so many questions in his head that he wanted to ask, without being entirely sure as to whether or not he would be better off not knowing. He progressed further towards the lift, noting the open lift shaft and the fact that it connected to other mezzanines, both above and below him. He stopped at the doors, raising his hand to call it to this floor.
As it turned out, he needn't have bothered, for before he could finish the doors slid open, and briefly Charles Xavier felt himself stiffen in surprise as, flanked by two elite guards in the same make of armour, only with a grey and black colour scheme, Mister Sinister stepped out onto the mezzanine and walk straight past him. Without saying a word, Charles stepped into the lift, eyes warily watching the man he had just passed until the doors closed.
Sinister had never been fortunate enough, at least as far as Charles Xavier knew, to possess an appearance that people deemed normal, although this time he looked different from before. For a start, his hair was longer, even braided out slightly, and his usual blue and red outfit had been replaced by a red and grey one, his cape a darker shade than usual, although that couldn't be the only difference from before.
Something about this location and time was different, and from the looks of it this place was never meant to be, yet here they all stood.
What had to have gone so wrong for them to all be here?
Sinister's head shot up as he heard a roar and the sound of breaking metal, followed by the sound of Archangel screaming. Without saying a word, he left Harpoon to finish the data backup and disposal, hurriedly opening the door and rushing towards the source of the noise.
When he arrived, he found that the facility's generator had been destroyed, brief flickers of electricity still present for a few moments. At its feet lay an unconscious Archangel, his wings covered by debris, gem clearly unresponsive for the time being owing to the trauma inflicted to his head, both Rasputin prisoners missing. The damage was not severe... yet it was enough for Sinister to gaze harshly through the hole in the wall, to see four figures fleeing through the snow and climbing into an old truck, the older female limping, and clearly being supported by her father.
His expression stayed the same, and there was no visible sign of anger, but this wasn't the kind of anger where he would degrade into a mindless berserker. It was controlled and calm, and even more terrifying for it. With barely a moment's hesitation, he ran out towards them at lightning speed, hands slamming together to form an energy blast that struck Maverick in the back, causing Christy to fall forwards. Grunting, he saw Piotr struggle forwards, getting Ilyana into the truck first, then going back for his fallen comrades, dodging further blasts.
"Marauders," Sinister said, hand now on his comm, voice perfectly level. "The intruders are escaping with our prisoners. Meet me at our truck for pursuit."
A matter of moments later, the majority of his team had assembled in the garage, slowly climbing into the back of the large truck, Harpoon taking the wheel and Sinister joining him in the front, followed by an armed Multiple Man. As the two of them got in the front, Blockbuster carried an unconscious Archangel and safely deposited him in the back before getting on himself, all but one of the team now present and accounted for.
"Drive."
Harpoon hesitated for a moment.
"But... what about Arclight? He's still not here."
Sinister frowned at him. After all the failures Arclight had been responsible for in this past day, his comrades still wanted him rescued? He said nothing, but with such a frown the message was clear. If Arclight wanted to leave with them, he would catch up to them or be left to whatever fate awaited him here. Harpoon reluctantly nodded and gunned the accelerator, speeding after their target.
The first volley of gunfire missed the Rasputin's truck entirely, the winter blizzard making it almost impossible to see more than a few metres ahead at any one time. The second came closer, although this was due to sheer dumb luck. Reloading, Multiple Man reached into a compartment and pulled out a pair of goggles, putting them on. All of a sudden, the white winter wasteland ahead of him changed to grey, the truck now standing out like a sore thumb. He grimly smiled as he aimed the machine gun ahead of where the target was going to be, the next burst of gunfire hitting the back of the truck.
"Get closer! I can't hit much from this distance."
Harpoon put the pedal to the metal once more, slowly gaining speed, although the blizzard hampered their progress slightly as the windscreen wipers were forced into overdrive and visibility failed to improve for the rest of them. For Multiple Man, it was enough, and he managed to break one of the windows and the left wing mirror, although he was obviously firing too erratically.
"Line up your next shot, Madrox. We may not get another one in this kind of weather."
The same grim smile returned to his face, as he aimed for the back of the enemy vehicle.
"Say your prayers, escapees."
The loud sound of a sniper rifle shot rang out over the snowed-over fields, and the machine gun jerked violently, missing its target entirely as their vehicle swerved slightly, a burst tyre now at the back. Two more followed, one penetrating the side of the truck and another destroying a tyre guard.
"To our right!"
Sinister stared in genuine surprise at the sight that greeted his eyes. Three armoured military vehicles were speeding towards their location, followed by several jeeps and police cars, and to make matters worse, at the head of their convoy were a few familiar figures, each seemingly intent on revenge for the stalemate they had suffered at Moscow.
It was the Winter Guard, and this time they were the ones with the element of surprise, as machine gun fire and assault rifle fire headed towards Sinister's truck. For a moment Sinister wondered how they had found their location, though he quickly dismissed the thought.
"Harpoon, get us out of here."
"Sir?" Again, Harpoon seemed genuinely surprised. They had fought against the Winter Guard before, when they had been backed by the might of a larger military force. Sinister supposed it was logical to ask why they should flee.
"We're not going to win this fight against them. They had the element of surprise, and they used it against us. Now get us out of here before I leave you behind as well!"
Harpoon, seemingly for once, did not need to be given an order for a third time, and he gunned the accelerator as the truck fled from the oncoming assault, Multiple Man grabbing a grenade launcher and returning fire in an effort to cover their escape. One of the armoured vehicles took a hit, but it was only a glancing blow.
A lone figure ran from the confines of the base, moving at terrifying speed in spite of the sheer cold and horrifying winds. His face had already felt raw after the beating he had suffered at Maverick's hands, but now the wind was absolutely agonising. The only thing that kept him going was the sheer adrenaline from the desire he had to not be captured by the attackers.
"Wait for me!" He screamed in terror at the van he knew his boss was on, hurriedly letting loose a shockwave near the car that had gone towards him, causing it to wobble and swerve before he jumped onboard, knocking one of the police officers off the mounted weapon before he managed to knock the other one unconscious with a follow-up attack, throwing him out before he sat in the passenger's seat.
"Drive if you want to live," he hissed to the man at the wheel. He doubted that the driver understood English, but the message was probably clear enough, and they stayed on course as they followed the truck. He opened one of the windows, again screaming for help. The car sped up once again, now closing the distance between them and Sinister's truck.
They must have heard his cry, for at that moment the van briefly slowed down, although Arclight doubted it was at their master's discretion, and the back of the truck opened as Blockbuster threw him a rope, although he barely managed to grab it before the wind blew it away. He felt himself clinging on for dear life, in the hope that he would be rescued. Eventually, he was yanked inside before the back door closed again, although he thought he felt something break as he was pulled from the car. Before he passed out, he sent another seismic wave at the car, knocking it over.
Throughout the rest of the escape and subsequent journey, nobody dared to speak. They were all aware that in spite of their pursuers choosing to aid the Rasputins as well as their helpers, instead of choosing to hunt them down, their mission had ended in catastrophic failure, in no small part owing to Arclight's arrogance. All of them dreaded their debriefing, and some of them doubted they would even survive it.
Minutes earlier, from Piotr Rasputin's perspective
The gunfire started hitting closer towards them, and he knew that as good as their truck was, it was nothing compared to the more modern vehicle that their pursuers were using, and he felt a few bullets piercing the side, followed by the heat in the truck slowly being let out. He heard Maverick shout angrily as more gunfire came their way.
"Maverick, take the wheel!"
Waiting for his co-driver to take over for him, Piotr clambered into the back of the truck and waited until his skin was once again steel, before shielding Ilyana with his body as another burst of machine gun fire pierced the truck's exterior.
"I can't shake them! We may have to fight further to get out of here."
Then the sound of a sniper rifle rang out, and for a moment Piotr wondered if someone was dead, or if they were about to crash. He waited a few seconds, glancing at Ilyana, then at Christy and Maverick. They were fine.
"What's happening out there?"
"I don't know!" Maverick sounded as confused as he was. "Their truck's swerving... but what's that to our right?"
There was a moment's pause. Whatever it was, it was certainly a sight if it took Maverick by surprise.
"I don't believe it. I was hoping for the cavalry, but I wasn't expecting this. It's the Winter Guard."
Piotr felt his eyes widen. He was grateful that something had turned up to help, but a matter of a few days ago he and Ilyana had been fleeing from the authorities owing to anti-mutant hysteria, and the Winter Guard had been there to make sure nobody broke the peace when a stop and search mission had been carried out. Their reasons for being here might not have been entirely benevolent. After all, he'd heard nothing more of Omega Red during his time in Sinister's custody.
Time after that passed quickly, as he heard explosions and Maverick shouting that the other truck had fled, before suddenly they were surrounded yet again. Exhausted, Piotr growled.
"What is it with our being imprisoned and surrounded repeatedly?"
Ilyana gave him a weak smile, desperately attempting to get him to relax.
"Calm down, starshiy brat. They may well be here to save us, not to hurt us. You'll see." It was a weak lie, and he could tell that she did not entirely believe her own words either, but he appreciated the effort and said nothing more.
Maverick turned off the engine before removing the keys and helping Christy climb out of the lorry, and with reluctance Piotr realised that there could be no more hiding. In any case, hindsight told him that he would have been better off in the custody of the Russian government. He opened the back door, and with Ilyana clinging onto his back, he climbed out and stepped towards whatever awaited him.
The sunlight crept in through the darkened windows, as the large, automatic, thick bay door opened to permit a huge vehicle into the hangar. This was clearly the vehicular entrance for all personnel, be they military or scientific, as he noticed a transport rolling in, with at least fourteen soldiers hang on through alcoves. The transport slowed down for a moment to permit all the soldiers to get down, at which point they all rushed out of sight. Moments later, men in yet another type of armour climbed out of the transport hatch, marching in a different direction to the soldiers, presumably towards a laboratory of some kind.
As the transport rolled further up the hangar, the bay doors started to close, although before they did so Charles Xavier found himself slipping outside, seemingly unnoticed. He saw the bay doors close, with nobody paying attention to him leaving. He turned around, only to gasp in shock.
Before his eyes lay a startling new landscape, unlike any that he had ever seen before. He had heard of rumours of such places in childhood stories, but for a matter of moments he found himself in sheer awe- and terror- at the scale of what had been accomplished.
Across the skyline, glass pyramids spread beautifully, complimented by presently inactive solar beacons that presumably illuminated the sky at night, while on the ground lay the rest of the city, with crystal spires reaching up towards the sky and dwarfing the other buildings, all except one.
At the centre of the city was a power station, which emitted an energy beam that kept aloft a giant citadel in the shape of a pyramid. Around it, specks flickered, hovered and zoomed around it, likely a mix of aircraft and mutants, although if any of them were humanoid they were more or less invisible to the naked eye from this distance. He dreaded to think as to what was inside it, likely the leader of whoever was responsible for this. If he went in there and confronted whoever was there, would he end this nightmare?
No, he concluded. As it was, he felt weak enough after his confinement, and if these helmets were any indication they blocked out his telepathy, essentially a mass-produced version of Magneto's helmet. With telepathy gone and his energy low, he would better conserving his energy after finding somewhere to hide.
He walked on, sticking to what little shadow remained and checking his shoulder repeatedly for whatever lay behind him. He doubted he would be alone for long.
The corridor of the prison was normally bustling with activity, with soldiers entering and exiting cells once each day with nutrition bars, making sure their charges were still in their cells. At the moment, however, the area was under lockdown, with only high-ranking staff, and those they gave permission, allowed in this part of the Pens.
The same soldier that had raised the alarm stood at attention, alongside his armour-less comrade and a third figure. This third figure had blonde, close-cropped hair, numerous cybernetic attachments on his face, and a red utility belt that went over his chest as well as his waist, which covered a black suit of light armour.
This was the Prelate of the Pens, and Sinister's second-in-command, at least when it came to this facility. His name was Alex Summers, more commonly known as Havok, and he stood to attention as his master and his bodyguards walked down the hall towards them.
"Mister Sinister..."
Sinister held up a hand, and there was instantly silence as he turned to address the armoured soldier that stood before him.
"I take it your comrade is the Infinite that let the prisoner escape."
"Yes, sir," came the obedient reply. When it came to professionalism, the conditioning for Infinite soldiers, as Sinister had dubbed them, was superb, as they indoctrinated their warriors to focus, not speak unless spoken to by a superior or in combat, and above all follow their orders.
"Send him for reconditioning."
There was a nod of acknowledgement, and both the armour-less soldier and his colleague marched down the corridor and out of sight without a word of protest. Even with the telepath's tampering, the indoctrination process worked spectacularly well.
Sinister turned his attention back to his nervous subordinate.
"You have an update?"
"Yes, sir," replied Havok. "The prisoner has made it outside. But don't worry. The armour has a built-in homing beacon. We're tracking his progress now."
As per usual, Sinister remained calm, his deep voice staying almost monotonous.
"Find him, Havok. Before Lord Apocalypse learns of this."
Sinister and his guards marched down the corridor, not waiting for a reply, and Havok bowed as his master left the area, clearly suppressing his rage until they were out of earshot. Then, when he was certain they were unable to hear or see him, he yelled, firing a power beam at the wall from his hand. It bore a messy hole in the wall, right in front of two passing soldiers who calmly waited until he was done. He imagined they were amused by his sudden display of anger and his opting to take it out on the facility.
"Get that repaired," he barked, marching away.
Winter Guard headquarters, outer Moscow
Not for the first time in his life, Piotr Rasputin found himself utterly confounded by the situation he was in. He and his friends had been taken to Moscow by the Winter Guard, officially for questioning regarding Sinister and suspicion of crimes against the state.
Unofficially, the so-called questioning had involved Ursa Major and Darkstar contacting the X-Men to verify the story that they had heard, and to confirm the link between the Marauders and Sinister. Ilyana had been somewhat nervous, although Red Guardian and Crimson Dynamo had done their best to reassure her that everything would turn out okay.
"Let me get this straight," Ursa Major asked, now back in human form. "This man Sinister has been performing genetic experiments on mutants, extracting DNA by force and then terminating the test subjects?"
"Correct," came the reply from the other end of the conference call, specifically from Hank McCoy who had dealt with Sinister's abominable experiments in the past. "I assume that is why Piotr claims that he sent the Marauders after him and his sister, and then fought your team in the process."
"As their team-mates and friends-" Darkstar began speaking, but was cut off.
"Family," interrupted Wolverine.
"And family, yes, I will take your vouching for their innocence as proof. In any case, the Rasputins may actually be in a position to get an official pardon from the Kremlin, owing to the fact that if not for them and the Nord family, the evidence from Sinister's warehouse would have been harder to obtain. They'll all be on the next flight from Domodedovo International Airport to JFK International Airport."
At this, he was stunned awake.
"We're being let free?"
"Is that a complaint?" The Major was clearly amused. "Of course you're being let free, there's no evidence you were involved and you had no logical reason to help Sinister break Rossovich free. Rather worryingly, we haven't been able to find any evidence as to where he may be hiding after-"
Wolverine coughed loudly, and the Major got the hint.
"In any case, the Winter Guard isn't entirely behind the anti-mutant movement as much as our superiors would like to be. Let's just say it conflicts with a few of our interests." He gave a knowing wink to Colossus.
Ilyana had one more question.
"And what of our parents?"
At this, Darkstar took over.
"At the moment, we're looking for them. When we find them, they'll be put into witness protection. They'll be given a new place to live and new identities; they'll be safe, you have our word."
"Thank you."
The Major and Darkstar shook hands with the group one last time, before they departed with their belongings and got into a car headed for Domodedovo International Airport, from which they would fly back to American soil, for the first time in well over a year in Piotr's case. The four of them relished the peace while they could, for they felt that it had been well-earned.
Later that evening, a fifth person was brought into the headquarters of the Winter Guard, having been found carrying a sniper rifle and positioned on the top of Sinister's headquarters, with four shots fired. He sat in the cell that he had been given, staring at the ground until Red Guardian came along to question him.
"What is your name?"
The man, dressed in a green and dark yellow jumpsuit, raised his head to reveal brown hair, green eyes and a face that Red Guardian knew he had seen before somewhere.
"My name is Jamie Madrox. Most people know me as Multiple Man."
Arclight was used to his boss being annoyed at certain turns of events, but normally his annoyance was controlled and repressed. This case, however, was different, as his frown now seemed to have been carved into his face.
"Arclight, when I first appointed you as my second in command, I had believed you to have been a valuable member of the team, with good skills of judgement and a sound idea as to what made a smart decision. Instead, you jeopardised the operation, forced me to abandon less critical research to our enemies, put most of the team at risk and left us vulnerable to an assault. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The second-in-command of the Marauders had no words to say at first. He'd never pictured himself being in this position.
"Master... I had only planned to serve you, to deal with your enemies and advance your plans further!" The words had meant to impress Sinister and redeem him in his eyes, but the only response he got was laughter.
"My plans cannot be advanced, nor can my enemies be dealt with, should my trusted lieutenant disrupt the mission in an effort to further his own success! Time and time again I have given you the opportunity to improve your performance, but to no avail. I have gone with a platform of not tolerating failure, and I intend to stick to it."
"But... but... you rescued me when the Winter Guard-"
Sinister reached out and struck him in the face before he could finish.
"I made sure that you could not leak valuable information, and were it not for Blockbuster pulling you into the truck I would have had you killed there and then instead. You have failed me as a second-in-command, Arclight, and for that your position has been given to Archangel. Be grateful that I have let you live, and don't get any not-so-clever ideas."
That was what finally shut him up, and he hung his head in fear of further reprisal, but nothing came.
"Now everybody leave. I need to revise my plan. Archangel," Sinister said, his eyes meeting his new lieutenant's gaze as he spoke. "Stay here. You have a new post, and new work that befits your abilities."
They waited in silence until all the Marauders had left the room.
"It is probable that Arclight will attempt to seize control of his old post once more. His ambition and pride will not cause him to take demotion well." The monotonous voice spoke matter-of-factly, simply saying what would happen.
"I agree. Arclight has been something of a wild card in recent weeks, but nevertheless he has not outlived his usefulness just yet, in spite of his failure. My newest scheme will involve both him and the Rasputins."
In spite of its stoic demeanour, Archangel sounded confused.
"Master, the Rasputins escaped capture with both Maverick and his daughter. They are lost to us."
It was true that the Rasputins had managed to evade being captured a second time, but Archangel was unaware of the plan Sinister had laid the ground for not too long before Maverick's intervention.
"Yes, the Rasputins are certainly tenacious, and for that I must give credit to them. However, before they escaped, I had enough time to finish my experiment and mission. It is true that Arclight cost me months worth of research, and for that he has paid the price, but my plans for the Rasputins do not require them to be in my grasp."
He turned to Archangel, face breaking into a smug, yet unnerving smile.
"My dear Archangel, the Rasputins are major players in the game that I have every intention of winning. You'll understand just what I've got planned soon enough."
The journey was long and tiresome, yet Piotr was strangely refreshed as the plane touched down at JFK International Airport. They had been awake for several hours, and he was certain that soon enough he would feel so jetlagged that he would be unable to stand, but he was back on American soil for the first time in well over a year, and it was now that he realised just how much he'd missed it. He wondered how long it would take for his mind to adapt to the American way of taking this wonderful land for granted, and he laughed, earning a few dirty looks from the other people on the plane.
The rest of the time at the airport was relatively painless, simply a matter of handing their new passports over to the security desk and picking up what little baggage they had brought over, although the Nords had taken more luggage on their way out than they had returned with. They walked through, passing through customs and entering the main building.
Waiting for them was the most wonderful sight he could have asked for at the time. Assembled by a bench were Kitty Pryde, Kurt Wagner, Ororo Munroe and Logan, who stood up almost immediately and rushed over to meet them. Kitty tried trapping Piotr in a bear hug, but given the size difference it wasn't exactly as easy to pull off as she'd been hoping, and eventually she gave up to move over for a group hug with Kurt. Ilyana nervously shook Ororo and Logan's hands, slightly unsure about the people she hadn't met before but putting a brave face on it.
Eventually, the group hug broke apart, with Ororo then hugging Piotr, clearly relieved to see him. When that hug ended, he turned his head to face Logan, who was unusually smiling for once in his life. Hands stretched out and shook each other, Piotr returning the smile.
"Welcome home."
Translations:
Starshiy brat is Russian for "big brother". Lorry is the British English word for a truck as in a delivery truck, which is generally the kind of vehicle I meant when I talked about trucks, as it would be ridiculous for the Marauders to all squeeze into a pickup truck.
Yes, I know that this chapter went on for possibly a bit too long, and I had to cut out a bit of material to make room. The cut material will appear later on, but I felt it was better moved rather than adding extra padding.
Anyway... the first story arc is finally finished. It's taken three years to work it out, but for those of you who came back after I disappeared for far too long, thank you so much for your loyalty. It's been great, and I can't wait to get started on the next one. Keep the constructive criticism coming, and I will see you, hopefully soon, for the next story arc. The plan is that it will be called "Danger Ratings", but it could well change. Like the 1M to Save WATXM page on Facebook, and I'll see you next time. Take care :D