[A/N - refresher course on the German expression: Fraulein = unmarried woman]
"Here I am, crouched in a closet with a bullwhip and nail gun: story of my life," Elise sighed. Again she surveyed the bedroom and took stock of her situation. Her defender gone, several weapons almost available but out of reach, and more attackers likely to be lining up outside the sagging door of her supposed sanctuary.
She tried mental contact: "Professor? ... Jean – I mean, Mindbender? ... Anyone?" Was the lack of an answer due to them being preoccupied with struggles downstairs, or were they out of the game due to injury – or worse? No help from that quarter, at any rate.
She'd watched out for herself since the teen years, but sometimes it was less exhilarating than others. Part of her wished Wagner were still here; despite the disorientation which followed the experience, his instant-transportation technique could be quite valuable at a time when one was, oh, say, due to be surrounded by a clot of murderous mental midgets at any minute.
What did she know of these strangers? Not Doom's men (robotic or enslaved), nor Kingpin's thugs, and they certainly didn't give the impression of anyone remotely affiliated with Magneto, the Brotherhood, or whatever that faction called itself at the moment.
Her thoughts returned to Nightcrawler. He seemed such a genial fellow, easy to get along with, and she'd wager a case of Logan's favorite brew that the blue mutant could talk, fight, or slink his way out of most situations. Maybe he'd return shortly to save the day.
But for now, plans must be made for the solo scenario.
"Nail gun's better than no gun," the sapiens muttered to herself, sticking the magazine in until the click announced its readiness, then setting the safety. "What a waste of fuel and metal." And oh the mess it would leave, but the rooms would likely get trashed anyway. A little more spackling and painting wouldn't make much difference.
With robust fingers, she traced the ponytail flopping around where it had fallen out of its original bun, then twirled it back and knotted it into submission. Wouldn't do to have it flowing across her shoulder blades as an enticing grip for the bad guys to yank.
All those bodies littering the floor: she eyed each one with intense observation, but none seemed to be faking unconsciousness. You never could tell. Time to wade out and see what might happen next.
* * *
Kurt Wagner felt the world humming and throbbing around him. No, that was his head. His eyes refused to focus, and his arms felt on fire. No problem there; a simple bamf would release him from the plastic tie handcuffs. He concentrated on his room, where surely the cook waited for him to save the day. Deep breath, one, two, aaaaand –
Nothing. Not a puff of sulfurous smoke, not a tiny jolt of displacement. Stuck in this house of glass. Why was his special gift not working? Unable to relocate upon will, no telling what might happen next.
"Oooh, look at the cute furry mutie," one of the assailants growled, punching Nightcrawler in the stomach with a venom reserved to the morally bankrupt. Another goon chimed in, "We should get some samples of his hide. Might make good slippers if they can figure out how to tan it."
This malicious banter did not disturb their victim. He was used to such maligning; the physical blows were also something he had faced regularly from his youth. No, the searing questions were: who were these people, what possessed them to attack a houseful of well-known mutant crimefighters, how to get out of the bonds, where to procure weaponry, and when was the soonest he could manage to get back to his rooms before the Fraulein was hurt?
It would also be nice to know why his powers had vanished.
"Not so tough with the Neural Nullifier on, eh, Little Boy Blue?" sneered one of the offending party.
That answered the why; now for the who, what, where, when, and how.
* * *
Elise picked her way amongst the fallen future felons, stopping every few steps to listen for reinforcements of either party or to snag a weapon. Not much time to choose from the cache she'd stowed under the bed, but one or two things might be useful later on. No reason to leave the nail gun here to be ruined or misused. She slung it across her back, using one of the garish belts from a guy who wouldn't be needing it for a long while, by the looks of him, and tucked the Spidey bandana into a back pocket. The X-man's x-comm lay on the nightstand; it fit nicely in the screwdriver pocket of her dungarees. If the hostiles were able to keep her from reaching the Professor's mind, it was probably not a good idea to announce her whereabouts on the communications device. Like using a Ouija board, no telling who might show up in answer to her summons, so best leave it alone.
A huge thud sounded from one of the rooms below; she flinched, hoping her kitchen would not end up a disaster area. But the noise had been of the heavy variety: a couch or coffee table, she guessed. Probably Hank McCoy, aka Beast, tossing furniture around in his customary way of distracting violent enemies. When Elise was new at the Institute, she couldn't resist nicknaming him "Bones," since calling him "Dr. McCoy" always led her to that Trekkie word association.
A shattering of glass was next, from the vicinity of one of the ground-floor parlors; probably Cyclops letting loose with his optic rays, or maybe Cannonball doing his thing. At least a couple of X-people were functional although The Prof and Jean, were non-responsive. At this point, the cook would even welcome the annoying Iceman's help. Not that she would enjoy being razzed later about being rescued by the irrepressible chill-pill.
Oh, goodie! The nunchaku must have slipped from the baddie's belt. Might be good to add it to her arsenal. The young woman stole gingerly out of the bedroom, feeling a bit conspicuous with a rifle woven through the shoulder straps across her back and banging against the bulge of her Hilti, pistols sprouting from her pockets, and grenades clutched in her left hand like a pair of large and lethal limes. Thank goodness one of her knives was stashed in the shin sheath; they'd come in plenty handy many times before she had been hired at this somewhat dangerous venue.
What was taking the new German guy so long to return? Maybe he didn't heal as fast as Logan and some of the others. The purple puff of his grand entrance failed to come, and Elise worried that he might have met a similar fate to whatever had crippled Xavier's telepathy.
* * *
Nightcrawler pushed down the pain and pondered his present predicament. First step: find out what would undo their hideous anti-mutant gizmo. No, back up, first step: find out what the Neutralizer looked like, then conceive a way to neutralize it.
Blood trickled from his swelling lower lip as he panted, "So you are proud of your advancements in modern science, eh? Leveling the paying field? I'll bet your little machine won't stand up to our latest secret weapon" Please forgive me, Lord, this little white lie, which isn't quite an untruth, he resisted a tiny smile, as I myself might be the secret weapon.
They answered with another fierce assault upon his person, but as he had hoped, three sets of eyes flitted toward a two-foot-wide clay pot on one of the tables standing against the wall of the greenhouse.
Now, to gain access to it. His innate athletic abilities were diminished only by the beatings, not affected by the device. Buy time to recharge, then reach the object with a few tumbling maneuvers which he could do in any condition, thanks to his years in the circus.
"Do any of you gentlemen smoke?" he asked in his most polite, nonchalant manner.
The villains exchanged "he's nuts" glances; one of them shrugged and replied, "Not on the job, you defective dunce."
"Ah, then there would be no use in my telling you about some .... 'special' herbs grown here." This wasn't really lying either, he reasoned, because only a certain type of mind would allow itself to be led in a particular direction.
More shifty looks passed between the trio of malcontents. The shrugger started sidling around the perimeter of the hothouse, glancing in various pots, lifting a lid here and there on buckets or jars. The other two began to snoop a bit on some of the center tables, inspecting the more spindly-leafed specimens such as false Aralia. It was all the distraction he needed. Up he leapt, to the side of the wall nearest the large pot.
Such a shame that his clinging capability had been removed by the invaders' technology. Ah, well, it had been worth a try. He slipped down, twisting so that his tail curled around the lip of the terracotta pot. With a supreme effort, he flung it across the room; it shattered as the three humans rushed to save its contents.
Kurt jumped again toward the ceiling, hoping the Nullifier had been harmed enough in the fall to return his mutant capacities. The slick glass afforded no suctioning surface to his useless soles; unable to dig his fingernails into the metal framework holding the panes, he plunged downward and landed hard on his side. Barely able to breathe, Nightcrawler choked out a feeble pun, "Too bad I gave up using a safety net." With a groan, he rolled over to face his foes again.
[To Be Continued ...]