Thank you so much, everyone, for all the great reviews, even after I left you hanging for so long after Chapter 13. I'm glad people are still reading this.

Unfortunately, due to enforcement of copyright laws or such, Vixen will no longer be singing. I have been told so in no uncertain terms by the PTB here at "If you didn't write it, you can't post it." Unless someone has any ideas for getting around this…wink, wink

Chapter 15

I backed away from the vision, fumbling to slam the door on the horrible sight of lust and blood and my claws sticking through Steve's back. Steve. A random name that surfaced to identify the unfortunate victim in that vaguely remembered room. Who was Steve? Why would I skewer him like brook trout?

A long, dim hallway stretched out in either direction from where I stood staring wild-eyed at the polished black wood of the now closed door. Similar rectangles of darkest ebony dotted the walls of the corridor as far as I could see. I gotta get out of here. This thought, tinged with great urgency, propelled me up the hall to the next egress, to scrabble frantically with the doorknob. The heavy mahogany panel fell open inward, depositing me on the floor in my urgency to get through. Rough, dirty stone scraped my knees and elbows and my sense of smell was assaulted by strong antiseptic odors, laced with the underlying scent of mold and mildew. I realized, with no great surprise, that I was stark naked. The sound of an unfamiliar, but not entirely unknown, voice brought my head up sharply.

"What is your name?" The calm, unhurried voice spoke from thin air, the tones echoing off the dank metal plated walls. The room was completely unoccupied except for me and…me?

A single apparatus stood in the middle of the cavernous space, an evil looking slab of burnished metal. Assorted straps and metal braces sprung from the surface for the sole purpose of restraining the likewise unclad occupant. Brianna Hastings.

I gaped, dumbfounded, at my doppelganger as the voice came again. "What is your name?"

"Brianna…" A look of utter misery crossed the subject's face and she tried to stifle a moan.

"No, that's wrong. What is your name?" The voice took on a stern quality, louder now.

I felt her…my…anguish rise once more as she tried to form the words. "Brianna… HAST" Again the look of torment, and this time she did cry out, bare back arched against the cold metal slab. A pain, like pure electricity, sliced through my head as well, and it was all I could do to keep my legs under me. I could feel parts of my psyche winking out like bad Christmas lights, synapses being rerouted. What the hell was going on?

Again the disembodied voice came, but this time a bit muffled and directed at someone else. "She is much stronger than we anticipated, sir. The implants are not having the desired effect."

"Then increase their frequency, you idiot. We need this subject ready in a week. Do I have to run this whole operation myself?" The second voice had a melodic Southern twinge to it, offset by the hard-as-steel tone. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my lip curled involuntarily in a silent snarl. That voice. It made me want to cry, throw up, scream, unsheathe my claws and rip the room to shreds. It made me want to kill.


Xavier sat back and sighed. Great weariness etched lines in his otherwise smooth countenance. He'd been trying for the better part of an hour, unsuccessfully, to reach Brianna in the pathways of her mind. He could sense her, just out of reach, fleeing desperately from the memories that were encompassing her at every turn. Exactly what she was encountering in those long-inaccessible places, he did not know. But the professor knew that if Brianna was not brought out soon, even his great telepathic power would not be enough to save her from her demons.


Logan struck ferociously at the black-hooded ninja's bo staff, rendering it useless in one swipe of his large, calloused hand. The cloaked warrior was taken aback for only a microsecond, though, and came at Wolverine with viper-like speed, fists flying. They met head on, grunting loudly, and grappled for control of the katana the ninja was attempting to draw from behind his back. This was the kind of fighting Logan was used to. No holds barred, one on one, none of that dancing around like some hyperactive bird or something. He curled his lip in a vicious, humorless grin and brought the ninja's arm down and back sharply with a satisfying snap. The black-masked warrior fell to his knees with a muffled cry of agony. Just as Logan was unsheathing his adamantium claws to deliver the killing blow, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled swiftly and the walls of the Danger Room gave an odd wobbling shimmer, making him slightly dizzy. When his vision cleared, he was met with the horrific sight of Vixen, dirty and without a stitch of clothing, weaving precariously on her feet.

"Oh, my God!" Logan got his arms around the battered young woman just in time. He walked her over to the sparse metal army cot that had suddenly materialized in the corner. What the…? This wasn't part of his program. The Danger Room worked off the user's mental images and scenarios they had downloaded previously. Occasionally, it would pick up ideas that were currently being thought of, just to keep things interesting. But Logan had no idea where this scene had come from.

Wolverine sat with Vixen cradled in his arms, eyeing suspiciously the dingy metal walls of the cell he now found them to be in.