( Volume: 4 Arc: "Lost and" 5 Issue: 2/3 )
Chapter 141 : stolen
It was dark, and she was frightened. Or would have been, should have been. Her skin was itchy; this could have been from the blood she
was covered in, which had dried on her skin. Or perhaps it was internal, the itching—her veins, full of something powerful, sticky, and violent.
Glue.
"…trainnnn…" words in the room.
She lifted an eyelid; it felt like a mile, but in reality was barely a slit. Her eye was rolled up, and she fought to bring it down. Focus. Everything
was blurry. A dim room, motion nearby, but she didn't understand it.
Time had slowed down.
She let her eye close, gratefully. Nothing would happen if time had stopped.
…
Orange.
It was so orange, and it tasted horrible. It smelled, it smelled so bad, like burnt, melted, sweet plastic. Sickly sweet. It was in her, because
she was breathing it, swallowing it, choking on it. It was seeping into her tear ducts through her bulging, frog-like eyes.
Firm hands, on her head, pushing her down, pinching her hair. Was it actually pushing her down? No; she was wilted, over the edge of a tub,
her head submerged, like a piece of limp fabric. She needed air…the itchiness had disappeared, and now she was burning inside, her body
entering an anaerobic state.
"Outttttttttt," a distorted noise. A plastic record, and it was warping.
Her head was yanked back roughly. Her neck bones—vertebrae, she tried to remind herself—snapped and ground together in protest. Vomit and
liquid ran down her chin, and she drew her eyebrows together as she coughed, lightly, though she needed to cough deeper, quicker. She needed air.
"…resp…tory…deeep...ression…"
"Guudd…"
The orange was rushing towards her again, and she wanted to cry out, but all that escaped her was a pitiful, raspy, high-pitched noise.
"Ehn…" like a whisper.
…
"FOCUS!"
Her face burned in pain, and her eyes snapped open.
Kimura.
"Go for it," the woman said.
Laura's eyes tilted down—yes, she had a name, she wasn't just a puddle of glue—a little easier. Less glue. She saw—she saw her skin, full of
minute cuts, and a barrel of orange, in the arms of Kimura.
The barrel tilted slowly.
"MMMPF—" through the gag, there was a gag. It tasted like cotton. The air was full of that sweet odor—and her skin was on fire, like when
she'd been burnt to a crisp. Except now it wasn't stopping, wasn't going out.
A few minutes later it tasted like blood. She'd bitten—what had she bitten?
…
A woman was speaking to him, a woman with light—almost white—blond hair.
Cold, blue eyes. Sort of…frosty.
"FROST!" Julian tried to lunge forwards, but found himself frozen in place, sitting in a chair; Emma glared at him.
"Restrain yourself…and I will let you go," she said, her voice firm.
"LET GO OF ME!" He shouted.
"Julian, stop shouting, or I will disallow you the ability to speak," Emma said. "You will do no good by following them, alone. The longer you
fight, the longer I will spend restraining you, instead of attempting to find Laura."
"You fucking get out of my head, this instant," Julian hissed.
"I do not respond to threats."
"THEY TOOK LAURA—"
"Yes, they did. And I would really rather be in Cerebra, right now, focusing my search efforts on her. But—seeing as you intent to foolhardily
make chase, alone, when they are obviously quite coordinated and prepared, I cannot do that."
Julian gritted his teeth. The room's atmosphere was tense; he realized they were sitting in the partially-ruined ready room, his team more
towards the back, watching him with mixed expressions of fear and pity.
Nate looked anxious. "MUM'S—"
"Shh," Sofia said, patting the boy.
Logan cleared his throat. "Keller—she's right. They're good. I can't smell a thing, it's like she just disappeared. We need Emma on Cerebra,
and that ain't happening till we know yer stayin'."
Daken watched from behind his father, emotionless, bored, as if he were watching a movie he didn't particularly care about—but his girlfriend did.
Julian knew they were right. His eyes shifted across the room—the Shrimps, with Sofia, watching him. Everyone was watching him.
"Fine," he said bitterly. "But if I see you do anything other than looking for her—hell, if we're not after her in ten minutes—I'm leaving."
"Kid…Laura's priority," Logan said.
"Yes," Emma agreed. "Especially since she was the only one taken. This whole event—all of it, including the distraction—was a decoy to
kidnap her, a mystery we must get to the bottom of, and quickly."
"We no wheah—" Rachel said, but nobody heard her as they rushed out of the room, heading for Cerebra.
…
Laura stared up at the needle, the sharp needle held above her head, in cruel hands that might stab it into her forehead at any
moment. It had been done several times. Dripping, dripping, sweat rolling down her forehead, along with the blend of orange in rivulets.
Darkness.
SQWARRKKK—she sat, her hands in enormous, heavy cuffs, forcing her to lean forwards, her head yanked back at an angle, needles
holding her eyelids open.
In front of her sat a man in a wheelchair, his face expressionless.
Every now and then Laura twitched involuntarily, as a mild shock was delivered to her, in coordination with something else. A stimulus
only she and the man could see. Under her nose ran a tube that occasionally—just for a moment—filled with orange fluid from the chair, like a pulse.
Darkness.
This pattern repeated itself, over and over. Dunking. Water boarding. The images. The cut torture. All with the smell, the horrible, sweet smell.
She was five years old again.
…
Red. Shades of red. Some darker, some lighter. Surrounding it thoroughly, like it was swimming. Far off in the distance, it could see humanoid
skeletons, their warm, vital organs pulsing slightly.
But they were for later. No, now it had a focus…there was something that needed to die, and it was going to do the slaughtering. It crouched in
the bush, licking its dry lips and trying to focus on the road.
Its eyes hurt.
There. On all sensory ranges, like a spot of brilliant white, blinding it, infuriating it. This creature needed to die, the source of this blinding
light. The being was moving towards her at a steady pace, the organs engaging in that same gentle throbbing motion as the ones in the
distance. Squeezing blood through the muscles.
Lunge.
At last second the humanoid turned, its face just a skull, because the skin was see-through in the light. The teeth parted, and wires brushed
down its cheekbones. It made a noise of surprise, but its claws were already out, bursting through its knuckles like bullets out of a gun barrel.
SLISH! SLASH! SLISH!
Thud.
A heavy noise, somewhat wet. The skeleton slowly sunk to the ground, the wires slapping on the sidewalk.
The haze began to clear, and it blinked, feeling a dull ache in its head.
Wait. No. That wasn't right. It…it…it was a she. Her head. Her head ached, and…
Confused, she touched her forehead. She felt sick, she was going to wretch, she was already gagging. She turned her head, sunk to
her knees and began to heave into the ditch, watching sickly rivers of yellow and orange run into the grass. Black stuff dripped into the
river. No, that was her hair, a stringy, matted, oily and bloody mess. The black in the river is…she squinted. She was bleeding, from
inside. Internal bleeding.
She became aware of a huffing, wheezing noise, louder than the soft music emanating from the headphones on the concrete, and turned
her head, just slightly. Was it her?
No.
"Luh…Luh…L-laura…"
She stiffened. That sound…that word wass familiar. She knew it. It has something to do with her…a name. Her name.
A strand of hair falls out of the way, and she can see through the tangled matt of her hair. There is…there is a person lying, crumpled,
on the pavement of the road. Snff, snff. Her upper lip curls slightly. She can smell blood, lots of blood.
It wasn't hers. It belonged to the person that was lying down.
"…" The person's fingers curled. "..."
Three heartbeats passed, very loud in her ears. She could hear the other person's heart slowing, becoming shallower. They were dying.
"No…" Suddenly she scrambled over to the person's side, in a flurry of movement. It was a woman, mid to late 30's, with the same black
hair that fell to either side of her own face. No…
Laura's chin crumpled. "S-sarah?"
"…why?" the woman asked, her voice raspy and gurgly. Sucking, wet noises from her ribcage. Lungs. Laura could see the blood
blossoming through her mother's white jogging sweater. It was sticky and black, like some kind of liquid licorice. Or oil.
"I…" Laura struggled to push herself onto one elbow, reached out with her other hand to touch her mother. Medical. Think, think. She
had to…sucking lung wound…patch the hole…patch the hole…
She cast her eyes around the ditch. A fluttering garbage bag caught her eye. Scrambling towards it, Laura's strength began to fail. Something
was wrong with her. A drop of the same black liquid emanating from her mother began to drip from her nose. Closing her eyes, Laura felt her
fingers touch the bag, and she snatched it deftly.
"L-laura…something to s-say…"
She ignored her, popping her claw. Shripppp. She cut the bag into halves, then into quarters, her hands shaking. She cut her palm, but didn't care.
"—gahhk—" Sarah was beginning to suffocate, her hand curling over the wound.
"M-mom, don't…" Laura said, struggling to move the stiffening digits. She finally succeeded, and her palm slapped the piece of shredded
garbage bag over top.
"Here…hold this…" she blinked. More blood was streaming out of her nose, and she felt sicker. Her eye began to twitch.
"…¤…" Laura felt the hand clamp down over hers, holding the bag in place; then she slumped to the cement.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in the mud on a jogging trail, her front soaked through with blood and wet leaves. In front of
her were two booted feet: she knew those boots.
Kimura.
"Have a nice stroke, X?" the woman asked, bending over and seizing a chunk of her hair. Hauling her up like she weighed nothing, even though
she wasn't a complete lightweight. Laura winced and wrapped her hands around the woman's arm; how could she? There was something wrong
with her head, she shouldn't…
"Should we make sure?" a male voice asked. Subservient.
"Yes. Recover the body. We're going to have some fun later."
In the van: Laura sat, gagged, her hands bound behind her back with adamantium links. She glared at Kimura, who grinned back.
"I'd call that a successful little family outing, wouldn't you? Pity we can't let you remember this. Might spoil some surprises we have planned."
"…" Laura's eye twitched.
"Ma'am!" The doors opened and a soldier peered in, his face pale. "We couldn't find her anywhere! Just blood stains!"
"What?" Kimura asked, her voice angry. "But…I saw her! She was mortally wounded when we recalled X! Shredded lungs!"
"There's nothing there," the soldier repeated.
"That's bullshit." Kimura got up, withdrew a gun from her holster. "Guess I'll have to take care of things myself, as always. Mo—"
The radio on her hip crackled to life.
"Kimura. Report."
The woman grimaced and grabbed her hand radio. "X snapped, as predicted. I'd call this a complete success…except these fucking
retards you sent me with can't even make sure a corpse doesn't move. We lost Kinney."
"…" a conversation ensues, then: "Bring X back. She needs to be debriefed, now. You can return later for cleanup, if necessary. She
probably crawled away."
"Alright, boss," Kimura said, then turned and chucked the radio at Laura's head.
She flinched away, but was still hit in her temple.
"I bet your mommy got eaten by a bear or something," Kimura taunted. "Wish I could've watched. But duty calls…fire 'er up, boys." She
pulled the back doors of the van closed, then looked at Laura again.
Her hand fished in her utility belt, then pulled out a large buck knife, such as one used for hunting.
"I get so bored during roadtrips," Kimura said. "Sucks to be you, X."
…
"I—" Emma, her eyes closed, in Cerebra. She'd just witnessed something quite horrible. Laura had been conscious for a few
moments, and was in some sort of simulation, the kind of training scenario that Logan had described undergoing in his past.
There had been Laura, and her mother, and a lot of blood and violence.
Then nothing.
"Where is she?!" Julian demanded.
"I can't find her," Emma said, her voice low. "She's disappeared again."
It had been like this for two weeks; Julian and the teams searching the countryside, Emma occasionally catching mental glimpses of
Laura, but unable to discern the location. She said she couldn't even sense what sort of state Laura was in, a fact she attributed to
the girl being heavily drugged and shielded by some sort of psionic.
He'd only returned to the mansion to change his clothes and eat; this he did in an almost automatic fashion, the fork occasionally
missing his mouth. He hadn't slept, and the Shrimps were shifted from one caretaker to the next.
"Put the Shrimps on," Scott said suddenly. "I'm sure they want nothing more than their mother, at the moment."
Silence. Everyone secretly wondered why they hadn't thought of this.
"Nate, Rachel," Emma said, looking at the Shrimps, in the corner, with Sofia.
"Can you help me find your mother, darlings?"
"We TWIED," Rachel said, sounding angry and frustrated.
"No buddy LISTENZ to us!" Nate added.
Silence.
"Well…we're listening now," Julian said, feeling even stupider by the moment. He knew he should've thought of the Shrimps,
right away. His psychic children that shared a hive mind, with Wolverine's feral instincts that would know instinctively
where their mother was.
Emma held up her hand. "Nate…I'm going to talk to you…in your mind. Show me where she is."
A second later she opened her eyes (having closed them for the contact).
"Nevada. "
"To the X-wing," Scott ordered.
…
Laura stared dully out of one eye, the other swollen shut. Blood was pouring from her freshly-broken nose; her arm felt broken,
as did her ankle, and her neck; she was being dragged by her hand through a sterile-looking room, with harsh ceiling lights. Her
skin was raw, healing slowly from another scent session.
Healing slowly. Something was wrong with her. She felt sick, nauseous—sluggish—even though they hadn't drugged her today.
"She's filthy!" a man said. "I thought I told you to hose her down first!" He still sounded more amused than angry.
"I figured it's all coming off anyway," Kimura said. She stopped, dropped Laura's hand; then she grabbed a handful of her tangled,
matted hair and yanked her to her feet, where she dangled, paralyzed.
"True," the man said. He was wearing a lab coat, and a surgical mask. A doctor.
Laura eyed him.
"Oh, sweety," Kimura said, turning Laura to face something—a big metal gurney, with restraints. Metal cuffs, for her limbs, for around her head.
"Weren't you ever jealous of your daddy? What's-his-face? Oh, yeah. Wolverine." Kimura taunted, her hand like a talon on the girl's shoulder.
The doctor listened, and grinned, in the corner of Laura's vision. She watched the table, her eyes dull. A migraine was causing her eye to twitch;
she felt like raw meat. Raw, bloody meat, full of acid. An ulcer.
"With his big, bad, adamantium skeleton," Kimura continued. "CLONE, answer me!"
Laura continued to stare at the gurney dully.
WHAM! Her head was slammed into the cool metal. She felt her nasal bone crunch further, and her lips split painfully. She thought some teeth
might have broken.
"ANSWER ME!" Kimura shouted, furious.
Laura was silent, even as her head was pulled up again, and blood ran down her chin, along with bone fragments. The corner of her
mouth bubbled.
"Now, now," the doctor said mildly. "Load her up. I have it at just the right temperature and it's a bitch to regulate. I keep getting paranoid
that it'll set…that stuff is impossible to scrape off."
"Hah," Kimura said. "You'd know, wouldn't you?"
Laura didn't make a sound as she was hefted onto the table, her skin squeaking against the metal as she slithered like a beached whale,
and was rolled over. She hoped there would be a mistake with whatever they were doing. They'd slip.
Maybe my healing…will finally stop, she thought.
The cuffs snapped closed, with the press of a button. Kimura and the doctor leered down at her, and Laura drew her eyebrows together.
He was familiar.
Whirrrrrrr. He was holding something up, something for her to see.
A small power tool—a grinder of some sort.
Now she remembered. Rice. The man responsible for the adamantium on her claws. She'd seen him, standing over her before, with a bone-grinder.
She was five years old again.
But—but—she'd—she was confused. She'd killed him.
"Let's see how you like being filled with adamantium," Kimura hissed, holding up an airbrush-like device on the other side, and a handful of metal tubes.