Ah nice, a new reviewer: Hello SassC HiJinx!Thank you for the kind words about my writing. A writer loves praise for the way the craft is handled.
Ish, here is an early New Year's gift for you.
Chapter 9: Massacre
Two years ago, they had investigated the same area. Jean remembered.
"Thiz place gives me ze creeps!"
"Kurt, relax. Looks like nothing's here. So...this was a waste of time." Scott scanned the barren warehouse and scratched his head. There were only old metal crates full of outdated electronic parts, covered in the dust of unuse. Random bits of wiring and piping had fallen about. "It's like nobody's been here in years. Jean, what do you think?"
She remembered a lot of things, and she remembered them well. Being a telepath gave one a sharpness of mind, heightened retention and intuition. For her, the memory of that time two years ago was clear, as if no time at all had passed. She had gone to investigate with Logan, to the warehouse where Farat's men were to take the kidnapped X-Men. Taking unconscious mutants...why would anyone want to kidnap mutants. Hmmph.
"Jean?"
She remembered a ghostly she-demon, sucking the life out of her friends. She remembered the maddening fear of being prey. She also remembered the tagedy of it all. A predator who was just a confused and repressed girl who had never had a life. Because it had been stolen from her. And the same people – or at least somebody behind them – was trying to steal the X-Men. She remembered it all, saw it all. Vividly. Kidnapping mutants for what? One hideout there, another one here...Cerebro led me here.
"Jean!"
"Pardon?" She blinked and turned to face the frown creases on Scott's forehead. He and Kurt were staring at her. "I was just lost in thought, sorry."
"Are you ok?" Scott was worried, she sensed it.
"I'm fine, really. It's just..." Heightened intuition. Residue. There was residue here. "...we're missing something."
Cries. There had been cries. How could they not have found anything two years ago? It felt so obvious now.
"Jean, what is it?"
Things left over, in the air. Leftover energies of once-potent feelings. She couldn't explain this in words, these feelings that grew stronger the more she forced herself to be aware of them. How could she not have sensed it before, when she had been so close?
Kurt glanced warily at Scott, "Uh, iz she okay?"
"I think it's something with her powers," he said. "But she doesn't look like she's in trouble Just really concentrating hard."
Dear, Scott. Knows her so well, knows even her powers, even though her powers were doing something she hadn't quite gotten the hang of yet. Xavier had said much of telepathy was still a mystery, as was the human brain itself, and if the brain of a regular homo sapien was so shrouded in enigma, one could only imagine what was hidden in the advanced neurons and synapses of a telepathic telekinetic homo surperior like her. It was rare even to have both abilities, and more difficult to understand them. But she was getting close. She knew it.
Eyes closed to concentrate, she held one hand firmly out before her, as if it were leading her somewhere. She didn't know, but she followed anyway, followed the remnants of screams that had once echoed in this very place. They had been alone, lost, taken. There had to have been incredible trauma to leave such psychic remnants...tiny pieces of barely perceptible energies... like the chipped off pieces of dead spirits on holy ground... She began to feel afraid.
"Scott?"
"I'm here, Jean. Kurt, too. We're right behind you." She felt his hand on her shoulder.
She followed them: Remnants of screams. Loud screams of pain, and worse, the silent ones, where the horror was so great and suffocating, no sound could pass the lips.
Thin wisps of something terrible that had happened.
Jean followed the trail to an electric panel against the north-facing wall of the warehouse. Instead of flipping the front open, she reached behind it to a switch hidden between it and the wall.
A door in a random spot of the floor slid open.
"Vhoa," Kurt said, and teleported over to inspect.
Horror, the horror. Jean shivered but did not hesitate. She levitated herself from the floor and floated down into the chamber. With Scott and Kurt following behind, she led them through a narrow, low-ceilinged passageway for about 10 meters until she came an iron-cast door bolted shut. "Scott?"
"On it." With a small optic blast, he blew the lock off and pulled the heavy door open. Pitch black. They felt around for the light switch. "Here," Scott said. With a flick, faint blue lamps glowed to life and illuminated the lab.
Jean gasped, one hand going up to cover her mouth, "Oh my God."
"I'm going to be sick," Kurt said.
Scott shook his head, "This is...it's inhumane."
Between the work tables full of various metal instruments for measurement, laceration, and inspection, some delicate-looking for precision, others chunkier for no other purpose than bodily invasion—sat examination tables and cylinders and tanks full of putrid-green liquid, lining the entire lab in neat little rows. With the sickenly green liquids floated masses of organic matter within which one could see a hand here and there, an eye, a thigh, feet, forearms, skin. Claws. Fangs. Organic armor. Upon the examination tables, humanoid shapes could be made out in the dim blue light, but they looked far from anything that resembled human—features contorted, anatomical distortions that made it seem impossible to stand.
"Vhat iz all this?" Kurt exclaimed. He looked distressed and tense, three-pronged fists clenched tight. "Vhat did they do?"
"You know what they did, Kurt." Jean approached one of the tables, where a smaller specimen lay. It couldn't have been a full grown adult. Once upon a time, it had been a child, now nothing more than a misshapen mass of cells. "The Professor said experiments on mutants aren't anything new. Logan's adamantium skeleton is the result of such a thing. I just never thought someone was doing it here, so close to us. And we had no idea..."
Scott had made his way to the other side of the lab, where a computer console reposed. "It's still working," he said, surprised. After pushing a few keys, "Damn it. All the files are encrypted. Can't make sense of any of it." He looked at the cabinet next to the computer, where a few lab coats hung. "Who did this? Do you think Magneto...?"
"Magneto's crazy," Kurt said, "but he vould never do this to his own kind."
Screams. There had been so many screams here. The semblances of suffering in the lab hung on Jean like a thin layer of soot. She felt tainted and disturbed. "Let's get out of here," she said suddenly.
"We should at least try to get what's on this computer," Scott insisted. He rummaged around the desk drawers until he located an old pack of blank CDs. He inserted one into the computer and began copying folders off the harddrive. "Just a couple minutes and—Oh, no."
"Vhat?"
Scott began desperately pressing the keyboard as a computer voice casually announced, "10 seconds till self destruct."
"Scott!" Jean screamed. "We don't have time for that!"
"Wait—it's almost—"
"5 seconds till self destruct."
"No mein freund." Kurt teleported next to him and grabbed his arm, "Ve're leaving now."
"Wait just let me—" Scott snatched the disc from the CD drive right before Kurt teleported them both to Jean's position.
"Hold on!"
Jean grabbed onto Kurt and the three disappeared from the lab with a burst of smoke, just as it exploded.
One could get used to certain kinds of pain, especially those of necessity, the toils of commitment, purpose, and mission. Your body became inured to it, could almost be excited by it. Only pain made things real. The pain felt during the peak of hardship and struggle, pain that struck you in your core and burned its memory into the atoms of your very bones – that pain indicated you were still alive and had a fighting chance.
And then there were other types of pain.
Rogue wasn't sure which kind she was trying to fight off at the moment. Her whole body hurt in places she hadn't even known had nerve endings. Even in all her time at X-Corps she'd never been beaten up so bad.
Wait, no, total lie. Now you're feeling sorry for yourself? she thought irritably.
There had been those bomb makers in Munich with a chip on their Neo-Nazi shoulders— that had landed her in Sean Cassidy's clinic for a couple day's observation. And then of course there had also been the unfortunate encounter with a bone-crusher mutant in Maputo—she didn't think she'd get out of that in one piece. Yet somehow none of that seemed as laborious now. None of it compared to the twinges and aches she felt as they returned to the Institute, the frustrations from a the night's events. She just didn't understand.
She burst into the war room, still in her torn up evening dress, still wrapped in the trench coat that wasn't hers, and tossed onto the table the worthless stone talisman that disintegrated weirdo Garbha-hsien handed her before he died. She didn't understand anything and she was sick of feeling confused. She was also sick of aching and bleeding from wounds that had been more serious a while ago but were not healing at the pace she desired.
"You okay, Stripes?" Logan strolled in after her, clothes torn but lookin otherwise no more worse for wear.
"Ah'm annoyed is what Ah am—why can't Ah heal as fast as you? Ah have the same power... Mostly."
Logan smirked, "Don't you know? Knock-offs ain't ever as good as the original." He reached into one of the shelves by the computers and pulled out a beer from his hidden stash. "What's with your hair?"
Rogue glanced at the long messy blond locks flowing past her shoulders and sighed, "Oh, right." Slowly they began to morph back to her natural white-striped auburn.
Logan offered her a beer but she shook her head. "Suit yourself." He popped the top off with one adamantium claw, sat back in a chair, and turned on the war room's multiple TV screens. Despite his apathetic tone, his eyes glowered darkly at the screens, "Let's see what PR disaster has unfolded for us tonight."
The incident at the Plaza Hotel dominated all the network news channels. Some of the most high-profile guests were still at the scene, giving sound bytes that could become the incendiary battle cries of anti-mutant hate.
"It was a mutant attack, no question of it!" Congressman William Poage railed.
"This was a fundraiser for peace, and look what's happened!" Senator Claiborne Pell lamented. "This only makes the world seem less safe, which means certain actions will probably need to be taken."
"What sort of actions?" the reporter, Trish Tilby, prompted.
"All I can say right now is, tonight's events will definitely impact the vote on the Mutant Registration Act in a couple days. We don't deny that not all mutants are bad – but what about the ones who would use their powers to the detriment of others? How can we risk the lives of our children, how can we risk our future?"
Some of the guests had filmed the tumult with camera phones. Their amateur videography skills didn't capture everything, but in a few seconds here and there, viewers could catch a flash of the Wolverine and his claws. In another contribution of citizen journalism, Rogue was clearly visible in her torn green dress, fire and electricity spilling from her body.
Rogue slammed her fist on the table and cursed loudly, "Mother$#& *^!"
"They didn't mention Shaw at all," Logan noticed. "How'd he get out of this unscathed?"
"They have a psychic," Rogue said through gritted teeth, picturing the unfathomable Selene and her icy blue eyes. "Probably washed everyone's memory so he stay in the mutant closet. Goddamn it all. We're screwed."
"Calm down, Stripes. Ain't the first time we had to clear up our public image. Xavier's well-respected now. He'll be able to take care of it."
Bobby and Kitty wobbled in, Kitty looking slightly dizzy and Bobby with gauze around a wound on his arm. He marched over to Rogue and straightened up to his full height so he stood barely a few centimers taller than her. "Did you and Gambit have a nice dance?" he fumed.
Rogue did not flinch. Her eyes hardened, "Excuse me?"
"Obviously you two had time to catch up after he attacked me and Kitty—you know, your friends? What did he do to Lorna?"
"You're out of your mind, Bobby."
"Am I?! Your ex could've killed us!"
Kitty looked alarmedly between the two of them, "Bobby, stop it. Logan, make them stop!"
Their old mentor shrugged and took a swig of beer, eyes still on the TV screens, "Better to have everything up front."
"What?" Kitty cried.
"You better get out of my face, Iceman," Rogue said, leaning forward so they were practically breathing on each other's faces. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
"This is pathetic. Just because your old loser boyfriend shows up, you let everything go and let him blow up your friends and take advantage of helpless girls! The mission wouldn't've been such a disaster if you'd controlled your freak powers—"
Logan was out of his chair and pinning Bobby to the wall before anyone else could react. "You're out of line, bub. We never call each other that. You're an X-Man, and right now, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"But she totally lost it! And Lorna's being—"
"Lorna ain't bein' forced to do anything, kid," Logan snapped. He let Bobby go and returned to his seat. "In case you didn't notice, she was the one calling the shots back there. Now, get yourself together before you do something you really regret."
Bobby growled in frustration, shooting Rogue a condemning look before storming out. He nearly bumped into Ororo and the Professor as they were coming in.
"Bobby, where are you going?" the Professor called after him.
"Somewhere else," he growled and disappeared around the corner.
Rogue blew a white strand of hair out of her eyes and crossed her arms, glowering at the floor. Part of her wanted to knock Bobby's jaw right off his face. Another part had listened to his words, felt their sting in the most insecure part of her that she tried to bury deep. Was it the bitter truth no one else had the audacity to voice? Did they think she was out of control? It was the second time her powers had gone haywire, though they didn't know about the incident in Iraq. Was she really so delicate now? How could it be, when she had felt so strong? Though at the moment, she was vulnerable. The cold metal of the power negating collar rubbed against her throat.
"What is bothering Bobby?" Ororo asked, concern wrinkling her brow.
Logan shook his head, "Let him blow off some steam. We've got bigger problems right now." He tipped his beer bottle at Rogue, "We've seen those before."
The Professor was already at the computer, fingers flying over the controls. "Yes, with my dear old friend, the Count."
Ororo's eyes widened, "Of course, how could I have forgotten? They locked us up in the dungeon with these collars. But the design has changed. The Count didn't manufacture them himself. Where could he have acquired them?"
"Odd...there's nothing explicitly about mutant power negating collars in any databases," the Professor said, "but there is a scientist who's been working on trying to inhibit the mutant x-gene. Bolivar Trask."
Logan sat up straight, "What. Trask is behind all this?"
"We can't be sure yet. We need more information. Ever since his release from jail—"
"To resurrect that damn sentinel program," Logan grumbled.
"—it seems he's proven to be skilled in more than mechanical engineering. I've found a press release saying he's received a government grant to pursue his research. His lab is at the University of Chicago."
"This is great intel and all," Rogue interjected, "but can somebody get this thing off of me?" She tapped the metal ring around her neck.
"Hmm..." Logan approached with one adamantium claw extended, then paused to reconsider. "We shouldn't damage it, 'case we want to study it. Half-pint, you're up."
Kitty blinked as if just tuning in. She rubbed her sore head, "Huh? Ohhh." With a simple touch, she phased the collar off Rogue's throat and set it on the table next to Garbha-hsien's talisman.
Rogue rubbed her neck. She opened her palm and called up a simple power to make sure her abilities had returned. A tiny fireball grew in her palm, flickering like a candle in the wind. She closed her hand and extinguished it, feeling whole again. The relief was startling. She had never thought much about how much a mutant's abilities could mean to her core identity. She couldn't believe she used to wish so badly to be 'normal'. What was a mutant without her powers? Stripped, bland. Food without salt. Incomplete.
"I will go to the Chicago," the Professor said. "I have some former colleagues at the university that may prove helpful in getting information from Trask. This may be connected to Garbha-hsien as well."
"So...let me get this straight," Kitty said. "This super old guy looks like he's attacking Rogue, but really he just gave her a cryptic message before he literally exploded into dust? What's that piece of rock mean anyway?"
Rogue stared at the two objects on the table, one stone, one metal, seemingly such opposites, unrelated to each other, but she knew there was a connection. There had to be. Thousands will perish. She has eradicated us all. The Cataclysm. "That rock has to be a clue to lead us somewhere," she said. "Ah think Garbha-hsien is connected to Sebastian Shaw somehow. Ah think that woman Selene that Ah met, she's some kind of mutant, but not like us. She was the one in my head messing everything up. She felt...different, but she's important in this, Ah can feel it. We should make going after her our top priority."
Logan looked at her dubiously, "Those are a lot of hunches, Stripes. We can't be making rash decisions right now."
"Ah'm telling you, it's her. She's buddybuddy with Shaw, who's obviously bankrolling Creed, whose Friends of Humanity are attacking mutants. Ah don't know why a mutant like Shaw would do that but...after tonight, the Mutant Registration Act probably got a boost of support—God, don't you see? Why else would all this be happening? It's Selene, she was in my head, setting me off into a mutant freak show like Bobby said—"
"Hey don't let him get to you," Logan cut in. "He wasn't thinking—"
"—so we have to find her and stop her. Ah have a feeling things are just gonna get worse."
"Listen, the way to do this is with more solid information—"
"Ah know how to collect intelligence. Ah was an agent for—."
"This is more complicated than an isolated infiltrate-and-execute operation—!"
"Like Ah don't know what's on the line here? Selene is a real threat. Ah felt it—!"
"You're getting way too emotional about this—!"
"Emotional?!"
"Maybe Bobby was right. Seeing Gambit after all this time—"
"This has nothing to do with Gambit!" She hadn't intended to scream so loudly, but the effect was not lost on the others. They stared at her with such worried scrutiny that she was embarrassed above all else. She felt like an unstable teenager in high school, humiliated that the boy she liked had rejected her, and worst of all, that everyone knew it.
It was Ororo who moved first, placing a hand comforting hand on her shoulder, "We're not doubting your judgment, Rogue. We trust you, all of us." She shot Logan a sharp look.
He shook his head, but remained silent.
"All of you," the Professor said, "now is not the time for internecine strife. We have many leads to follow if we're to discern exactly what's happening here." As he spoke his fingers flew over the computer controls, accessing databases and files with the X-Men's powerful computer. "Something similar to 'Garbha-hsien' comes up in historical writings dating far back to 1100 AD in the Ho-Lo Shan Moutanins. Northern Mongolia."
"1100 AD?" Kitty let out an incredulous and borderline-delirious laugh. "How could you guys have seen him tonight if he was alive in 1100 AD? Wait—isn't that as old as Apocalypse?"
"Apocalypse was far older," the Professor said. "He was the first mutant, allegedly. Frankly, I have a terrible feeling that this Garbha-hsien's appearance tonight is not coincedence. That he sought out Rogue specifically is important. Logan, how are you feeling?"
"Peachy."
"Take the jet. You and Rogue will leave for Mongolia first thing in the morning. We need to figure out who Garbha-hsien was and what he wanted." He looked at the stone talisman on the table. "Take that with you. It may be a clue. Storm and I will go to Chicago to investigate the collars."
Rogue picked up the stone and turned it over in her hands. Indiscernible marks scratched the surface, but in no distinctive pattern. Dust in her hands, all that was left of the man. What he'd said... Garbha-hsien...last of the Ex-... Ex-what? Ex- as in former, or outsider? Dust in her hands, once Rogue's worst nightmare from her powers, draining people's life energy, all their energy, until they turned into ash in her hands... Could he have been attacked that way? Drained?
"Hey what about me?" Kitty peeped.
"Once Kurt, Jean, and Scott return—" the Professor suddenly gasped and gripped his head.
"Charles!" Ororo was at his side in a moment.
"No, it's all right. It was only Jean. She's just distressed. They're back. And they've found something sinister."
Gambit. She had no idea where he was, but he felt close. She couldn't help thinking about him while she showered at the end of that long night, despite all the other crazy in her life at the moment. The hot water prattled against her flesh, washing away the dry blood, the grime of the fight, drowning out the rest of the world, calming her mind—it pushed everything else out except him. Remy. The memory of their one night together still burned in her mind. She hadn't allowed any psychic blocks to touch it. She wanted to remember that sweetness, that heated pleasure. His hands on her.
She turned off the water but stayed in the shower. His body pushing against hers. Remy's eyes, his lips. She concentrated on the drops trickling off her body. The throb of want.
The hot steam from the water still lingered in the air, but she could feel it beginning to cool, the source of heat gone. It was strange sometimes, doing nothing else but feeling, focusing on the state of being alive. Seemed simple. Why wouldn't everyone just be alive. Live and let live. How did living become this complicated?
She got out of the shower and dried herself off with a towel. As she rummaged in the closet for clean clothes, she glanced at Remy's trench coat hanging on the door. Was he with Lorna Danes right now, plotting how to use those collars against mutants? Trading strategy with Sebastian Shaw? Maybe he was somehow connected to the mad scientist's laboratory full of abhorrent mutant experiments, too.
Why did Graydon Creed's phone call trace back to someone at a mutant experimentation lab anyway? The thought made her shudder. How as it all connectd?
Could Kitty decrypt the files on the disc Scott brought back?
How did it all come together?
Jean believed it was even connected all the way back to the attempted kidnapping of the X-Men two years ago, to Theodore Farrat and the Count, to Annabel. Poor Annabel, who had to drain mutants' energy and psyche to survive, whose fate could have been Rogue's had it not been for the random chance of biology and mutation. Random fates. Drained them like Garbha-hsien. Mongolia... last of the Ex-somethings. X-somethings?
Selene's maddening presence in her mind. Her cooing, Rogue, I'll show you. Soon, so very soon. Like a crazy woman with crazy plans. But a powerful mutant. Don't fight it...embrace your glory, Rogue. What had she been talking about? Why was she targeting Rogue?
God, who could know anything, living like this.
Living should not be like this.
Remy, what are you doing?
Despite it all, he had saved her. He had leapt off a building to make sure she lived. She couldn't help believing there was an explanation for everything, and however he was involved, she needed to help him. She had to believe it, because the alternative was something she could not reconcile.
Rogue couldn't know that Remy LeBeau was just an hour away, standing in a dark alley in Manhattan, arms crossed, leaning against a damp building. A light drizzle created a pale mist in the air, reflecting the city lights and making the night seem less dark than it really was. He was almost invisible in his black uniform, hair slicked back in the rain. Only his eyes gave him away, glowing red in the shadows. He was watching Lorna Danes talk on her phone.
She was out of her dress, back in a dark uniform, her green hair loose and flowing down her back in messy damp locks. "It's time," she said and gestured for Remy to join her where she stood. As she levitated a manhole cover off the tunnel it secured, she smiled at Remy, "Finally the reason you came to New York, Mr. LeBeau. Let's put you to good use."
It was then Remy realized he'd been here before, in this exact spot. Two years ago, escaping from Farrat's men in the Morlock lair. "What do you mean, put me t'good use?" he asked.
"Aw shucks, Remy. I know you're smarter than this."
From the shadows emerged six motley figures, two women and four men.
"Gambit, meet Vertigo, Scalphunter, Riptide, Harpoon, Arclight, and Blockbuster, your newest teammates," Lorna said with a smug smile. "Try not to piss them off. They're a little fight-happy." She giggled childishly, then just as quickly, all mirth left her face. An uncanny coldness came out of her mouth as she gave instructions, "Leave nothing behind tonight. You have your instruments. Gambit here has been all over these tunnels, haven't you? Lead the way, Cajun."
He stared at this group of ruffians, all bearing down on him with a self-satisfaction that made his skin crawl. They clearly had been briefed about the mission. A cold chill crawled up his spine, like a spiked insect digging its claws into his flesh.
"No," he said. "Not till you tell me what's goin' on here."
"Don't have an attack of conscience now, Gambit. I've forgiven you for going off to save that X-bitch, but my patience runs out very. Quickly."
"M'not doin' dis den."
Lorna turned on him with green fire in her eyes, though her expression remained cold and calculating. "I'm getting tired of reminding you over and over again why you're following my orders," she said. She glanced over at the mutant who looked like an ex-soldier, muscular, crew cut hair, and large with a few scars on his arms and neck. "You know, Scalphunter over there's always had a thing for Southern belles..."
"Don't you dare—"
"What, Remy?" Lorna snarled. "I give the orders here. Do we understand each other? Good. Now take us to the Morlocks."
Mon dieu, he knew there was no point in arguing, knew he had signed this deal in blood since day one. But this was the last one, Essex had said. Means to an end. He had to remember that. And then he would get the serum that would keep his powers in check for good. God only knew how much he needed that serum. The last explosion of his kinetic energy had killed...ruined lives. He couldn't risk it again. If he understood Essex at all, this was a mission to collect mutant DNA. He would be kidding himself if he thought no Morlock wouldn't get a little injured tonight, but maybe that'd be it. Maybe the samples could be collected and these goons would move on.
As he climbed down the manhole and entered the sewers, he forced himself not to wonder why a DNA-collecting mission required a band of trained killers.
The child's powers were acting up again, and it was a painful process, like teething. She twisted and squirmed, trying to scratch it all away, but her caretakers held her hands back. Stronger-than-human bones protruded from her flesh, first around her face, then her shoulders and arms. After a few minutes they would retract, then repeat the process. She was only 11 years old, a little young to exhibit her mutation, but her parents hadn't felt any sympathy. After trying to cope with a mutated child, their shame overcame their love. They had picked her out of bed while she was asleep, driven to the nearest police station, and left her there. The police hadn't known what to do with a deformed kid either and left her unattended long enough for her to run out onto the streets herself, looking for her parents. She was too young to know the way home, and no one would listen to the pleas of a girl begging "Please...please take me to Staten Island" with disgusting bones coming out of her skin. She looked like a miniature monster in their eyes.
Luckily Callisto found her. Two weeks ago. Since then, she has been a Morlock, and having felt the rejection of her parents, she made a home for herself quickly. But her mutation was harder for her to cope with, the sporadic pain that flared up every once in a while and tapped into her childish fears. It made her wish to be normal.
"I wanna go home!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to be a mutie! Make it stop! Make it stop!"
"Sarah, calm down! It'll pass, child, it'll pass!"
Spyke could empathize. As he watched Callisto and Cybelle try to soothe the kid, he thought back to his days at the Xavier Institute, how it had helped him become stronger and more capable. Plus, she had a similar mutation to his. Maybe the Professor could help her too. He toyed with the idea of sending Sarah to Xavier, but he knew Callisto would reject that out of pride. For Callisto, the Morlocks were family. And family never abandoned each other, even though Spyke left his to fight for the underdogs. His real name was Evan Daniels, and he used to be an X-Man. He hardly ever spoke to them these days, except for Auntie Ororo. Everyone had moved on with their lives, and he didn't blame them. They were fighting the growing anti-mutant sentiment as well, while he was busy trying to protect less powerful mutants from attacks topside.
People've gotten so much more hateful, he thought. Poor Sarah will probably have to deal with worse once she gets older.
"Callisto! Spyke!" Caliban came running out of the west-facing tunnels breathless and shaking. "We're being attacked!"
Evan tensed immediately, "Who?" He had never seen Caliban speak so quickly in his life.
"Th-they came out of nowhere – t-took out our sentries. We had no idea – killing, just killing!—no questions, no words! —don't know what they want—!"
It was at that moment that the screams were close enough to hear, along with the sounds of falling bodies, breaking bones, and ripping flesh. Some discernible words, "Mutants of filth—"
Sarah began screaming out of fear than pain, "What's happenng? What's happening?" She clung to Cybelle, crying and crying.
Callisto grabbed one of the automatic rifles she had hidden around the tunnels. "Evan, we have to—eeuuggh!"
Without warning a mind-rattling whirlwind blew into their chamber, knocking everything and everyone off their feet and throwing them into the walls. The mini-tornado spun to a stop, revealing a male mutant with shuriken-shaped protrusions on his skin. "Ready to play with Riptide?" he grinned. With a wave of his arm, he sent three of them flying in Evan's direction.
Evan dove out of the way just in time. Without missing a beat he threw long bone spears back at Riptide, one of them lodging in his leg. Riptide howled in pain, pulled the bone spear out of his leg, and moved at Evan with the ferocious momentum of one who hadn't been injured.
All hell broke loose.
As Evan fought Riptide, taking more hits than he was giving, he saw everything out of the corner of his eyes. More foreign mutants spilling into the chamber, attacking any and every Morlock they could reach. They spared no brutality, slashing, biting, and shooting their way in, aiming to kill.
Blood and screams. It was a Tarantino horror film. All blood and screams.
Why? Why was this happening? How? Through the mayhem Evan made out two words of sanity, a man shouting, "Stop dis! Stop! STOP!" But the madness ignored him and kept killing.
After each Morlock body fell, one of the attackers would kneel beside it, stick a large needle into the spine, withdraw a sample, and tuck it safely into a case. Evan saw this before Riptide struck him mercilessly on the head. He fell to the ground, bloodied and motionless, visibly dead. Riptide had underestimated the strength of his skull.
The next moment, Evan felt the excruciating jab of a needle in his back but was too defeated to cry out in pain. Instead he lay there, feeling his sense of reality leaving. Help, he thought desperately, help X-Men... help... As his eyes drooped to shut, he saw it, a ray of hope. The girl, Sarah, crying quietly in a corner by herself, too small to be noticed by the attackers yet—someone picked her up. A man in a dark uniform-he couldn't make out his face-holding her gently against him as he dashed off through a tunnel to escape the nightmare.
And just before the darkness overtook him, he felt a presence in his mind. Evan? Evan what's happened? There's so much pain, Evan! Tell me what's wrong... "Profehhh...ssrrr," he grumbled, before everything faded to silence.
I realize that there's lots of info and lots of things to keep track of. This is definitely a more complicated story than DimV, but I hope you're all enjoying it.
And of course, every writer loves reviews! Specifically, I really like constructive criticism. It's been a while, so the details can get muddled up in my head. If there are any inconsistencies in character or plot you'd like to raise, feel free. I value feedback.