Uh...wow, so it's been a while since the last update, probably because I keep posting such long chapters. So sorry, sincerely. I do intend to finish this story; it just might take a while.
It's hard to believe that more than 10 years have passed since I first started this story, because now I've become an adult, somehow. This makes it hard to carve out time for this guilty pleasure of mine, but it's a rare pleasure when I do find the time.
Thank you loyal readers for staying with this as I struggle to complete it. But complete it I will. And hopefully, the realism and quality will increase as I use my newfound knowledge gained over the years.
And, of course, happy new year.
Love,
Raven
Chapter 15 - Insidious
She stopped just outside the bunker she shared with Kitty, slightly breathless. Her heart was racing and a light cold sweat had broken out on her skin. Oh, God, Remy. What was happening? How could Selene be here? She remembered the first time Selene had entered her mind, the way her powers spiraled out of control. But now it was different. Her presence was not destabilizing, and Rogue couldn't tell if it was because Selene was choosing to be less rattling or Rogue was better at blocking her influence, though not good enough to keep her out entirely.
You don't have to be afraid of me, Rogue. And you don't have to be afraid of yourself.
A string of angry expletives, cruder than her usual repertoire, flew from Rogue's mouth, then a sharp hiss, "Get out of my head!"
Your power is your grace.
"Leave me alone!"
He is unclean. He is one of the forgotten.
"Stop!"
You'll see. Soon you will see.
Then the presence was gone, like a migraine finally granting some relief. Rogue stood up straight, rubbing her temples.
"Rogue?"
Lovely. Just lovely.
Lance had come around the corner, suited up in an X-Men uniform. "You ok?" He put a hand on her arm.
She shrugged it off, "Why are you wearing that."
"The team's doing exercises in the danger room."
"You're part of the team now?" She knew she was being harsher than necessary, that Lance didn't deserve this sort of treatment, but she couldn't make herself care. Not after what happened. Not after what nearly happened with Remy. She felt nauseous at remembering.
He bristled slightly, "I'm here to help."
Rogue nodded, "Ok." Escape. She had to get out of here. "Well, Ah gotta go..."
Lance blocked her path, "You've been avoiding me."
The evening was just getting better. "Ah—"
"Don't deny it."
"Okay. I'm sorry, Ah've been avoiding so many people Ah honestly can't keep track anymore."
"That's it huh? I'm just another one of your fanboys. Like Gambit."
A pang hit her gut. What was Remy thinking now? They had been so close to something real… Or maybe it was just a triste. Just a guy with a girl giving him a hell of an opportunity for some fun. But Remy wasn't like that? He couldn't be… No substantial words were exchanged. Why was everything so confusing? Her mind whirled. What was going on with her?
"Rogue?"
Just shut the f# $ up for once, Lance. "Don't talk about things you don't understand," she said. " Ah'm not doing this anymore."
"How can you be so cold?"
"Cold," she echoed indifferently.
"I'm trying to show you I care. I'm your friend-"
"Stop it. Our friendship was shot to hell the night we had sex since you apparently don't know how to have a one-night stand!"
Anger and frustration from the ruined moment with Remy were still too fresh in her mind. She wanted to lash out. Lance was too easy a target.
"Fine. I'm done with this," he gritted.
With a frustrated sigh, Rogue turned to escape to her bunker and froze in place.
Kitty stood in the doorway, uniformed and ready for the danger room exercise. She looked embarrassed and upset at the same time.
"Kitty..." Rogue started, but realized she didn't know what to say. She didn't expect the enormous wave of guilt to hit her. Kitty and Lance hadn't spoken in years. There wasn't anything there anymore, according to him. But then why did her friend look so wounded? Why was she radiating betrayal toward her?
Kitty cleared her throat, "So, you two huh?"
"NO. Uh, it was one time. It's not—"
"No, Rogue, it's not a big deal ok? It doesn't matter to me." She said it to hurt Lance but his expression didn't change in a way she would have liked. Instead he crossed his arms and frowned at Rogue.
"I gotta go." Face turning slightly red, Kitty marched past them and rounded the corner to the danger room.
Rogue watched her leave, feeling despicable person. She was proving to be the biggest train wreck one incident after another. Without another look at Lance she went into the bunker and shut the door. She lay in bed, buried her face in a pillow and wished for oblivion.
Her comm unit bleeped. She reluctantly picked it up, "Yes."
Hank was on the other end of the line, "Good evening, Rogue. Not joining the training session?"
"Ah'm beat."
"Quite. Sorry to bother you at this hour, but a message came for you via satellite. It was routed to the Institute's main computer. I can send it to your local unit over there."
"Thank you, Hank. Do you know who it's from?"
"I didn't listen to it."
She thanked him again and pulled up bunker room's main display. She opened the message box to see a video message from Temür, the anthropologist from Tsinghua University who she and Lance had met in Mongolia.
Temür appeared excited, sitting in an office that did not look native to the Mongolian steppe. "Rogue, hello," the video played, "please get back to me at your earliest convenience. I returned to Beijing to organize some affairs last week, and what do I find waiting for me in my office? A Brazilian who says he knows something about the Externals. A Brazilian, Rogue, native of the Amazon region! This expands to far more lands than I previously thought. If this is still of as great of interest to you as I think it will be, call me back!"
It didn't take much to remember their discovery in those Mongolian caves.
A horrible event…death, great multitudes of death.
This is the being that will bring about the Cataclysm.
She picked up the satellite to call Temür.
X
The disappointment lingered longer than Remy expected it would, along with a dash of humiliation and a wallop of frustration. He couldn't get her out of his head. Her body, her smell, the sweet taste of her. That alabaster skin under his fingers. He pictured her face in the ecstasy of his attentions, recalled her desperate hands clutching eagerly onto him. For a few moments she had been his and he hers. Raw. And then abruptly taken away. Something strange had happened, or maybe she just completely regretted her decision and desperately needed it to stop. She had looked mortified as she fled, a complete one-eighty from mere seconds before. More than ever, he didn't understand what was going on with her.
And now he didn't have the time. He wanted nothing more than to distract himself, and nothing accomplished that more effectively than a good hunt. He had packed a small go-bag, suited up, and was ready to leave in just a few minutes. Now all he had to do was slip away without the most observant of the X-Men noticing. He had mentally marked all the exits of the Institute's underground facility the first night, and the north corridor would most likely have the least traffic that evening. No one would be going to the hangar, garage or training facilities at this time of night, right?
Remy moved quickly out of the bunker wing, staying as far away from the main corridor as possible. He rounded the corner and collided into Shadowcat.
"Watch it!" she snapped. Her eyes widened when she realized who he was, then narrowed into irritated slits. He noted that she was dressed in her uniform.
"Désolé, p'tite. I'll just be on my way…"
"Where are you going?"
"Gotta catch dese summer nights 'fore dey gone, non?"
"That's a load of shit." She seemed to be growing more annoyed every time he spoke. If he weren't so preoccupied in making an exit, he would have taken a few seconds to wonder why.
"All right den. Adieu." He hurried away, not wanting to get into it any further than he already had. Tensions sure were high among Xavier's people tonight.
Voices filled the hallway near the danger room. Remy ducked behind the corner as a few of the younger team members skipped by.
"...finally some action!"
"Simulated action, Tabitha."
"Better than nothing! Haven't you all been going nuts with all the Genosha jabbering!"
"Yes. And I'm guessing the Prof can tell since he's called this bizarro late-night exercise."
"I know you're grumpy these days, Bobby, but shut up. We need to blow up some steam. I'll beat you up if you like."
Behind them, Storm, suited up to instruct the session, was in deep conversation with Xavier. They stopped just outside the danger room to speak out of earshot of the others.
"...Evan's place here. I fear I can't protect him anymore."
"We mustn't lose hope, Ororo. Eric's announcement came at a most inopportune time. I must speak with him somehow. There are unseen forces working against us and I fear he is involved."
"Has Logan found nothing? He has been gone for two days."
"He checked in earlier this evening. No new information. What troubles me more is we still don't know who is producing power negating collars, or how Lorna Danes is using them."
"Trask could have lied to us, Charles. He was far too eager for us to leave his tidy Midwest lab."
"I would have known had he been lying. No, Ororo, someone did indeed steal his research. The question is who had the resources and abilities to produce the collars two years ago, and is Lorna presently in their employ? And what of the Friends of Humanity's connection?"
"The more we discover, the more convoluted the web becomes. How can we hope to unwind it all?"
"We must, Ororo. The future depends on it. Let us continue this discussion this later. The team awaits your instruction."
Remy waited for the hydraulic hiss of the danger room doors opening and closing before moving on. From there he slipped into the garage. A few moments later he was speeding out the underground facility and through Bayville suburbia. He looked back at the decrepit ruins of the Xavier Institute for a moment, then turned to face his task at hand.
X
The nurse sipped her coffee sleepily at her station. She looked at the clock on the wall for the fourth time that hour: 9:46pm. Just a couple hours more till she was off her shift. She was working in the most boring ward of the hospital that night and could not wait for relief. Whose idea was it to create a completely separate wing of the hospital for mutants anyway? Especially if it wasn't going to be properly staffed. There was only one doctor scheduled for regular hours and any other needs were on an on-call basis. The nurses and orderlies were always swapping shifts and trading favors to avoid working the mutant ward. She flipped through a copy of Us Weekly, completely disinterested in the contents. As far as she was concerned, patients were patients, and any more discussion on the topic bored her. The only thing she wanted was to work at a station with more activity. Another long yawn ballooned out of her mouth.
When the man approached the nurse's station, she was startled at first. Then she saw how good-looking he was.
"Hello. Welcome to the mutant ward of the Woodbury Medical Center. May I help you?"
"Evenin', mon ami," he said with a disarming smile. "I t'ink you're de only one who can help me tonight. I'm here t'visit my niece."
Those eyes, mutant eyes? Red on black. Were they glowing? The nurse sat up slightly straighter and cleared her throat, "I'm sorry but visiting hours are over, sir. Maybe you can come back in the morning..." Her sentence trailed away as he leaned on the counter toward her.
"M' leaving town t'night, chere, and dis was de only time I could get away from work."
"Oh...what do you do?" She couldn't help her curiosity.
He smiled, "I'm a procurer."
"A procurer?"
"Oui."
"What sorts of things do you procure?"
"Anyt'ing de heart fancies, p'tite."
The nurse's cheeks flushed slightly. She was mildly aware that he was charming her but couldn't seem to care. She had never been the sole receiver of such attentions from a man like this.
"Now, y' t'ink y'can find it in dat kind heart of yours t'give me my last chance t'see my niece?"
He seemed so sincere and concerned. Someone this good-looking usually wasn't, in her experience.
"What's your niece's name?"
"Fiona Wang."
The nurse raised an eyebrow.
He smiled, "Of my brother-in-law."
Of course. nurse wanted to roll her eyes at herself as she looked up Fiona Wang's room in the computer. It was the 21st century. Of course families were more modern and diverse these days. And with a charming uncle like this...
"She's in room 609, just down that hall. Would you like me to escort you?"
"Non, mademoiselle. Don't trouble y'self. I find it on m'own."
The nurse admired the view as he walked away. She sighed wistfully, and decided she needed to have higher standards in dating.
X
Fiona Wang wasn't asleep. She lay in her cot facing the window, mulling over the dull ache of her insides. The abdominal pain had receded since she had been hospitalized, but it was still there, reminding her of how she had gotten there in the first place. Only a single lamp was on in the room, and she saw the man's shadow in the orange glow as he entered. She didn't flinch. He wasn't a danger to her. No one was.
"Fiona Wang?" His voice had a strange accent, some mix of European and…something else her young ears couldn't place. Lack of experience and exposure.
"Who's asking." She didn't move.
"Dat ain't de way t'greet a friend, p'tite."
"You're no friend of mine."
"I usually treat our kind as friends first. Den I decide later if I should unfriend dem... Sometimes."
"Our kind?" Curious, Fiona sat up and faced him. "Your eyes. You're a mutant too."
"Oui."
"So? We're all mutants here. Haven't you heard? They shoved us all here away from the normals."
"You just as normal as any of dem, p'tite."
"I'm as normal as you, dude, and I doubt you're very normal."
He chuckled, "Fair enough." His red on black eyes flicked to the aberrant skin on her right arm.
She noticed and held it up, "My 'gift.'" Her tone was bitter and angry. The skin from her hand up her forearm was an uncanny kaleidoscope of various colors. On closer inspection, one could see that each tiny patch was made of a different material: the copper of pennies, concrete from the sidewalk, papery white from a sketchbook, the luscious green of a leaf, the blue sparkle of sapphire, the silver gleam of steel, the warm red of a conch shell, and countless others.
"You touch all dose t'ings?"
"We have a winner," she drawled and plopped back down on her cot, stared at the ceiling.
"What happens den?"
"My skin turns into the material. Useless mutation, right?"
"I respectfully disagree, p'tite. I have a friend whose skin turns t' steel. Piotr's basically indestructible. He's now traveling de world saving ot'er people like us from dose who would do us harm. Your mutation is a gift, p'tite. T'ink about what you can do wit' dis power."
Fiona continued to stare at the ceiling in silence. Then, "Who are you anyway? What do you want?"
"My name is Remy LeBeau. Evan Daniels sent me. And I'm hoping you can help me figure somet'ing out."
"Evan?" She finally looked away from the ceiling. Her cheeks flushed at the mention of him for the briefest moment before her brown eyes clouded over with suspicion, "Prove that he sent you."
Remy sighed, "I'm a mutant just like you, cherie."
"Weird eyes don't mean anything."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a playing card. It began to sizzle and cackle with kinetic energy between his fingers, though his skin wasn't burn by it. "If I let go, it'll explode right in this lil' room of yours."
"Now that's a power I'd love to have."
"You're fine wit' what you've got, trust me."
"That doesn't prove Evan sent you."
"Fair 'nough. He's been injured and sent me to finish what he started wit' you. He'd tracked you down to dat creek by your house, de one where you found dat injured rabbit and nursed it back t'health. Y' den had quite de conversation and he said he wanted t'help stop de sale of Revive. He was going to organize an attack on the Revive factory before he got…delayed." Because of him and the Marauders. And Malice. Where was that twisted girl these days?
As he spoke, Fiona's suspicion slowly subsided. These were things she had told no one else and only Evan Daniels had been there. He had seemed so strong and certain, the only mutant she knew who really had his stuff together. She had believed he could save them all. "What happened to him? Is he okay?"
"He's a little beat up, but he'll be fine. He's with family now. They're taking care o' him. I leave de rest f' him t' tell you one day. He wanted to tell me he's sorry for losing touch, and he meant it when he said he would not abandon you."
Fiona looked down at the mark of her mutation, "He was the only person I could talk to about this. I lost all my friends in school when it manifested." She lowered her eyes, lips trembling slightly though she remained composed. With gritted teeth she said, "They're a bunch of heartless bitches."
"S'hard f' people t' understand us at first," Remy said.
"I don't care!" Fiona suddenly shouted. "I'm still the same person and that didn't matter! And when those boys cornered me after school and tried to—tried to… they tried to…" Tears welled in her young eyes, and she covered her face with her hands at the memory. The kaleidoscope of colors on her mutated arm scintillated in the faint light of the room.
Remy stiffened and his stomach churned as he understood what trauma she had almost experienced. He hated even the thought of it. "Dat's unforgivable, Fiona. I'm sorry. Someone should have protected you."
"I didn't need protection," she snapped. She wiped her eyes and sighed deeply. "When they held me down, I touched concrete. They couldn't hurt me," she laughed bitterly. "Joke was on them. Broke a couple of their bones before they could pin me down. If I had been just a little stronger… But they didn't like that much. So they forced Revive down my throat and that's how I ended up here."
Remy's eyes narrowed, "So dey knew it was poisonous for mutants."
"Of course they knew. Everyone knows. I was part of a group of students that organized and tried to spread information about Revive. We organized town halls at school and distributed pamphlets before even the grown-ups knew what was up. We had the support of the faculty and even some of the students, but then some people from this anti-mutant group came—the Friends or whatever their lame name was…Friends of Humanity, that was it—and started protesting outside our school and spreading lies about my friends and I. They said we were some mutant power cult that committed 'lascivious acts'—"
"Wait, wait," Remy held up a hand, "how old are you?"
Fiona frowned, "Fourteen."
"Dieu. Dis isn't what you should be dealin' wit'."
"No one else was going to," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm from a tight-knit community. Everyone knows me. I was the school track star. But that didn't save me. Even my parents tried to hide me. I had to fight for myself and the other mutants at my school. We had to protect each other. We were too successful I guess. Too much attention. Thought the community would rise to help. What a freakin' joke."
"Evan said you were visited by a man before you landed in dis hospital. Little more dan a week ago."
Fiona nodded, "Yea he was creepy as hell."
"Pasty skinned? Seemed like de sciencey-type?"
"You buddies or something?"
"Let's just say we got history. What did he want wit' you?"
"He found me on the track field when I was letting off some steam. He watched me from the bleachers like a pedophile then ambushed me with some goon who took my blood. Then he told me it would get better."
"What would get better?"
Fiona shrugged, "Uh, life in general I guess?"
Remy stepped closer to the cot, "Tell me everyt'ing he said, p'tite. Dis is really important. What did he say t' you, precisely. Try to remember any meaningful wording."
Her young brow furrowed as she thought back to that afternoon. "He said my mutation was very interesting, and it would contribute to his 'project'. Then he said he had noticed me on the news for my activism and said he admired my 'gumption,' whatever that means. Then he said things would get better for 'our kind.' Figured he was a mutant with that weird skin and eyes… He muttered something about…'the promised land'? I didn't really understand that relevance of that biblical reference."
Remy felt a slight chill. The events described by the girl had occurred days before Magneto's impromptu announcement. How was this possible? What was the connection? "Seen de news lately?"
"No. I need to shut it all out for a while. Why?"
"Nevermind. Go on, Fiona. What else'd he say?"
"He said I was too gifted to waste my energies on Revive. He said that problem would resolve itself[ML1] , though I don't see how that's possible. Last I heard Revive had already increased distribution. Then he said I was one of 'the Chosen' [ML2] and my time to leave was soon. I mean, isn't that just the most cryptic and creepy thing to say to someone?"
"He say anyt'ing else? T'ink hard, Fiona."
After a few seconds, "No. That was it. What does it mean?"
Remy ran a hand through his hair and moved to the window, "I'll figure it out. In the meantime, you focus on gettin' better. But tell me, where dis Revive factory?"
"Just outside town between here and Bayville. We've protested there a lot."
"Dis HQ?"
"Yea. You're really not making me feel very confident in your abilities here. Couldn't you have just Googled this information?"
Remy smirked, "Just confirmin', cherie. Nothing like getting' info from someone who's been dere, non? And what security did you encounter?"
"Nothing intense. Run-of-the-mill beer-bellies. Revive doesn't exactly have a lot to worry about up there."
"Merci. Y've been very brave, cherie, and now I have a lot o' work t' do. T'ank you f' all you've told me an' rest assured I'm go'n' take care o' dis Revive problem of yours and find dis scientist. If you ever find yourself any trouble y' can't handle on y' own, go to de Xavier Insitute an' find de X-Men. Dey'll help you. Dat's a promise."
"Okay…." She watched him leave, not knowing how to process their conversation. But she had believed what he had said about taking care of it. She lay back down and closed her eyes, feeling a slight lessening of the weight that had been pressing down on her young shoulders for a long time.
X
Atlantic waves crashed against the New England shore, their frantic roar adding cover to any noise Remy made as he worked. The Revive factory was built on a cliff face—a perfectly isolated and easily secured location. With the cliff at the eastern wing and barbed wire fencing to the west, the perimeter required less surveillance on a whole. Or so it was believed. The two security guards monitoring the west entrance, the only entrance, paid no heed to what was happening oceanside.
Remy slowly but surely scaled the eastern cliff face. Every few minutes loose rocks broke free from under his weight, tumbling ominously to the waves pounding jagged rocks below. There really was nothing like hanging at the edge of death to clear one's mind.
He reached the building foundation and hoisted himself onto a window stool. Window by window he climbed, with the dexterity only a master thief or gymnast might have, until he reached the executive office floor. Someone had left the window open after leaving from work. It was too easy sometimes.
Remy dropped into the dark office space. Cubicles blocked out even aisles on the main floor, lined by glass-door executive offices against the walls. Remy went directly for the corner office. A small plaque on the door read: GUY SPEAR. The maker of Powr-8. More and more it seemed likely that Revive was the same product re-packaged.
The door was locked. He recalled the first time he successfully picked a lock as a street kid. He had been eight years old. And this was nothing compared to that door. With a tiny pick, he jimmied the door open and entered without turning on the light. His mutant eyes made it easier for him to see in the dark.
The office was pristine, no papers or files, picture frames or office supplies littering the desk. Not even so much as a pen. Odd. Remy sat in the office chair and peered around. If this were his office and he were a mutant-poisoning businessman with a seemingly obsessive proclivity for tidiness, where would he keep the goods?
He moved the computer mouse. The machine blinked to life. No login required. Again, odd. He opened the documents folder, My Pictures, the local drive-nothing but pre-loaded Windows programs. Nothing at all.
"What the..." he muttered under his breath. In no world did it make sense for any executive's computer to contain no files whatsoever-no work papers, budgets, memos, or reports. The Outlook email had at least been set up. He checked the inbox: 93,836 unread emails to guyspear with various subject lines: Quarterly report Q3..., Office early closure at 2pm..., Returning soon?.., Meeting schedule for..., The press is asking questions..., Budget adjustments..., Coming in today?..., HR meeting..., Absent CEO being noticed..., Accounts receivables question…, Payroll meeting…
Remy skimmed a few dozen emails and gleaned that Guy Spear really wasn't around much, as his staff seemed to frequently voice concern for an erratic CEO.
He began opening the desk drawers. All empty except for the last one at the bottom. A shattered picture frame. Remy pulled the photo free of the glass: an inconspicuous-looking man with an attractive woman and young boy wearing a Powr-8 T-shirt. Guy Spear and his family.
Remy let the photo fall back into the drawer and quietly slid it shut. He began investigating the room, opening every shelf, probing every nook and cranny. After a few minutes it was clear nothing of use would be found there.
He tried the cubicles next. Revive, Inc. did indeed exist and employees did indeed manage business operations, even with a neglectful CEO. For the next hour he rummaged through several work spaces, reading budget notes, meeting minutes, memos... None of it contained any useful information. He wasn't even quite sure what he was looking for, following a blind but unavoidable pull in his gut. There was something here. There had to be.
Suddenly it was right in front of him, a print out of an email chain buried beneath a stack of expense reports and manila folders.
From: mrakansky
To: hcarlyle ; ivwang ; pdurst ; kgutierrez
CC: gspear ; jgovender
Date: Mon, August 11, 2016 at 10:19 AM
Subject: Antananarivo shipment
All,
As discussed in the meeting, priority this week is ensuring on-time delivery of shipment to Antananarivo. Patrick, please liaise with Atlas Logistics on all matters. Gerard is a bit particular. Karolina, all invoices should be processed by accounts payable before week's end to make sure billing isn't missed this cycle.
Best,
Mira
Mira Rakansky
Managing Director
Revive, Inc.
From: pdurst
To: mrakansky ; hcarlyle ; ivwang ; kgutierrez
CC: gspear ; jgovender
Date: Mon, August 11, 2016 at 10:27 AM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
I spoke with Gerard earlier this morning. He said we're on track for the delivery next week. He was adamant about prompt billing, to reiterate Mira's point.
-Patrick
Patrick Durst
Senior Director
Revive, Inc.
From: jgovender
To: mrakansky ; hcarlyle ; ivwang ; kgutierrez ; pdurst
CC: gspear ;
Date: Tues, August 12, 2016 at 12:45 AM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
Hello everyone,
Thank you for the team effort on this. I have spoken with Guy and he is pleased with our progress thus far. Our contacts in Antananarivo have reported they are prepared to receive the shipment. I will be home in Cape Town this week and can easily coordinate things while there. I'm considering a site visit to Antananarivo while I'm in the region. I'll be in touch later with details.
Thank you, team.
Jenaka Govender
Chief Operating Officer
Revive, Inc.
From: mrakansky
To: hcarlyle ; ivwang ; pdurst ; kgutierrez
CC: gspear ; jgovender
Date: Thurs, August 14, 2016 at 9:31 AM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
All—Patrick has informed me that Atlas Logistics ran into some customs issues because of the metal, despite assurances from Mr. Shaw. We'll need to draft the paperwork before the end of the day their time. I'll also set up a call.
Best,
Mira
Mira Rakansky
Managing Director
Revive, Inc.
From: pdurst
To: mrakansky ; hcarlyle ; ivwang ; kgutierrez
CC: gspear ; jgovender
Date: Fri, August 15, 2016 at 3:27 PM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
Gerard and Atlas have expressed their irritation with the holdup in customs. Officials have received our documents but they're still not assured. Shaw informed me this afternoon that he'll be boarding a flight to Antananarivo tonight. He'll need a backgrounder for preparation. I know this is quite the rush assignment but Karola and Ivan, can you guys get started on this?
Patrick Durst
Senior Director
Revive, Inc.
From: jgovender
To: mrakansky ; hcarlyle ; ivwang ; kgutierrez ; pdurst
CC: gspear ;
Date: Fri, August 15, 2016 at 3:29 PM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
I'll be around to advise on this. My flight to Cape Town is late this evening.
Jenaka Govender
Chief Operating Officer
Revive, Inc.
From: jgovender
To: mrakansky ; hcarlyle ; ivwang ; kgutierrez ; pdurst
CC: gspear ;
Date: Monday, August 18, 2016 at 6:53 PM
Subject: Re: Antananarivo shipment
Was just chewed out by Gerard because of issues with the bill of lading with 1,000 of the 5,000 boxes. Get it together guys. Atlas is wanting to talk to Guy immediately. Somebody please have him CALL ME.
Jenaka Govender
Chief Operating Officer
Revive, Inc.
The last email was sent just yesterday. There was no doubt in Remy's mind that the shipments discussed were his first major clue. Nothing in Revive's corporate filings or press releases mentioned sales in South Africa, and especially not Madagascar. So what was being shipped in 5,000 crates to Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar? And more importantly, who was using Revive as a front to send suspicious items through a local shipping company?
The lights in the office area went on. Footsteps and voices wafted from the lobby.
Without missing a beat, Remy hid behind a cubicle out of the lobby's line of view, slowly tucking the emails into this jacket pocket. He listened closely as the voices drew nearer and a man and woman came into the office area. The man was Guy Spear, a blank expression on his face.
"I, of course, appreciate this late hour accommodation, Mira."
"Guy, I wish I could stick with the niceties but you knew when you hired me way back when that it's not really my style."
"Meaning?"
"Where the f# & have you been?"
"Convalescing."
"You've been gone for a month. A month. That is far longer than we ever agreed to."
They moved into the cubicle area, heading for one right beside Remy. He followed the sound of their footsteps, moving around and out of sight as they approached.
"Let's not discuss this now, Mira," Guy replied matter-of-factly. "I came for a specific purpose. We have a problem with 1,000 crates, and this is not ideal."
Mira laughed incredulously, "None of this is ideal, Guy. Also, this was so rushed, not to mention the tiny tiny fact that this isn't exactly our business. Your client in Antananarivo is as demanding as he is mysterious. Who, by the way, I still don't know the name of."
"You do not need to know, Mira."
Mira Rakansky sighed in exasperation as Guy Spear rummaged around a desk.
"Patrick said a copy of the forms are here," he said. "You can fax it over to Antananarivo by morning yes?"
"Just tell me something. Is any of this legal?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Mira hesitated, "Because of what's been going around about our product. About mutants getting sick from Revive…"
"Just rumors. Nothing has been verified."
"But we haven't even tried to test it to discount the rumors."
"We have bigger concerns at the moment."
"How can you say that? Children could be getting sick because of us."
"I didn't know you were one of those mutant-lovers, Mira."
The woman seemed aghast by the statement, stunned to silence.
Guy pulled a manila folder from Patrick's drawers and flipped through the contents, "All is here as he said." He handed Mira the folder, "Please fire him immediately. We cannot tolerate this sort of lack of attention to detail."
Mira's face was a mixture of frustration and disgust. "I don't even know who you are anymore," she glared before marching out of the office.
For several moments after, Guy Spear stood staring blankly into the space Mira was standing at.
Remy watched, his instinct telling him that something was wrong with Guy Spear. He seemed absent, his actions and words almost scripted. Unnatural.
A cell phone rang. As Guy Spear reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, he began to change. He gradually shrank in height, light hair darkening into raven choppy locks, broad frame narrowing into that of a much younger man's.
Merde. A shapeshifter. One that Remy did not recognize.
"Hello, Doctor… Yes, it is sorted, but expect reasonable delays… She will be pleased. You have perfected Trask's method. … No, sir, I am not seeking favors…. I'm sorry, sir." His voice slowly became less monotonous and more pleading, the first emotion Remy heard in the shapeshifter since he first entered the office. "Please, Doctor. … No, no it's not necessary. Please…please… I understand…. Guy Spear is dead, I assure you, feeding the Atlantic fish. …..No, it won't be a problem. Yes, I understand. Yes. Goodbye." The shapeshifter hung up and walked steadily out of the office.
Remy remained perched in his hiding place for several minutes after. Trask's method. Perfected. Doctor. Essex was behind the collars—they were fools not to have put it together sooner. And those collars were being shipped to Madagascar for some godforsaken reason. Bordel de merde, the X-Men had to be told.