Quetzal was a physical girl. A great majority of her time was spent working on her body, sculpting it and training it. From the time she woke up to the time she went to bed she was moving and eating. After waking up dawn for a hearty breakfast Quetzal went out for a jog.
"Are you half hobbit or something?" Beast asked her as she tucked into her midmorning "snack."
"I'm a flyer," she said as she tossed a handful of chicken into her salad. "I eat a lot."
She had programmed a simple ballet studio into the Danger Room and spent the rest of the morning there dancing. (She'd left off trying to convince Colossus to join her for her dance rehearsal after his polite refusals became exasperated.) Then lunch and singing practice in her room for an hour. After she was done singing she grabbed a piece of fruit and launched into any chores she had.
When her chores were done she was off doing yoga in the sunroom or weight training in the gym. After an hour or so of that she was ready for combat training. If there was no combat training that day then she was practicing her martial arts.
Done with physical activity she'd attempt to read the history books Jean gave her. But she was very easily distracted from them. She was a very quick study when it came to any physical demand on her during combat training however and didn't complain about any chore. Overall she was industrious, gregarious, and charming and rankled Logan in just about every way imaginable.
From her six meals a day to the hours she spent practicing ways to hurt people, she just bugged him. Her pealing laughter made him grind his teeth and her smile made him uneasy. And he hated the way she jumped if he startled her, on the way down her fingers were clawed and she was wild-eyed, ready for an attack.
Hank liked the girl, so that at least was something in her favor. She was also a hell of a lot more polite than Kitty or Jubilee had been when they had arrived. Quetzal was a southern girl raised on "no sir" and "yes ma'am." And Wolverine had to admit her singing voice was lovely. He happily stopped in the hall to listen while she was practicing her singing.
Still when she floated the idea of a drama department to Scott, Wolverine was uneasy. To let her around the kids seemed like a bad idea. But she couldn't cement a reason as to why.
Now squeezed into her schedule were tryouts and rehearsals for a student version of Hairspray. He hung around the Danger Room (she used the auditorium simulation for the practice space) to keep an eye on things. The students liked "Miss Quetzal" a great deal, but if she could fool Jean then it would be easy to fool the kids.
Quetzal had put a stop to his snooping around during rehearsal quite effectively though. The third practice in she'd turned to him, in front of the kids, and asked if he would like that much to be cast in the musical. No? Perhaps a stage manager? No? Then perhaps he had something more useful to do with his time.
Seething, Wolverine resolved to just stay out of Quetzal's way.
Quetzal was happy to chaperone the trip to the city. The trip to the museum was fascinating. The world that could have been unfolded in front of her. They were at the portion of the history museum that displayed modern history, the fall of the iron curtain. Quetzal was staring at the timeline. "No genetic arms race," she muttered to herself.
"What was that?" Jean asked.
Quetzal did a full body flinch. She turned to Jean. "The genetic arms race. It came after the nuclear arms race. Both sides trying to get around the mutual assured destruction thing by using applied genetics. The Cold War here, it ended much earlier."
Jean longed to get a good look around Quetzal's skull. She and Hank had sat down and tried to puzzle out why Jean wasn't able to read Quetzal's mind. For god's sake she could communicate telepathically with aliens that bore as much genetic resemblance to humans as fruit flies did. But the mystery (and Quetzal's thoughts) went uncracked.
Jean wanted to see the world the girl came from. The only thing she'd gotten from the flinch was a wave of self-flagellation, which made it even more curious. If she wanted information she'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. "What was that shudder about? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just . . . . it feels like strings being pulled out of reality."
Jean guided Quetzal a little further away from the kids. "It felt more personal than that."
"I just feel stupid for being so surprised by it. I should've read all those history books you gave me."
She didn't need to be a psychic to know that didn't account for the strength of the reaction. Jean made a mental note to gently pursue the subject later.
After they got done at the museum, Quetzal kept her eyes on more than the kids. It didn't take too long to find what she was looking for. A man leaning against a wall in a darkened alley, his eyes scanning the crowd for customers.
Quetzal grabbed Jean by the elbow. "Ma'am? I'm gonna make a quick pit stop. I'll meet up with y'all in a few blocks." Before Jean could say anything, Quetzal started to duck into a small Mexican restaurant.
"Where are you going?" Logan growled.
Quetzal didn't stop. "Lunch hit me a little hard," she said over her shoulder. "I'll catch up!" He looked like he might stop her so she prepared to hork up her lunch on his shoes. Lunch was giving her some indigestion and that would be one way to get rid of her aching belly. But he just scowled and shook his head.
Quetzal slid through the dining area and straight back into the kitchen. "Pardon me!" she said loudly in Spanish . "Creepy guy following me. Please let me through." Nobody moved to stop her. She didn't feel bad about the half-truth; Wolverine was a creep as far as she was concerned.
Once she was out in the alley she approached the shady guy near the mouth of the alley. "Hey man," she said as she sidled up to him. "I'm looking for a pick me up." She flashed the cash she had in her hand.
"I'll help you out girl. What you want?"
"You have any coke?" Quetzal smiled coyly. He had no idea about the storm of violence she was about to rain down on him.
He smiled and reached into his pocket, turning his gaze away from her.
Quetzal picked up a piece of rebar and smashed it into his head. Not hard enough to snuff him, just knock him to the ground and daze him. She kicked him three times, once in the solar plexus and twice in the ribs. The ribs cracked and he fought to remember how to breathe after having the wind knocked out of him.
As he wheezed Quetzal patted his pockets. The cash went into her pockets and the drugs she chucked down the storm drain. Finally she found the handgun. An automatic 9mm, nice enough she supposed. Instinctively she checked to see if it was loaded. It was. She thumbed the safety on and stuck in the back of her pants, pulling her jacket over it.
"You bitch," the dealer gasped, finally working his way up to his hands and knees. "I'm gonna kill you."
Casually she kicked him again, flipping him onto his back. "Drug dealers are the second lowest form of human life," she growled as she picked up the rebar again. "I'd suggest finding another line of work." She knelt and covered his mouth with her hand. Before he could struggle away she slammed the rebar into his left kneecap, shattering it.
Her hand muted his shout of pain. His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.
Satisfied with herself, Quetzal left to join the field trip again. She was feeling better about being part of a heroing team now that she was armed. An unregistered firearm was a fantastic asset, allowing you to deal with opponents before they got in arms reach, easy to ditch, and no one would be able to trace it back to her. Plus, she got a drug dealer off the street.
Her dad would be proud.
Three blocks later Quetzal's attention was abruptly diverted. Her dad called her 'bird brain' when she did that. She would see something that would completely divert and focus her attention. Nine times out of ten it was either shiny or food. So it was curious that a non-descript white van caught her attention. She stopped and turned towards a large storefront window.
She picked through her hair as if she were trying to get it styled correctly. Really she was examining the van behind her. Tricks her dad taught her. All little lessons she had learned from him. He was paranoid, and fanatical about how the nebulous 'they' were always out to hurt his family.
"Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean that they aren't out to get us," he would say when she pointed out how insane all this was.
So Quetzal examined the van and the driver, trying to figure out what exactly about it caught her eye.
The van was brand new. Not so much as a scuff on it. Every other work van she had seen was dinged and dirty. But what caught her attention on the second glance was the driver. It was a workman's van, but the driver wasn't a workman. He didn't look like a cop either. He looked like private police. Workmen didn't wear such expensive sunglasses.
Quetzal walked back towards the direction her friends had gone in. She kept her pace at a quick walk, as if she were five minutes late for an appointment.
Another white van caught her eye. She got a better look at this driver. It wasn't reassuring. He looked like private police as well. She made a sharp corner and walked a block or three, before making another turn. She trended towards the direction of Jean and the kids.
Another white van.
Quetzal started a jog. She kept up her random turns until she caught up with her friends.
"Feeling better?" Jean asked.
"Yeah, we might have a problem," Quetzal said very softly. She tried to formulate her vague but definite concerns into something concrete. "It might be nothing – but there are these white vans – I've got a real bad feeling. I think they were heading this way, boxing us in. The guys looked fierce. Paramilitary."
"What makes you think they're paramilitary?"
"They just look like private police." Quetzal said, stymied. "I think we should go someplace safe."
Jean took a moment to scan the surrounding area. "I'm not picking up on anything," she smiled. "You're just letting your imagination run away with you."
Quetzal frowned. "Something ain't right." She wasn't used to having her concerns dismissed so casually. Her dad and sisters would already be looking for someplace to disappear.
Jean smiled. "If there was anything bad I'd sense it."
Quetzal was rubbing at her temple. "Yeah, yeah I guess so. Still . . . ."
"Don't worry about it."
The world was rocked by an explosion. "Can I worry now?" Quetzal shouted over the roar, unable to resist gallows humor.
"Get the kids out of here!" Jean helped pull her up from the sidewalk. The building across the street was in flames and looked precarious. The heroes had work to do.
Quetzal was hauling students to their feet and counting noses. Everyone was accounted for. "Come on!" She hauled on the arms of two who looked like they were going to run off and help save the day. "We have our orders – we vacate!"
"We can help!" the older boy said.
"You can help me get the rest of these kids someplace safe. Take care of your own first, then the civilians."
The girl pulled herself free of Quetzal's grasp and went to the smaller children. Quetzal saw her grab the hands of two of the younger children.
The older boy was still argumentative. "We've got to help!"
"No!" Quetzal said sternly. She took a breath to argue her point.
A white van screeched to a halt next to Quetzal. She shoved the boy behind her as three men in black jumped out. Two more white vans pulled up next to her with more men in black. They had weapons drawn.
Quetzal's body was moving before she rationally processed the thoughts. This is what her dad had worried about, and this is what he had her trained to deal with. She shoved the boy behind her to the ground and lunged at the attackers. Her claws were already sinking into the throat of one man before she fully realized what was going on.
And in that split second when her brain finally caught up to her actions, she froze. Flipping heck, the world seemed to slow down around her. I think I just snuffed that guy. It was different than even the most super-realistic of hard light simulations.
That blink of time cost her. There was a sharp electric pain that took her breath away and made her drop to the sidewalk.
No time to be hurt, she chided herself. No time to puss out. Get up. Put them down. Simple. You aren't injured, push through the pain. Get up. Put them down. The kids were dropping to the sidewalk too. Quetzal took one second longer to gather her strength before she sprung up. As she surged to her feet she drew the gun from her waistband and fired.
She was halfway through the clip before she realized they were wearing body armor. The shots knocked them back but didn't dispatch them. She switched to head shots. A much smaller target but hard to miss at this range. There were more men now and a few more vans too. Quetzal dropped two more men before she ran out of rounds. While she was shooting she stretched her feet out into saurian claws, with talons meant for gutripping tearing through her canvas shoes.
She grabbed at one of the rifles and pulled it loose from the man who held it. She jammed it back into the man's face and was rewarded with a sickening, satisfying crunch. The MIBs were all focused on her now. She was the active threat.
In this clinch Quetzal had the advantage. She had tighter reflexes and years of martial arts training. Combined they gave her parry and riposte reflexes the MIBs couldn't hope to match. She was in a fugue state, striking out wherever she had a target.
"Pull back!" someone shouted. "We got the primary target."
Three of the kids were grabbed from the ground. Quetzal stomped on the skull of one man who was on the ground and sprung after the men who had the children. She was a creature of pure intent now. She had to get the kids back. A rifle butt was slammed into the back of her head and she fell to the ground, seeing stars. Hands grabbed at her and she lashed out blindly, her claws sunk into something giving and hot blood washed over her hands.
When she was upright and could see again, she was surrounded by bodies. Two vans were pulling away. Scott and Logan had finally arrived on the scene. Logan commandeered a motorcycle and took off after the vans.
Quetzal was sprinting. As she ran her arms stretched into wings and they feathered. With a few efficient pumps she was airborne and her speed and altitude were increasing. She stormed through the air, giving sway to her prey drive. That bloody-mindedness that only allowed her to focus on her target.
The door in the back of the van swung open. A man crouched there with a strange looking weapon in his hands. Quetzal heard a squealing sound that was very nearly above her register of hearing. She had already set her wings and was stooping towards the open door as Wolverine lost balance and wiped out.
She hit the man with full force. His bones broke as she slammed into his body. The weapon dropped onto the street. She started to surge forward, but heard weapons being armed and beat a sudden retreat. She spread her wings and soared back into the sky.
The vans suddenly diverged, going opposite directions. Quetzal remained focused on the one she had just attacked. She saw the kids in the back of that van. They weren't fooling her. She stooped again and slammed into the roof of the van so hard her claws sunk into the thin metal. She flattened herself against the wind resistance and lunged forward. Hoping to disable the driver, she punched through the windshield. She ignored the shards of glass in her knuckles. Her adrenaline was up and her prey drive engaged.
The driver slammed on the brakes, pitching her off the roof and sending her sliding down the hood. She shouted something that, if her dad had heard, would have gotten her grounded for three weeks, never mind that she was trying to find purchase on the hood of a speeding van. She caught the grill and got a foothold on the bumper. A more drastic alteration was called for. She leapt at the same time she stretched her neck and face into a saurian nightmare. This time there was no escaping the strike. Her strong jaws clamped on the passenger's head (he was the one raising a gun) and she tore away half his face. The driver sped up, trying to crush her lower body into the car in front of them.
Quetzal quickly pulled her legs up as the van impacted. She was thrown in the rear window of the taxi, glass embedding in her back. Angrily she pried herself out of the vehicle and leapt into the air so she could catch up with her prey again. Her back was on fire. She stooped a third time.
She landed on the roof again. Several rounds were shot blindly through the roof. Three of them tore the feathers of her wings up. She wasn't hurt but she wouldn't be flying off again. She flung herself forward and reached through the window, grabbing the steering wheel. "Flipping heck!" she gritted her teeth and braced for impact as the van spun out of control and started to tip.
Quetzal threw herself free while she was still on top of the vehicle and slammed into a light post and then a car before she went skidding on her back across the asphalt. Stumbling and disoriented and in a great deal of pain, Quetzal tried to make her way to the overturned van. Pain didn't matter, injury didn't matter, her focus was on the kids. She needed to rescue the kids. After the dramatic fashion in which she killed the van she could only hope they were alright.
But the edges of her vision were fuzzy and closing in. There was a horrific pain in her right knee and it wasn't supporting her weight. Not yet, not yet, gotta get to the kids. Don't you dare pass out, don't you dare stop. But as determined as she was there was little she could do about her physical limitations. Where were the heroes? The darkness crept further and further into her vision. "Help!" she croaked. "Somebody help please." She fell, and couldn't quite gather enough coordination to get back up.
"Quetzal! Are you okay?" Cyclops checked her pulse.
She tried to shove him away. "Kids. Get the kids." Despite the rough way he'd pulled on her she was feeling infinitely better. The heroes had arrived. She could slip into blessed unconsciousness now.