August 13, 1992

Warren dragged himself down the corridor, a briefcase clutched in one hand. Everything felt like it was on fire, everything was painful. He was bleeding from his abdomen, but he'd received enough first aide to know that it wasn't life threatening. It didn't worry him.

He was worried about his other injuries though. His wings were torn and bloody. Warren knew that he was missing at least half of one. It had all happened so fast. He forced himself not to think about it as he walked on, leaving behind a trail of blood and feathers.

He leaned up against the wall and keyed in the code for the cockpit. The doors slid open and revealed the pilots. Both of them were on the floor with blood pooling from their mouths and ears. If Warren had to guess he'd suppose that they'd suffered brain trauma. He wasn't surprised.

Warren pulled himself inside and keyed in the code for the doors to lock and seal themselves. They would buy him a minute or two. Worthington Industries had done some planes during a few wars, and they knew how to build sturdy doors.

He dropped himself into the pilot's seat and the briefcase into the co-pilot's seat. The pain from his wings was crippling, but he could work through it. He looked at the controls and tried to orientate himself. The plane was on auto-pilot. Trask must have planned that they would be maintaining their course for awhile.

Trask had also planned on killing him, but since he hadn't succeeded Warren had to guess that Trask's plans were a little faulty. He smiled grimly to himself. Trask hadn't done enough research on him, didn't know about his hand-to-hand combat skills. He had no idea that Warren had been an X-man before he'd taken over Worthington Industries.

He should have known better than to go on a business trip with Trask. They had been discussing a merger for a while, had been doing business together since his fundraiser to shut down the Mutant Registration Act. On paper a merger sounded like a good idea. If Worthington and Trask Industries had combined then they might have knocked Stark off his pedestal. They were all leading technology companies, but if they'd combined they could have reached new heights.

At the same time, he'd never really trusted Trask. Trask had always seemed shifty to him, and Warren had considered ending their partnership. He figured he would make his decision after the trip. Considering that when Trask had tried to shoot him Warren had snapped his neck, he figured that the merger had been cancelled.

At least Warren had been able to destroy most of Trask's designs. He shouldn't have been so shocked that Trask was lying to him about what drove him. However, 'The Sentinel Project' sounded like something Alex would cook up as an enemy in the Danger Room. Warren had erased it completely from Trask's data banks using his portable computer. It was a small design, quite a head of its time.

He hadn't had time to investigate too fully when the next wave had come. Warren wasn't sure just how they'd gotten on the plane, but he supposed it didn't matter. What did matter was that none of the designs Trask had made on that computer were coming out of the crash. He didn't want to take any chances.

Warren winced in pain. He slumped slightly, but he had to stay awake for a while. He needed to override the auto-pilot and figure out what to do from there. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he sure as hell wasn't going to wait idly for something to happen.

He finished the override and took hold of the controls. He'd been good piloting the Blackbird. Alex had always pushed him to be a better pilot. Warren had never known why. If he ever saw him again, he'd thank him.

He doubted he would though. He'd already tried to get in contact with the X-men. After he'd killed Trask and began wiping files from his computer it was the first thing he'd thought of. For some reason his cell phone couldn't contact them. He'd never built up a strong psychic link with anyone, and it had been years since any of the telepaths at the Institute had even brushed up against his mind. He wasn't even in New York: he was nearer to Boston.

In short, no one was coming. The thought was horrifying. There was no one who could help him. However, what he could do was get a move on and keep fighting. Maybe if he acted like he could still win, then there was a chance.

Warren winced as another layer of feathers fell off his shoulders. He forced himself to stay focused, to not look at his ruined wings. He couldn't think about what had been taken from him. If he did then he'd go insane.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. He knew that he had left an easy-to-follow trail. Warren looked at the door. It was reinforced steel. He began doubting how long it would hold. He might have only prolonged the inevitable by putting it on the highest security level.

Warren looked over at the briefcase. With trembling hands he opened it. He'd recorded a video message earlier when he'd started to get an idea of the scope of the situation. It was then that he'd started to wonder if he was going to live through the night.

The file was ready to send. He keyed in the code, double checking to make sure that the message was going to Ororo Munroe. He hit the send and waited impatiently for the file to finish transferring.

Once it had he smashed the computer. He threw what was left of it to the floor and focused on the controls. He thought about Ororo. She was the best friend he'd ever had, someone who'd cared right from the beginning. He smiled to himself. She'd certainly be surprised when she found out just how much of his money and personal belongings that he'd left her.

He'd left a sizable chunk of cash to the Xavier Institute too. He wondered vaguely if they would name a wing after him. Feeling a little weak from blood loss he chuckled to himself. Wing. It was funny.

There was a loud bang on the door. Warren felt himself focusing again. There was no time to laugh. He set a course and looked at the door. There was a dent in it, and he could see where the hinges had started to give way.

He turned the plane sharply. They were almost at Boston. He heard the door continue to bend and quickly jerked the controls to the left. He plugged in a few more numbers just in time for the pounding on the door to stop.

Warren held his breath, knowing that it was unlikely that they would just give up. They hadn't even given up when he'd shot their boss. He got up from his seat and got out of the way of the door. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and waited.

He didn't have long to wait. The door gave way completely and embedded itself in the control panel. Immediately afterwards Warren felt a hand at his throat. He was lifted into the air, even as he kicked and clawed.

"You've led us on quite the merry chase, haven't you?"

The hand pulled him closer. He could feel their breath on his face.

"Having fun?"

"Take...a tic tac," Warren said, "Please."

The next thing Warren knew he hit what was left of the control panel: hard. A few dying electric shocks travelled through his wings and arms. Warren cried out as he was picked up again. He gasped for breath and kicked out, but there wasn't much of a point.

"It appears that you didn't take to your last lesson well."

Warren felt a hand on his wing and braced himself. It didn't stop him from screaming when the wing was ripped completely from his body. For a moment he saw the limb held in his opponent's hand before it was tossed aside.

"Pitiful."

He was tossed again and heard a few snapping noises. He knew his arm was broken now, and his vision was blurring. However, he could still feel the sudden drop in altitude. He was picked up and slammed against the opposite wall from the force, but he couldn't help but grin.

"What is this?"

Warren laughed. When he spoke his voice was barely a rasp.

"Did you think...I didn't...know how to fly a plane?" he said, "Surprise..."

He looked at his opponent and grinned.

"We'll just be...hitting Boston harbor...headfirst," Warren said.

He looked out the windshield. He could practically count the waves on the water now.

"Hope you like swimming jackass," Warren said.

For a moment he felt as though gravity had lost its hold on him and he was flying. Warren smiled. The best parts of his life were when he was flying. He was still smiling when the plane hit the water.


Ororo glanced over her shoulder. Scott stood on one of the catwalks, watching while Remy finished mopping the hanger. Ororo walked up next to him and looked down at Remy's progress.

"Are you going to watch him all day?" she asked.

"Someone has to," Scott said, "If I don't I'm going to find another target symbol on the Blackbird."

He shook his head.

"You'd think nineteen would be too old for this sort of thing," he said.

She laughed. She remembered all of the trouble Warren and she would get into when they were nineteen.

"Remy never really grew out of being childish," Ororo shrugged, "And he's been frustrated recently."

"I know," Scott said, "It...it must hurt to know that he couldn't help us when we needed him."

It probably hurt worse to know that he'd been at the circus of all places while they fought for their lives. If it was anyone else they might have been able to talk it out. Remy wasn't one for talking though.

"I think we just need to give him some time," Ororo said, "Or maybe we can have David or Kurt say something to him. We should probably get Kurt. I hear Kurt's good to talk to, and he might actually listen to him."

"He should be listening to us," Scott said.

"But he won't," Ororo said.

Scott nodded. Ororo felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She picked it up and flipped it open, still watching Remy.

"Hello?" Ororo asked.

"Miss Ororo Munroe?"

Ororo furrowed her brow. She didn't recognize the voice.

"Yes. Who is this?" she asked.

"Miss Munroe, my name is Matthew Murdock. I'm an attorney," he said, "I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you."

Ororo stood still for a while, just listening. She knew that Scott was looking at her, but she felt as though the very floor had been ripped out from under her. Everything was blurring together. She could barely manage a response.

"You...you...you'll hear from me soon," she said.

She slammed the phone shut.

"Ororo?" Scott asked.

Ororo took a deep breath.

"There was a plane crash," she said.

She turned to face Scott, her hand clenched around her cell phone.

"Warren's dead," she said.

The next thing she knew her knees gave out and she was sobbing, her voice coming out in a high, keening wail. The cell phone was in pieces around her, but she couldn't remember dropping it. Scott was trying to keep her from hitting the floor entirely, and she thought, from somewhere far away, she could hear Remy calling her name.

Outside, a storm rolled in.