This is the big fish! Well, Part One at least. This episode was originally supposed to be around 9,000 words, but I quickly realized it's going to be much longer (in fact, this part alone is 9,000!). This episode is so long, in fact, I'm publishing it in two separate parts. Part One this week, Part Two will be published next week with an exclusive preview of the Midseason Finale.
Guys, I put a lot of work into this series and need reviews to know people are reading my stories! I understand you guys are busy, and I understand that this comes across as begging, but it isn't. Reviews are critical to this story continuing, so please, if you enjoyed, leave a review! If you have any questions you want to ask, suggestions or characters for the story, feel free to PM me! Also, if you really enjoy the story and want to know more about upcoming episodes, check out my profile! For updates around-the-clock, follow me on Twitter (link on profile)!
WARNING: The following episode contains consumption of alcohol, graphic descriptions of violence, and suggestive themes. Reader Discretion is Advised.
"Delta Tango-Two, thirty out."
"Roger, Delta Tango-Two, we count fourteen heat signatures, including the hostages, in the target perimeter. You are authorized for use of deadly force, over."
"Roger, Command, ten out. Lock and load."
The tech assistant turned to General Richard Stoner. "The operation is go, sir."
"Execute." Stoner replied, not moving his eyes from the giant screen showing live camera feeds.
"Delta Tango-Two, Operation Bishop is a go. Repeat: Operation Bishop is a go."
"Roger, Command." The team leader radioed over. "We're going in."
The small helicopter landed quietly on the orange, dusty ground of Southern Africa. Men in SWAT-like uniforms filed out of the helicopter, six on each side. They pulled out assault rifles, M-14 Carbines with silencers and grenade launchers, and moved quickly, quietly towards the single, seemingly abandoned building.
The helicopter lifted into the air and disappeared quickly into the cloudy sky.
"Safeties off." The squad leader whispered, the team lining up quietly on either side of the door. "Eagle, what've we got?" the squad leader added, talking to Command.
"One bogey coming towards the door now. Three in the first room. Recommend stealthy takedown."
"Roger," The squad leader whispered. "John, take this guy, me and these two will take out the three inside. Catch 'em 'fore they fall. Keep quiet!"
The first somali pirate walked through the front door, lighting a cigarette. He saw the team, but before he could move he had a piece of lead silently injected in his head and was moved to the side of the door quietly, invisibly.
"On three, storm." The leader said, holding up a fist. "One, two, three! Go! Go! Go!"
The squad leader, the one behind him, and one on the other side of the door ran into the room, three shots fired quietly, three bodies caught just as silently.
"Delta Tango-Two, you have eight bogeys remaining, three in the back room, five in the next."
"This could get loud, recommendation, Command?"
"Half of you storm the first room, while they do that, the other half move in and get to the hostages." General Stoner's voice came over the radio.
"Roger, go on five." The captain called. He held up one finger, two...five.
Twelve men swarmed the kitchen and eating room of the small house. Six soldiers opened fire, six ran through the fire-fight and kicked down the door to the next room.
"NATO! FREEZE!" They yelled. All three pirates pulled up guns and pointed them at the soldiers, all three fell dead to the ground.
"Team One, Kitchen secure."
"Team Two, Hostages secure."
"Good job, Delta," Command came over the wire. "What is the condition of the hostages?"
The Captain walked over to the two women tied to chairs and pulled the rags off their heads...
...Except they didn't have heads. Whomever the bodies had belonged to, someone had replaced their heads with packages of C4. The captain followed a wire to the second pirate.
"Dead man's switch." he whispered. "Everyone out now! The hostages are not here! Repeat! It's a trap! It's-"
The line went to static.
"What happened?" Stoner demanded. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded again, leaning over the tech's shoulder.
"I don't know, sir. Communications are fried."
"Sir!" a second tech called from across the room. "Massive heat blooms! There was an explosion, sir!"
A third yelled from up front. "Incoming transmission, General!"
"On-Screen!" Stoner yelled. "Trace it!"
An image of two women, tied to chairs and gagged with a somali pirate standing nearby, came on screen.
The two women were dressed in ragged, ripped, and burnt dresses. They had obviously been at a fancy party when they were abducted. Both had jet-black hair and tears in their blue eyes. One was about forty, the other in her late teens. The pirate himself was dressed in jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and a red headband.
"Greetings, General." the pirate greeted with a sly, toothless smile.
"Who the hell are you?" Stoner demanded.
"My name is unimportant." the pirate responded. "What is important, is the fact you just raided one of our warehouses. It looks like it didn't end well."
"You just killed twelve soldiers!" Stoner yelled.
"You ordered them there, General." the pirate responded. "Regardless, I am willing to forgive you and let the women go..."
"...if the funds I demanded are put into the account requested in the next thirty seconds. If not..." the pirate glanced at the two women. "One of these women will die."
"That kind of transaction is impossible and you know it!" Stoner yelled.
"Well then General, I'll give you some control over the situation." the pirate sighed. "You choose who lives and who dies."
"What?"
"You have fifteen seconds, General."
"I'm not choosing who's going to die!"
"Ten seconds!"
"You fucking psychopath!"
"It's clear you don't take me seriously. Five seconds, General."
Silence.
"Very well, the daughter it is."
"No! Don't shoot her!"
The pirate smiled and turned, shooting the mother three times in the chest. The daughter screamed through her gag as her mother's body hit the floor, still shaking with the after effects of death.
"Twelve hours, General. If the funds are not in my account by then, if you attempt a rescue, I will torture this girl, rape her, break her bones, until I have what I want. Good day, General."
The screen went black.
"General?" a tech asked after a moment of silence.
"Get me Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. on a private line now. And call Derek Bishop,"
The pirate smirked at the girl with jet-black hair as she cried over her mother's body.
"Tell him his wife is dead, and Kate Bishop is still in imminent danger."
X-Men: Standing Guard
Season 1 Episode 6
"Bishop"
Xavier Institute
December 1, 15:32 EST
72 Hours Earlier
Lightning flashed.
Thunder clapped.
The rain continued to pour down.
Kitty watched out the window, head in her arms. She was very depressed and the weather wasn't helping. She had already visited Storm in the attic flower garden, but Storm had replied she wouldn't change the weather, that sometimes the world had to run its course without interference. That had only made Kitty mad. She remembered explicitly the way she had destroyed that flowerpot and Storm's reaction. Kitty's backside still stung from the lightning.
It was strange, the brunette thought as she tugged on her boots, that it was rain, and not snow. This time of year in New York, the white-stuff normally was inches deep on the ground. This year though, it seemed as if the world were out to "screw her over" as she so aptly put it. Kitty tried to put one arm through her rain-coat's sleeve, but it refused to go in. She yelled something in frustration, kicking over the umbrella stand and phased her arm through the sleeve before storming onto the front porch.
Most of the mutants had gone home for Thanksgiving with their families.
"Their loving, fucking families." Kitty growled, kicking the gravel driveway hard. The rain increased as if to spite her and she pulled her hood over her head.
Kitty didn't. Kitty never went home. When she learned she was a mutant, when she received the offer to come live at the Xavier Institute, she accepted happily. She had wanted, more than anything, to get away from her family. For years she had yearned for it. Her father was a drunk bastard who her mother had divorced. Their custody used to be split with Kitty's mother getting her most of the time.
"Traded like a doll..." Kitty muttered, kicking the grass now, accidentally kicking a puddle and splashing water over her pants. She cursed and continued. "No, I want Kitty this week." "That's not fair, you had her last week."." Kitty mimicked.
Two weeks with her Jewish mother drilling religion, sacraments, obedience, discipline, and faith into her. Two days with her father who didn't care what she did as long as she ran to the store in the morning to buy him beer, and stayed out of the way of his meth dealers.
Kitty growled. The Xavier Institute was growing steadily worse too. She'd been here for almost two years, the anniversary of her arrival was next week, and she felt like her life was repeating itself. Things had been great for the first year and a half, but the past six months had been hell. Erik had left and taken most of Kitty's so-called "friends" with him. Bobby had arrived and he had been nice, but even he had betrayed her. Everyone who she had been friends with, except Kurt, had left her. Kurt had Amanda though, so he wasn't around much.
Kitty sighed sadly. Then she became enraged. Who was she to be sad? She wasn't the one who should be sad, she should be angry. Nothing that had happened to her was her fault. It was theirs, all theirs!
Kitty yelled and slammed her fist into the tree, hard. She yelled in pain and continued to beat on the tree until her fists were bloody from punching and her feet were sore from kicking. She pressed her forehead against the trunk and bit her lip, closing her eyes. She let out a brief sob, high-pitched, short, and quickly stopped. Then she did it again, breaking into tears of sorrow, loneliness, anger, frustration. She turned and slid down the tree, the rain falling around her as she sat on the wet ground and cried and cried. Tears flowed freely from her eyes and her sobs were not silenced. She cried for a good, long while, at least half an hour.
She wiped her tears gently from her eyes, letting out some more, quieter sobs. She took a deep, shaky breath, and stood up, brushing herself off. The rain had ceased, but it had failed to wash the blood off of her fingers. She reached her hand up to her mouth and suckled on a knuckle as she walked back. She could taste her blood and it gave her a deep sense of satisfaction, one she did not understand. She walked quietly, solemnly, towards the Xavier Institute. She was still angry, very much so, but she felt better after having the chance to cry. She only needed to do it once, just once. She wouldn't do it again, she promised herself. There was no need to. Her mind was clearer now. No one cared, she was on her own.
She walked inside and took off her boots. The umbrella stand had been picked up, she noted. She hung her coat on the coat-rack and pulled her wet hair back in a pony tail. She was lonely, so lonely. All she wanted was to be with someone, someone who actually cared. Since she knew that would never happen, she decided she'd settle for some hot-chocolate and a movie in her bedroom. Something sad and romantic.
Kitty walked into the kitchen. No one was here. Only Jean, Scott, and Wolfsbane were still here. Kurt was with Amanda, Bobby had gone home to his parents, Emma was in England visiting her cousin, Cannonball and Amara had gone home to their families and Danielle had an emergency in her home village.
Kitty smirked in a sad sort of way. Even Danielle had left her.
The chocolate was in the third cabinet from the left on the upper side. It was in bar form, almost pure cocoa, and very delicious. Kitty bit off a small piece and nibbled on it as she moved to the fridge to grab the milk from the refrigerator: 2% skim milk. There was about a half gallon left in the pitcher; that was more than enough.
Kitty dug around in the cabinets beneath the stove-top until she found a pot. She put it on the stove and began warming it up, measuring out her milk. She pulled out another pot and dumped the cocoa bars in it. She reached into the refrigerator again and grabbed two eggs, cracking them and whipping them in a separate bowl before adding them to the cocoa. She poured a gracious amount of sugar into the second pot and mixed the ingredients together until the chocolate had melted.
The milk was warm now, and Kitty poured the chocolate into the milk slowly, so as not to splatter anything. She stirred the two together before reaching into the cabinet above her and grabbing the jar of vanilla extract. One teaspoon was probably too much, but Kitty din't care.
She realized, as she stirred the hot chocolate, that she had started humming. She wasn't familiar with the tune, but kept humming it with a pleasant smile on her face. It took her another moment to realize she had turned invisible, as had her clothes and the spoon. She quickly altered her body to be visible again.
The chocolate was done. Kitty grabbed two cups and poured the chocolate into both, but left the pots on the stove. She walked up the two flights of stairs and down the long hallway to her room. She phased through the door and proceeded to her bed. She set down the two steaming cups and phased through the floor to the kitchen again, grabbing a plateful of chocolate chip cookies before running back upstairs to her room.
Kitty slipped out of her wet clothes, dropping them to the floor. She slid on a white bathrobe, not caring how it looked on her, only how it felt. She grabbed the remote for the television and turned it on, flicking to a channel she knew always carried romantic, depressing movies. She leaned over into the drawer of her nightstand, pulling out a silver and black flask. She unscrewed the cork and poured a generous amount of the brown liquid inside into each cup of hot chocolate before sitting back on her bed and taking a long sip.
Kitty had fallen asleep somewhere around midnight. The movie continued to play on the television until the auto-timer shut it off. Both cups of hot chocolate were drained, as was the flask. The cookies had been eaten too. Kitty lay on her stomach, sprawled on her bed; her white robe having fallen over one shoulder and the hem was rolled up high on her left thigh, exposing most of the pale leg. She lay in varying versions of this until almost ten the next morning. She groaned and rolled over onto her back as the sun finally filtered its way through the clouds and her window, awakening her.
Kitty groaned and stood up, shakily. Her head hurt, her throat felt dry and parched, she was dizzy, and she had the urge to go throw up in the bathroom.
...which she did, multiple times, until she was groaning in pain. She stood up and washed her mouth out at the sink, rubbing the cold water over her face. Kitty sighed and looked in the mirror. She didn't like what she saw. Kitty dropped her robe, walking into the shower and turning it on scalding hot.
She took a shower for almost an hour, letting the hot water rush through her hair, over her tense shoulders and muscles. She felt the heat warm her body, her legs, her breasts. She washed herself, flinching as she rubbed the dried and cracked blood off of her hands. They were still scarred, very badly, and would take some time to heal.
Kitty dried herself and slipped on a new robe, walking to her closet and getting dressed in jeans and a blue turtleneck with the sleeves that covered down to the tips of her fingers. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror. Too much crying, too much sadness...
Kitty wandered back into the bathroom and put in her contacts. It helped to distort the redness in her eyes, but not completely get rid of it. She slipped the flask from the night before into her desk drawer, making a mental note to get a bigger size and refill it. She grabbed the plate and glasses and phased through the floor into the kitchen next to a startled Jean. Kitty groaned and clutched her head, the pain intensifying like a fire with gasoline sprayed on it.
Kitty dumped the dishes in the sink and reached into the small cabinet where the medicine was kept. At that moment, Rahne and Scott walked into the kitchen, Rahne running and jumping into her chair at the table in wolf form, morphing into a human.
"You look happy, Rahne." Jean noted.
"Me dad replied to the le'er I sent 'im!" Rahne exclaimed, patting the pocket of her jacket.
"I'm glad to hear that!" Jean exclaimed, washing the dishes Kitty had dumped. "It's always nice to receive something from home."
"Speak for yourself," Kitty muttered, pulling out the Tylenol and pouring a handful. She grabbed a glass of water and downed them. Jean looked over in concern.
"Did you count those?" she asked.
"Why?" Kitty asked rather snottily, taking another sip of water. "Should I have?"
Scott started to say something, but Jean gestured for him not to.
Kitty left the room to go who-knows-where as Rahne turned on the television.
"What's up with Kitty?" Scott whispered to Jean.
"I don't know," Jean replied in the same whisper tone. "She's been acting very weird recently. It must be the holidays, not being able to go home, all of her friends gone...it's been a very different holiday so far for all of us."
"Yeah..." Scott replied. "I don't know, Jean, I think something else is going on with her."
"What?" Jean asked.
"Hey, guys?" Rahne asked. "Who's that?"
Jean and Scott looked at the red-head who was pointing at the television. An image of Kate Bishop and her mother Eleanor Bishop were on screen.
"We're coming to you now with a breaking news story. We've just received word from the American Embassy in Africa that Kate Bishop and Eleanor Bishop, daughter and wife of publishing mogul Derek Bishop have been abducted by land pirates. The pirates have yet to name their demands, but we will keep you posted..."
S.H.I.E.L.D. Heli-Carrier
December 3rd, 11:32 EST
T+ 0:01:36 after Operation Bishop
"General Stoner," Fury greeted, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth as he walked into the communications room of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Heli-Carrier.
"Director Fury," Stoner greeted with a solemn nod.
Richard Stoner was nearly twenty years older than Nick Fury, placing him at almost seventy years of age. His silvery hair was thinning and his face beginning to wrinkle. He looked tired, worn out, too old to continue onward. He was wearing a crisp military suit decorated with many medals. His hair, thin as it may be, was combed in a very militaristic manner, slicked to one side. His hair was so thin, that while his hairline had not recessed, one could see every inch of his scalp.
His light blue eyes, encased in wrinkles of skin, seemed just as tired as his body did. They had seen happier days, and, combined with the wrinkles around his mouth, he had been much happier in days of present past.
The other man on the communications screen was leaving his middle age with regret. He was short, probably 5' 7", and was slightly overweight, enough to notice, but not enough to be called "fat". He had a round face with a sharp nose and soft chin. His hair was mostly gone except on the sides and back of his head where short, waxy hair lay sticking out from his scalp. He had a thin beard, just along his jawline, of the same black hair. A small goatee hung beneath his lower lip like a scab that had only halfway come off, and a thin mustache curved over his upper lip, making it seem as if he were frowning constantly. He had dark eyes which glinted like his bald head. He had many frown lines on his face from hours at the office.
He was wearing a white business shirt with the first two buttons undone. His tie was loose and his jacket unbuttoned. He appeared very nervous, fretting, and angry.
"What's the situation, General?" Fury asked, walking up to the holo-screens and clasping his hands behind his back.
Nick Fury was dressed in a black dress shirt and black combat pants. Over this he wore a trench coat of a lite, metallic-blue. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo sat on each shoulder. His eye-patch was very contrasting against his pale skin. Fury seemed calm, determined, and very emotionless. This was not a man you wanted to play poker with.
The holo-screen deck he was standing in was a 270 degree spherical shape curved to fit his body. The screens glowed white, not blue as most people envisioned holograms. Fury could interact with the hologram as if it were a touch screen using minute laser beams that detected his finger movements.
"We attempted a rescue of Kate and Eleanor Bishop precisely two minutes ago." Stoner started. "We were led into an ambush and our soldiers were killed." Stoner took a deep breath. "In addition to that, Eleanor was murdered over a video transmission...and we have twelve hours before Katherine ends up the same way."
"She's dead?" The bald man asked. "My wife is dead?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bishop." Stoner started.
"Sorry?" Derek Bishop demanded. "Sorry? You think you're sorry? My wife is dead you son of a bitch and it's because you didn't do anything!"
"We tried to-"
"Stop!" Fury ordered. The two men fell silent.
"Mr. Bishop, I understand this is hard for you-"
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do." Fury said through gritted teeth. "Your wife is dead, Mr. Bishop, but we can still save your daughter. That's why General Stoner here called me."
"What are you going to do that he can't?" Bishop demanded.
"Well for one," Fury replied, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth again. "I have access to more resources and can do things that the General necessarily can't. Also, I'm going to instruct you to have the ransom money ready to be paid. If worst comes to worst, we may be able to track down their location by tracking the wire transfer."
"So that's your plan?" Bishop demanded. "I thought that the United States government didn't negotiate with terrorists!"
"They don't." Fury said. "And we aren't the government, we're S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm calling in a special agent and team right now. They'll be in Africa within the hour and will find your daughter, no matter what it takes. Be ready to pay the ransom money though."
Derek Bishop was silent.
"General Stoner, with all due respect, your services are no longer required for this mission."
Stoner nodded and his screen disappeared.
"We'll get your daughter, Mr. Bishop." Fury promised softly.
"You better." Bishop replied, exhausted. His screen, too, disappeared.
"Assistant Director Hill," Fury called. "Contact Agent Hawkeye. Tell him to report to the bridge immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Fury left the communications room, trench coat flowing behind him.
New York City
December 2, 23:56 EST
12 Hours Earlier
Kitty swayed rather drunkenly at the bar. She'd downed God knows how much alcohol. Everything was blurry and spinning. The brunette waved the bartender over.
"Can I get something really...strong?" she asked, struggling to think of the word. "Oh! And I want something with lots of olives, lots and lots of olives."
"How about coffee, ma'am?" the bartender asked politely. He was young, mid to late twenties. He had a thin, neatly trimmed brown beard and short-cut, also neatly trimmed brown hair. His eyes were brown and he was slightly shorter than average, right under six feet. Kitty thought he looked very...once again she had trouble finding a word appropriate for the situation. He was dressed in a black pants and a vest with a white dress shirt and cyan bow-tie, the signature of the club. He set down his towel and leaned over the bar to Kitty as he asked this question.
"Coffee and olives?" she asked, rather dazed. "You suck as a bartender."
He sighed and stood up, looking at her almost regretfully before walking away.
"Hey! Don't forget the olives!" she called, perhaps a little too loudly. Several other people at the bar glanced at her.
Kitty turned and looked at the dancing, the colorful spotlights, all the girls in their dresses and men trying to get laid... She sighed. What a riot this was. These people could all drop off of the Brooklyn Bridge and she wouldn't give a damn. What had these people done to deserve to be here? They'd had it easy throughout their lives while Kitty had to suffer...
The name of the club she was in had escaped her memory after the fifth margarita. She had phased through the wall into the bathroom. Anyone who wanted to enter the club had to prove they were of legal drinking age (because what else where you there for?) so the bartenders assumed she was legal and kept giving her what she wanted.
The interior of the bar was gold and green. What looked to be goblin's faces were on the wall, huge yellow eyes with black, animal-like pupils glaring at you as you passed by. A bright, red mouth with sickening yellow fangs glared at lovers unexpectedly from closing doors and underneath tables. The music that was playing seemed to have an underlying laugh, one that seemed to be taunting Kitty.
The club was two stories with...lounges on the second story. The tables were see-through and hour-glass shaped with LED lights providing an almost spooky atmosphere to the furniture. The floor was decorated with a consecutive, overlapping design of circles and half moons. Kitty thought they looked funny as they swirled.
Kitty herself had gotten dressed up fancy, but hadn't cared enough to put that much work into her appearance. She was wearing a dark blue cocktail dress that hugged her figure very tightly, showing off her beautiful curves and flat stomach. The neckline started probably too low, showing part of Kitty's bra, and the hem barely reached below her butt. The dress itself had a large "V" shape starting at Kitty's breasts and narrowing itself like an upside-down triangle to between her legs. The back was unzipped slightly, she hadn't bothered to look perfect.
Kitty's eyes were glowing an irradiant blue in the dark, gold eye-shadow emphasizing the color, and her brown hair was done up fancily, pulled back in a bun on the back of her head. Her hair still found ways to curl around her face, though, strands of loose hair flying all over the place as she swayed. Her lipstick was the only thing done well on her appearance. If one glanced at her, they would have to assume that she put on lipstick, got drunk, and put on everything else.
The bartender returned, but with another man dressed in a full suit.
"Hello," Kitty said, very drunk. "You're big, you work in private security?"
"Ma'am, I think you've had enough to drink." the man in the suit said. He was, indeed, tall and very large, wide in the shoulders and thighs. He was of african-american descent and was standing with his hands clasped together in front of him.
"I think I'm still thirsty!" Kitty replied tauntingly, reaching over and snatching another woman's drink. She exclaimed in surprise, but could do nothing but watch as Kitty downed the whole thing in one swallow, keeping her eyes locked on those of the guard. She set the glass down so hard it shattered.
"Alright, ma'am, leave now and we won't press charges." the guard said.
Kitty leaned close into his face, her breath reeking, and whispered.
"Kiss. My. Ass."
Kitty turned back around to grab another drink, but the guard grabbed her arm.
"It's time for you to-"
Kitty phased her arm through his.
"Don't-touch me." she ordered. She turned back around. "Bartender! Another drink! And I want olives this time! Lots of 'em!"
The guard tapped his ear-piece. "Ms. Osborne, we have a mutant who is intoxicated and refuses to leave." Silence. "Yes, ma'am."
The guard pulled out his taser and fired. Kitty phased and the guard ended up tazering the bartender who let out an embarrassing sound and collapsed. Kitty turned with a smirk and hit the guard hard enough that he fell down. Kitty smirked again.
"You wanna see what a real mutant can do, fat albert?" she demanded.
Two other guards ran up, but Kitty disappeared. The two guards looked around. One collapsed. The other looked around. Where was the mutant? He heard a whistle and turned around. Kitty smashed a bottle over his head.
NYPD Precinct 11
December 3rd, 01:23 EST
"Sir, I'm going to need to see some identification before I can let you leave with this young woman."
"Certainly not a young lady..." Rahne muttered.
"Shh!" Kurt warned. "Zis is vhy zey don't let rookies come along."
Rahne looked at the ground.
Charles was quickly growing tired of the police woman trying to get him to confirm his identity to pick up Kitty.
"For the last time, Katherine Pryde attends my school, the Xavier Institute. She is a student there and her parents have legally signed over guardianship to me!" Charles exclaimed.
The police woman repeated herself. Charles sighed, leaned his head against his two fingers and focused. The woman stopped mid-sentence, typed a few things on the computer, and tossed the keys to Charles, giving him the number of the cell.
"Thank you!" Charles said, quite relieved. He wheeled himself over to the designated prison cell and up to the bars.
"Kitty," he said sternly.
"Shh..." she whispered. "Too loud."
"Kitty," Charles said softer. "You can come back to the Xavier Institute now."
"Mmmmm..." Kitty slurred, poking out her lower lip and looking upwards as if in deep thought.
"Kitty!"
"Naaahhhh..." Kitty slurred again. "It's rather dark and quiet in here, not like there with the mutant kuh-razeh kids."
"Kitty, keep your voice down!"
"What?" Kitty asked, standing up and staggering towards the open door. "Are you afraid of what they'll think if they find out you're a-" Kitty leaned in close, her breath still reeking of alcohol. Rahne scrunched her nose and whimpered, taking a step backwards. "mutant?" she asked.
"Kitty, that is quite enough." Charles turned and began to wheel away. "Come along."
"Yessiree, bob!" she slurred again, stumbling out of the police precinct.
"Kitty, I want you upstairs in your room. We'll discuss what you did and what your punishment will be tomorrow when you're not so drunk." Charles said, wheeling in the front door of the Xavier Institute, obviously infuriated. "Thanks for keeping the rain off of us, Storm." Xavier said, noting the female's arrival.
"You're welcome, Charles. What happened to Kitty?"
"She got drunk and assaulted a bartender and three guards along with two police officers." Charles said.
"Oh my."
"Yes, we'll be discussing her punishment tomorrow." Charles said, looking over at Kitty who was desperately trying to stumble out of her heels without falling over. He raised his voice. "I'm sure it will be quite severe."
Rahne looked at Charles. "Profess'r, do ye mind if I go run around in the yard a wee bit?"
"That's fine, Rahne." Charles said.
Rahne morphed to wolf form and darted into the dark night.
"I'm going back home, Herr Professor." Kurt said. "Let me know if anything changes, ya?"
"Thank you, Kurt." Charles said.
The teleporter nodded and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
"I'll help Kitty get undressed, Charles. You go get some rest." Storm said.
Somewhere in Africa
December 3rd, 11:43 EST
T+ 00:012:32 Operation Bishop
"Commander, we are receiving a transmission from the Americans." One pirate called from an entirely too sophisticated computer system.
"Put him on screen," the Captain ordered. He was the man who had shot and killed Eleanor Bishop not three feet from her daughter.
The room was small, probably ten square feet. Dark red carpet covered the floor and the walls were painted a cream color. One wall was a door and seating. The wall opposite of this was a large multitude of screens. A third wall, to the left of the screens, was hosted by a desk, three chairs, and an insane amount of technology for land pirates. Screens monitored by three men had security cameras on the outside of the building where a group of young boys were playing soccer, radar surveying the airspace, communication grids, and countless other computer programs. One man tapped a pop-up window, hit the "accept" button, and slid it off of his screen and onto the large one with a single flick of his finger.
A man's image popped up on the screen. He was young and fit, very militaristic. His blonde hair was shaved down to a strict, professional buzz cut. His eyes were blue, but like shards of splintered ice, they were cold, unforgiving, and piercing, like he was staring into your soul and determining how to take you down. He wore a military suit over his slim, fit body.
"Director Stryker," the captain greeted. "Good to hear from you."
"I was ordered to give you a heads up: S.H.I.E.L.D. is sending a team to find you. You should hurry up with Katherine Bishop's execution. Your new identity and ship are waiting at a port approximately thirty kilometers from your location." Stryker said.
"I gave them twelve hours, so I have to wait twelve hours." the captain said. "Don't worry, Director, they'll never find us."
"You had better hope so, captain." Stryker said, his face contorting to anger.
"I have a question before you go, Director." the captain said, placing one hand behind his back and leaning his head on the other. "If you are in charge of the Sentinel Project, who orders you?"
"The Secretary of Defense." Stryker replied. "Good day, captain."
The captain smiled rather sinister-like as Stryker's image disappeared from the screen.
Xavier Institute
December 3rd, 15:23 EST
T+ 03:52:59 Operation Bishop
The S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter landed gently in the front yard, it's blades slowing and coming to a halt. Nick Fury and another man disembarked from the helicopter.
Nick Fury was dressed in all black, trench coat included. He had put on body armor and leg armor. He seemed rather cold and his face was unshaved, leaving some stubble. Fury had been working overtime to keep Wolverine and X-23 from meeting, tracking down rogue vigilantes (they seemed to be sprouting up like cases of the Flu), and doing the manual S.H.I.E.L.D. work over the holidays.
The second figure was dressed in civilian clothes. Dark jeans and a leather jacket over a dark purple shirt. He wore combat boots and a low baseball cap along with dark sunglasses. He had a strange, round cylinder slung over his back and a pentagonal shaped...thing hanging from his hip. He walked silently but deadly.
"Charles!" Fury greeted, shaking the wheelchair bound man's hand. "You really should install a helipad."
"I'm considering it." Charles replied. "Who is this?"
"Inside. We have things to discuss." Fury replied.
"Kate Bishop?" Charles asked.
"Yes," Fury replied, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and blowing once before sticking it back in. "She's in Africa and in grave danger. We have less than nine hours to find and rescue her or pay the ransom. We'd love to avoid paying the ransom all together, and if we're forced to..." Fury held his cigarette in his other hand. "Well,"
Charles nodded. "So you are here..."
"For the X-Men." Fury replied, putting the cigar back in his mouth and puffing.
"Director Fury, our numbers have dwindled recently and most of those who are left have gone on vacation or home to their families." Charles explained, gesturing to the empty house.
"Who's left?"
"Jean, Scott, our newest recruit who I absolutely will not allow in the field, and...Kitty."
"You list her with hesitation." Fury noted.
"She has been...unapproachable as of late."
"You mean getting into bar fights at clubs like Gremlin." Fury stated more than asked.
Charles looked at him.
"I am the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." he replied with a simple smile.
"Very well. What about Logan?" Charles suggested.
"There's a tine for a hammer and there's a time for a scalpel. Now's the time for a scalpel." Fury said. He glanced at the other figure on the couch. "Besides, Agent Wolverine is currently preoccupied in an undisclosed location. That's why he's here."
"Yes and who is he?" Charles asked.
"Agent Hawkeye, sir." the man replied with a gravelly voice.
"Agent Hawkeye will be leading the rescue team. Only three can go with him. I'd like Kitty, Jean, and Storm."
"I'm afraid Kitty can not leave the Institute. You'll know why." Charles said simply.
"I'm not asking." Fury replied, looking at his cigar.
Charles stared at him, hard. The two were in a casual stand-off, the tension in the room rising. It was broken by Kurt teleporting in.
"Oh, hallo, Professor!" Kurt greeted. "Just dropped by for a few things."
"Kurt!" Charles called.
"Yah?"
"Director Fury is assembling** a team to rescue Kate Bishop in Africa. If it wouldn't be too big of a bother..."
Kurt sucked in his breath, his head moving as if he were trying to balance a scale of 'yes' and 'no' on the top of his head.
"Let me grab zis stuff and ask Amanda if it's okay. I'll get back to you, Professor!"
Kurt teleported away again. A faint sound was heard echoing throughout the house as Kurt teleported to his room, then again as he left.
"Well I guess we're done here for now." Charles started, but Fury held up a hand.
"You don't understand. We're leaving in ten minutes, with or without the little blue elf." Fury said. "We have a very strict time limit, Professor. I'm sorry."
Fury stood up, Hawkeye with him.
"We'll have the chopper ready for take off." Fury said.
Somewhere in Africa
December 3rd, 15:31 EST
Kate Bishop looked around the room. It was empty. There were two doorways, one leading into the base, another leading to a bathroom. Every time the Captain had walked in and out, he had used the right door. Kate assumed that was the one she needed to go through.
The bound and gagged girl looked at her mother's body lying on the floor. She was so beautiful, so at peace. Kate had inherited her mother's looks for the most part. Deep-set, crystalline blue eyes, a nose that curved like a cherry, cheekbones that shaped her face in such a perfect way, her chin was soft and subtle, and her mouth was small and round. The one thing Katherine Bishop had inherited from her father was his jet-black hair. Both her mother and her sister were brunettes, but she had jet-black hair. It was long, hanging to a few inches above her elbows, and done in curls around her shoulders. There was faint evidence of a purple streak that she had dyed out of her hair recently.
Her body was small, but strong. While maintaining her feminine looks, Katherine Bishop was very well built. Her shoulders were wide and strong, her figure was beautiful, curving in at her hips and out at her waist, the perfect hourglass form. Her assets weren't overly obvious, but they also weren't very subtle either.
She was dressed in a purple dress with one strap slung over her right shoulder. The dress was probably tighter than it should have been, but Kate couldn't help but give the boys something to look at. She had worn white heels, they had been removed, and white gloves. The dress was ripped underneath her right arm, exposing skin she didn't want shown. There was a gash down one leg and many smaller cuts and holes around her stomach. Her hands were tied behind her and she was gagged.
Kate looked at her mother's body again. She was much older than Kate. Kate was seventeen, her mother was in her late forties, and beginning to show it. Eleanor Bishop's hair was dun up in a bun, streaks of brown accenting it. Two silver hairpins held it up. Her mother's dress was an emerald color that was simplistic: two straps, an eloquent and subtle stitching design, the fabric hugging her body loosely, and stopping at her shoulders and knees. She looked very much like an older version of Kate. Her eyes were closed, she must have shut them upon death. Kate's tears fell rapidly on the three crimson stains in her mother's chest.
She had to get out of here. She was going to die unless she took fate into her own hands, seizing it by the reigns and forcing it in the direction she wanted it to go.
How, though? She was tied to the chair and gagged. There were no weapons, no knives or needles or-
Kate's eyes widened. The silver hair pins! But how to get them? Kate sat in silence for a minute before an idea popped into her head. She slowly and quietly moved her chair over to her mothers body and, making a silent apology, pushed her chair over, onto her mother's body, the flesh muffling the sound. Kate felt around with her hands until she felt the pins. She pulled one out and stabbed it into the fabric holding her. She pulled down and it ripped. She pulled her hands free, the gag off her mouth, retrieved the other hairpin, and stood up. She was free.
Now what?
Xavier Institute
Launch Bay
December 3rd, 15:40 EST
T+04:00:03 Operation Bishop
The launch bay was a single room, very large, and a dark metallic gray. It held several vehicles, all of which could be pulled by machines from their parking spots to the center of the bay. There were several aerial vehicles owned by the Xavier Institute, the most famous of which was the Blackbird. A next-gen spy plane, the Blackbird was capable of speeds up to Mock 7. It had cloaking technology against the naked eye and radar. It's maneuverability was amazing, to say the least, and it sat like a giant triangle in the middle of the bay.
There was one entry into the hangar, suspended thirty feet up and supported by silvery-metal poles was an observation deck that connected to a doorway leading back inside the Mansion. Several flights of stairs had to be manned to get to the jet. Normally Kitt would just phase through, but she was still tugging on pieces of her uniform, so she took the stairs.
Kitty sighed as she descended the stairs of the entry-hall. She was wearing a desert-camo version of her suit: light tan on the outside with a dark tan triangle starting from her breasts and going to her waist. She wore a utility belt, boots, and mask of the same dark tan color. Her boots went halfway to her knees, her belt was situated strangely on her hips, giving her an extra swag that was unintentional, but still did damage.
Her mask covered most of her face. It started at her neck, moved upwards and encased her entire face, curving about her eyes and nose, leaving the lower half of her face exposed as well as her ears. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun and goggles were perched on top of her head.
She descended next to Kurt, looking up at the Blackbird, trying to remember the last time she had ridden in this.
"Kitty, vhat happened to your hands?" Kurt asked, alarmed. Kitty glanced at her hands. The scars from her encounter with a tree earlier were still visible. She had forgotten about the wounds and hurriedly dug her gloves out of her back pocket, mumbling "it's nothing".
"It's not nothing!" Kurt exclaimed. "Kitty are you hurting yourself? I vant to help you!"
Kitty mumbled something looking away from him. Kurt inquired what she had said.
"I said why can't you leave me alone like everyone else? Just pretend I'm not here!" she half-screamed, tears in her eyes.
"Kitty..."
"Real fruitcake ya got there." Hawkeye commented to Jean from the back.
Hawkeye's battle uniform was, like the rest of the X-Men's uniforms, form-fitting. He had no sleeves and no mask. His pants were black kevlar with purple highlights forming around his knees, ankles, and thighs. He wore a sleeveless top that showed off his well-muscled form. The shirt was mostly purple in the shape of an upside-down arrow head. The rest was black. He wore purple-black gauntlets and gloves. His quiver was black, but his arrows were purple, as was his bow which he kept folded up on his hip. He looked the part of the warrior.
"Nah," Jean said. "She's just having a rough time. We all do. Her problem is she won't let anyone help her."
"She's been through a crucible recently, hasn't she?" Hawkeye asked, glancing a Kitty again. Jean bit her lip.
"It's been rough for us all." She said. "Especially for Kitty."
There was silence for a moment.
"You know there are three types of people who go into a crucible." Hawkeye said. "Those who live, and become stronger because of it, those who die and are too weak to survive. Most people stop there, but there's a third type." Hawkeye glanced at Kitty. "There's the type that learn to love the flame, embrace it, because it's all they know now. She needs some serious help before she embraces the flames to the extent...there's no turning back."
Jean looked at him.
"Hawkeye!" Fury's voice came over the radio. "What the hell's taking so damn long?"
"Yes, sir!" Hawkeye replied, moving to the front of the jet. "Preparing for take off now, sir."
"Minute and a half ago, soldier." Fury corrected.
"Yes, sir." Hawkeye said, sitting down and flipping levers, pressing buttons, glancing at readouts. "Final diagnostics check."
Jean sat in the seat next to him. She glanced at Kitty and Kurt. They were like two little siblings, fighting over a toy.
Fighting over a toy...
Outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
June 23rd, 13:23 EST
Eleven Years Ago
The house was homely and quaint. It sat on a decent sized lot with two oak trees drooping over the sidewalk. The grass was green, the sky baby-blue and without a cloud. The house was painted white with a green front porch and shutters. It was two stories and probably built in the 1950s. Two children were playing on the front lawn. Both were girls about kindergarten age.
Kitty Pryde sat on the sidewalk with a doll in her hand. She was dressed in jeans and a white tee she had tucked in to her pants. Her hair was pulled back in two ponytails and she had large, round-rimmed glasses on her face, covering her blue eyes.
McKenna Pryde, like her sister, also had brown hair and blue eyes. McKenna let her hair flow freely from her shoulders and didn't wear glasses. She was dressed in a red-pink plaid skirt and shirt. She was playing with a car.
Over the course of their playtime, the two girls kept their toys separate. Then, for an unknown reason, McKenna decided to turn her car around and hit Kitty's doll with a satisfactory "fwoosh!".
"Hey!" Kitty exclaimed, picking up her doll.
McKenna laughed. "Woops! Barbie's dead!"
"Hey!" Kitty exclaimed again. "That's not nice!"
McKenna continued to laugh, enraging Kitty. Kitty threw down her doll, snapping an arm and the head off, and began to assault her sister with her fists. McKenna, unprepared for the attack, fell back and cried out.
The two girls' mother, who had been watching from the front porch, ran out and picked up Kitty, hauling her forcibly off of her older sister.
"Katherine Pryde!" the mother exclaimed. "You stop that this instance!"
Kitty turned to her mother in tears. "She broke it! She ran over my doll!" Kitty turned to McKenna and yelled. "I wish she was dead!"
At this, McKenna broke into a fresh batch of tears.
"Now look what you've done, Kitty!" her mother exclaimed. She set Kitty on the ground. "You are confined to your room for the rest of the day!"
"But-"
"Now, Kitty!"
Kitty frowned, stuck out her lower lip, clenched her fists, and stormed inside, screaming "I hate you all!"
Kitty jolted out of the past as the Blackbird shook. Hawkeye was turning it down the long tunnel towards the gate. With another lurch it leapt forward, out of the tunnel, and into the cloudy sky.
Kitty frowned and put her head in her hands, looking out the window.
Kate slid to a stop and peeked around the corner. No one was there. She ran down the hallway, took a right, and headed down that hallway.
The hallways looked familiar, like a hotel or the halls in her father's company. Red and gold carpet with creamy walls and white ceilings with dim lights constructed the hallway. Kate had no idea where she was, but she wasn't taking chances the people in these rooms had a cellphone for her to use. She didn't break free to get captured again.
Kate heard footsteps and looked around desperately. There was one door nearby, but when Kate tried it, she found it was locked. Taking a chance, Kate ducked under a table with a tablecloth and hid. The voices took their time walking down the hallway to her position and stopped right in front of her table. They were speaking in a foreign language that she couldn't understand. She expected a dark, scary face to lift the tablecloth any minute and grab her.
Nothing happened though. The door she had tried earlier clicked, the two men walked in, and closed it behind them. Kate waited a moment before sticking her head out from under the table and looking around. No one else graced the hallways. She couldn't hear anybody.
Kate bit her lip and stood up. She had ripped off the lower portion if her dress, allowing her to move more freely. She took another look and darted, now barefoot, down the carpeted hallways. She saw a balcony and pushed open the doors. Now she was free. All she had to do was figure out which direction she should head to get out of the desert and-
What Kate saw when she opened the balcony doors wasn't what she expected. Instead of the sight of a desert wasteland, and the sound of the wind, Kate was greeted with the metallic gleam of metal and glass, the sound of honking horns and voices. The streets where she was were busy and populated. Hundreds of people and dozens of cars moved slowly below. The city spread into the distance and Kate caught her breath as she saw a familiar landmark: the Burj Khalifa.
Dubai, U.A.E.
December 3rd, 15:45 EST
She wasn't in a desert in Africa, she was in a heavily populated city in the Persian Gulf!
To Be Continued!
**Haha, get it?