Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
3. Walking 'get-me' Signs
Creed reached the diner and spotted Irbis even before entering the place. She seemed uncannily calm, sitting upright on the chair and looking steadily at the mobile in her hands. The moment she spotted him entering though, an evident wave of relief washed over her. Waiting for him on the table was a beer, which he took as an attempt to soothe his anger.
"Shut yer yap!" And Irbis immediately bit down the obvious apologies before a single sound could be pronounced. "How could ya be so stupid as ta get caught by Friends of Humanity, of all the anti-mutant groups out there! They's practically out o'business, these days."
The blond took a long sip of beer, which was conveniently icy, allowing the woman enough time to set up a defense:
"I had to stop to change de car plates, and I couldn't do it in Wausau, right? De police knows me because off dat kidnap… What if de police stop me and I have to show my false documents to someone dat knows me?"
Creed growled and swore she was never, ever leaving Wausau again. Then he demanded to hear the whole story in detail. He calmed some as the events progressed, especially since Irbis was able to describe people involved and even remember names. Still, the whole thing sounded fishy.
"Hmm… If those ass-holes are collectin' data on mutie-lover folks, they can't be doin' it only here in Wisconsin. They gotta have a bigger plan than that." He finished his beer, looking intently at Irbis. "I'll have ta snoop around some ta see what's the word out there on this. As fer you..."
He growled slightly, annoyed, then breathed out in defeat. "It's probably fer the best if the house's empty till this mess is all fixed. If any o' those dick-heads thought of checkin' out on ya ta use ya fer whatever, ya'd be as good as toast. The house bein' empty... the only thing they can do is try t'break in, which won't do 'em any good anyhow."
"So I go to Newark..." She left the sentence dangling, not wanting to risk a wrong guess or interpretation.
"And stay there till I says so. Ya'd been behavin' so well this last month, ya had t'go and muddle it all up!"
"I know and I..."
"Sav'it fer someone who cares!"
Creed hadn't got up yet when the sound of breaking glass and screaming filled the place. He felt his back burst into fiery pain and tumbled forward, breathless. In front of him, Irbis's eyes fluttered close, but the table couldn't handle his weight and toppled to the right, dragging him down, until the girl's trainers were in front of his eyes. Screeching people started running for it, but Irbis seemed to be frozen. He figured she'd be looking straight at his attackers, who had stopped shooting. There were two possible reasons: either they had just lost eye contact and didn't want to waste ammo, or they didn't want too many civilian casualties. Either way, there was only one thing to do. Roaring away the pain, he got up and closed a vice-like hand around Irbis's wrist.
Creed's mind and body were now working at break-neck speed: his nose told him there were a few civilian casualties, already, bleeding around; but more importantly, it told him the two men had their scents conveniently toned down, so much so he wouldn't have been able to know where they were standing if he hadn't looked around. His eyes also ascertained what his ears had already told him – the men were avoiding shooting, searching for a good target. Avoiding casualties or saving up on the ammo? His mind quipped in it was probably the last, because his back was still burning and his healing factor didn't feel right. Whatever the men had used, it wasn't normal bullets. It stood to logic that for as long as they didn't have a good target they would avoid shooting.
Roaring, Irbis safely tucked under his arm like a slightly over-grown rolled up mat, Creed dashed for the door. The two soldiers restarted shooting as soon as they saw him advancing through the panicked chickens, but ended up getting out of his way as he went through the door. One of the men wasn't fast enough, though, and Creed's claws closed in on his hand. In less than a second, he pulled the man towards him and, taking advantage of his loss of balance, crushed his wind-pipe.
But there was no time to lose. The dead soldier's colleague restarted shooting at Creed's back, and he quickly crossed the road into the airport's car park. However, his healing factor had once more slowed down and he felt his strength faltering.
"Where's yer car?" He asked as he dropped Irbis on the ground, behind a row of cars. They wouldn't remain alone for long.
"Ali, para aquele lado!" And she pointed breathlessly to the white mini-van some thirty yards on.
They sprinted towards the car, the car keys already in Irbis's hand. There were more people running about, though; some already speeding off in their cars. The police should be on the spot anytime, too. Those mercenaries had to have known they'd only have a few moments to play their hand, which meant the apparent lack of reinforcements was part of the plan. Irbis unlocked the door and Creed pushed her to the side.
"Move it! I'm driv…"
He fell hard, his body closing the driver's door. His legs felt as if they had been dipped in acid, they burnt so badly. The pain was so intense he didn't even hear the shooting, just felt the fire extending to his back as more of the 'special' bullets hit him. Creed fought to control his breath and his thoughts. They had known the location of the mini-van all along. They had waited for him to go for it... he had noticed the other two men had had their scents disguised... Stupid amateur mistake! But it made no nevermind, now. He needed time for his healing factor to react, and if he played dead for long enough, the soldiers might stop shooting him and give his body the time it needed.
"Don't move, girl!" They were already on the spot. That was good. He tried to picture their locations: two guys to his left, another two approachin from the right, where Irbis was frozen still. The guys to his left were the ones that kept shooting him, about a couple of bullets every minute. "That's it… no sudden moves... nice and easy."
"We ain't got much time" a voice was saying to his left, but the guy on the right continued talking to Irbis.
"Marta." Her frightened voice trembled forth, "Marta dos Santos Pereira."
"Who are you? And why are you with this wanted mutant?"
If Creed had had enough breath in him for it, he'd have laughed. He could almost see the girl's stupid 'you've lost me' expression.
"Mut… No, he's not a mutant; he's … He… I'm… I am his house keeper." A slightly ragged breathing threatened tears. "He said… he said he give me documents to stay here if I... if I'm his house keeper. But he's not... he's not mutant..."
"You mean to tell me you don't know who you're working for?"
"He… he... I just want to work and he..." And then in sudden fear. "I'm not mutant. I'm not, I promise!"
"Geez, there's all sorts of stupid aliens, these days!" Someone grunted from behind him.
"Let'er go, man. She ain't part o' the package. Hey, ya sure ya ain't no mutant?"
"no, no mutant" She whimpered breathlessly.
"Get outta here, girl," a voice said, but the other man insisted.
"Look, if ya are a mutant, there's folks who can help ya. It don't matter if ya're an alien or not, ya understand? There's a school over in New York..."
"Hey, what the hell ya doin'? You're the mutants' self-appointed guardian angel, now?" The one speaking now was to his left, but only temporarily, as he just stepped over Creed's collapsed bulk and pushed the other merc aside. They had just forgotten to keep shooting him.
"Shut up, you! My parents would still be alive today if someone had just told them that guy Xavier could'ave helped them."
Creed focused on his situation. They had stopped shooting him, true; but his healing factor was working slowly. The last guy to the left reminded his colleagues they had exactly two minutes to finish extracting the vic, but the others were busy.
"Yeah, gettin' blown up alongside New York everytime a Magneto or some other freak mutant feels like it."
"Fer your information, Xavier sometimes just relocates folks, OK? My cousin Tony..."
"Yeah, I know! Yer whole family is in the mutant relocation programme thanks to those X-freaks. Now get over it! We got a job t'do here. Why're ya still standin' there, girl? Ya wanna join yer boss in hell, huh?"
Creed could almost picture her reaching for the car keys dangling from the driver's door and entering the mini-van through the back door.
"The boss's yellin' in my ears thanks t'you, Madre Theresa of mutants." Two of them started dragging him by his arms, while the other two grabbed his legs. Irbis was only now taking off.
"Stuff him in the van, quickly. I won't rest until I've got him drugged through an IV. How much longer 'fore the cops arrive?"
Right. If he was going to do anything it might as well be now. With an effort that sent the fire in his back once more ablaze, he stretched and locked his claws on the men holding his arms. Their warning yells amounted to nothing as they soon found themselves with their own arms nearly dissected. The men holding his legs immediately let go of him and started shooting; but Creed hadn't yet let go of the soldiers, one of whom was going for his own gun, and pulled them in front of him.
Creed's legs were still numb and he knew he couldn't run; so he couldn't avoid the showdown. Holding one of the wounded soldiers in front of him and discarding the one who had been hurt the most, he quickly realized he needed to back up against a protection so he wouldn't be shot from behind, and stumbled onto the nearest car.
Before he could reach it, though; three shots rang from behind him and his legs once more broke down under his weight, leaving him kneeling. He tried to stand up, and leap against the soldiers in front of him, but he couldn't move fast enough and simply got the men to shoot him a few more times. Creed breathed heavily, his hands hard on the asphalt refusing to falter.
"I told you he can NOT be underestimated!" A second shot. "He's to be considered deadly until he IS dead." A third shot. And a car moving somewhere in the car park. They'd probably bring the van (wherever it may be) to him, this time around. A fourth shot. His arms trembled as his strength slowly faded away, his vision blurred, his ears echoing the anger in the leader's voice yet barely registering the words themselves; but he still refused to go down. A fifth shot. The car was speeding now. How far off was it for it to have to speed so much? Warning yells. Creed fought to look up and steady his vision.
The two soldiers in front of him were shooting and then scrambled to the sides as a white vehicle came to a halt in front of him, a door opening. He didn't even have to think and simply reacted to the echoing "depressa, Mister Creed; DEPRESSA!", and to the shooting sounds from behind. Creed held on to the seat as the vehicle took off. His feet dragged through the road, while the door tried to close itself in spite of his dangling legs, but the woman didn't stop speeding until they were out of the car park. Even then she only slowed down enough to help him get in, and then she once more sped away.
Creed closed his eyes and allowed his healing factor to do its job as it rid his blood of whatever poison the bullets had. They hadn't wanted him dead. They would have shot him in the head, if they had wanted it. When the fire in his back and legs subsided, he opened his eyes. His vision was still blurred, and his ears were definitely not up to it, yet; but he straightened up in the seat and did his best to shake away the dizziness, trying to focus on the road ahead of him. He finally glanced at Irbis.
"Where ya headin'?"
Irbis took her eyes off the road and locked them with Creed's, breathing calmly despite the slight distress still shining in the wide open eyes.
"Keep yer eyes on the road, ya dimwit!" She obeyed promptly and Creed once more grumbled his previous question.
"I don't know!" She sounded exasperated. "I'm just driving… driving to some place far from... from..."
Creed grumbled the word mercs and didn't say anything else for a while. He could still feel the foreign heat burning insidiously through his veins. They were now leaving the city, going north, nothing but fields and tree patches all around them, and Creed was still trying to figure out who the mercenaries could have been. He decided he had to drop Irbis off to solve the matter, but if the ass-holes tried to tail-gate the mini-van she…
"M-."
Creed looked back and immediately seconded Irbis's swear word with its English counterpart, though with more heat in them. There was a military helicopter catching up with them. And this car didn't even carry any heat! Creed nearly fell off his seat when Irbis pulled the handbrake lever and made the car screech through a double spin, halting on the opposite lane. Then she sped wildly towards the city they had just left.
"What the Hell d'ya think ya're doin'?!"
Irbis was unfazed by Creed's yelling and kept her eyes both on the incoming chopper and the road ahead.
"Dey can't shoot us wid de elicopteroo if we're in de middle off a lot off people, right?" She glanced quickly at Creed. "Right?"
Not bad thinking. But the way they'd enter ripping through the diner, they wouldn't let innocent by-standers stand in their way. He could feel his strength finally trying to return, even if his healing factor had still a way to go before getting rid of the bullets' poison. Either that or the adrenaline surge was kicking up some strength for the fight ahead. Nevertheless, he figured he was ready to face those morons and kick their sorry asses to kingdom come; however, Irbis would be a dead weight around his neck if he did that. Although it wasn't like he was going to have much of a choice. Not when the chopper started landing on the middle of the road, its open cabin door showing off the armed mercenaries of before.
"OK, girl, listen…"
But Irbis wasn't listening. With another single Portuguese swear word, icy but intense, she turned right, got off the road, and bumped past a shallow ditch onto a grassy bank. She repeated the swear word at a regular interval as the car lost speed on the irregular terrain.
"We can't outrun 'em wi' this car, girl!" Creed glanced back and saw the chopper lift a bit more and get ready to cut them off again. "Listen ta me! I'm getting' out ta face the bastards and ya go back inta Madison and wait there fer me, got it?"
"I can't leave you aqui! Dey kill you!" Irbis gazed into his amber eyes with dread, much to his annoyance.
"Don't be a moron. I can handle those clowns with my eyes closed."
She didn't look convinced, but the skids of the chopper grazed against the roof and she agreed. Turning left, she tried to get back onto the road, but the left side wheels got stuck in the ditch. Clenching her teeth, she tried to skid about and finally managed to spin onto the road. However, the car did so out of control, and Creed had to get a hold of the driving wheel to help her steady the vehicle.
Once it came to a halt, Creed jumped off the car and onto the mercenaries, who were already out and shooting their guns at him. But Creed knew the drill: it was just one more of those almost-getting-killed situations he was so used to. He dodged much of the bullets, but many more were coming his way. As his body, which had yet to fully recover from the previous assault, was driven over the normal pain and resistance threshold, his vision went red and he stopped thinking.
His body was now working by instinct, mauling everything under its range, and it would probably keep running even if someone were to chop his head off. Hardly listening to his own roar, Creed plunged forward again and again until one of his opponents let himself be caught. Cutting his gut open, he used the body like a shield as he got hold of the guy's gun and shot at the other mercenaries.
He wasn't sure for how long the fight dragged on. The first hint that something was wrong was when Creed realized that his vision, still reddish from his berserker rage, was blurred. His whole body was burning so painfully by then, that he couldn't even feel the dead body he knew he was still holding. He could still hear shooting, but he had no idea if he was the target or not, because his brain simply refused to register any more pain.
Soon, the blurred vision became darkened and Creed couldn't see anything at all. The only part of him still working were his ears, but the sounds were all muffled and distorted. Eventually, he realized he had stopped moving, and fought in vain as his conscience slowly drifted away.