Edited: 3/6/16
Chapter 32– Scattered
"If you want to get out alive
Whoa-oh, run for your life."
- Three Days Grace, Get Out Alive
Blood pattered to the floor as the body fell. Bobby stared wide eyed at the dead man, refusing to move, to breath, to think. If he could pretend he didn't exist hard enough, maybe Logan would forget he was here.
Bobby stared at the growing puddle of crimson; his gaze flicking back and forth from the blood to the empty face. He'd never seen anything like this in real life. It was nothing like the movies, and even news stories blurred out the gory bits if they showed vids. On TV, the images were just that, images without tangible impact.
But he'd heard the low woof of the man's breath when Logan struck and knew with terrible finality that the man would never draw another. He'd seen the tension flow out of the man's body until he had no more substance than a rag doll, worse, so much worse, he'd watched Logan's face change while it happened. Saw the humanity drain away, replaced with something out of nightmares. Logan's feral eyes held no mercy, and Bobby wished he was in bed at home, cradled in the everlasting security of his mother's arms while she sang him to sleep with a tune she'd made up for him alone.
Something hot dripped onto his hand, and Bobby jumped slightly, only to realize he was crying. Shame burned in his chest at showing such weakness, yet he was thankful it was his body's only instinctive reaction. Part of him knew that if he ran now, Logan would be on him. There would be no thinking involved. Just pure instinct of a predator chasing prey.
The tears blurred his vision, and as he swiped at them with the back of his hand, he saw only the body of the soldier. Logan was gone.
The sweetly bitter tang of copper filled the air, a perfume as familiar to him as IX's sweet aroma. X drew in a lung full, tasting the mixed flavors of the intruders on his territory, and the frozen scent that made his hackles rise.
X dropped to his knees and studied the silent wide eyed youth, the one who dared encroach on his mate.
Shit! Logan had been pushed back, but not far. All their shared senses were open to him, and he could almost feel the liquid glide of alien thoughts rubbing sides with his own. He knew X wouldn't be forgiving.
Pain lanced through him when he tried to take control, and found to his horror, he couldn't. X locked him out of their shared flesh, and he'd have to watch him kill the kid. Which in turn would result in Xavier liquefying their brains. Perfect. Just perfect.
IX! Logan shouted in their mind as X reached out and grabbed the front of Bobby's shirt. With a low grunt, he jerked the trembling boy from his hiding spot and held him aloft. You can't hurt a student, you yielded to IX, and that was his order. If you kill Bobby, he'll destroy us both.
The words buzzed relentlessly in X's mind, as irritating as a nest of wasps. But . . . he recalled being trapped, and knowing with cold certainty that IX would have tested his fire against X's healing. Could his power overcome IX's? He didn't know, and wasn't willing to find out.
Gritting his teeth in a savage snarl, he dropped the youth.
Let me out. We have to protect the students.
No, that he wouldn't do. X gave the corpse at their feet a pointed look. If Logan had his way, the invader would still be alive. Clearly X was the better choice when it came to defending the young.
X looked down at the trembling child and huffed at him. Bending down he put his face in front of the boy and drew a long breath, scenting him for injuries.
I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die. The useless thought continued looping through Bobby's head as he hung suspended from Logan's grip.
No, not Logan. Oh God, I'm going to die. X. The students all knew about Logan's duality, but only Peter had seen this side of the man, and even he'd barely survived to tell about it. And by the horrifying look on the feral's face, Bobby doubted he'd get away with his flesh intact.
Then some of the fury drained out of X's face, and Bobby fell. His legs were so weak they gave out when his feet touched the floor, and all he could do was huddle there hoping Logan regained control. Maybe he'd get lucky and some more soldiers would come distract X. Better them than me, his mind jabbered.
His eyes were clenched shut as he waited for claws to tear him to pieces. The thought of using his power against X didn't even enter his frightened mind. A soft huffing sound snapped his eyes open and he squawked when his vision filled with X's face. He jerked back, choking on his own spit when he tried to both inhale and scream at the same time.
The feral snorted at him before standing and grabbing him again. This time the grip was gruffly gentle, pulling him to his feet. At least the rage seemed to be gone, though Bobby wasn't sure what to make of the silent, intense figure studying him.
With another low huff, X turned and started for the door, only to stop and look back at Bobby with narrow eyes. The ice teen swallowed hard, but trotted after X. Sure, it was probably suicide to follow him, but a final look at the dead man on the floor proved who was stronger and maybe keeping X between him and the rest of the bastards trying to take them over would be a good idea.
And maybe I've finally lost my marbles.
The pair moved quickly through the halls, and Bobby couldn't tell if they were trying to escape or rescue the others. X wasn't speaking, and Bobby was reluctant to question the killer personality type. If he annoyed the feral too much, he'd end up in his own pool of blood. All around them, the sound of booted feet echoed, mingling with shouted orders with the shrill screams of the students acting as a morbid counterpoint to the whole nightmare.
Bobby thought he heard shooting in the distance, then a sound like a wrecking ball slamming through one of the walls. Suddenly, at the short hallway leading to the servants' back stairs, X stopped. An arm like a steel band shot out, forcing Bobby to stop too. The feral gave him a pointed low growl, and Bobby swallowed. "Um, stay here?" he questioned. X snorted at him, and after another long look he turned and charged.
Even after the sight of the dead man in the kitchen, Bobby couldn't stop his curious feet from inching forward for a peak. Yielding to the temptation left him more terrified than ever before.
Two soldiers were carrying Jones down the stair way. Another pair waited at the bottom. X transformed the scene into a blood bath. Adamantium claws tore through the heavily armored men like a butcher's knife through a lamb's carcass. The devastation was so swift, only one man had time enough to scream, a sound that cut off in a wet tearing sound that almost made Bobby throw up.
Bobby bit his lower lip, struggling to keep his stomach down and fighting his own indecision. There was nothing he could do to help X, except freeze everyone in place, but that would freeze X too. What would he do if more bad guys showed up?
Still, he refused to sit on the side lines any more, like he had in the kitchen. One of the school's mottos – written and unwritten – was that the older kids looked out for the youngers.
Not thinking about his actions, that would have frozen him more surely than his power, he lunged across the hallway straight towards the servants' elevator, expecting the agonizing burn of a bullet in his back with every step. He was so out of breath when he made it, and squeezed so hard against the recessed alcove, that when the door hissed open behind him, he tumbled back onto the floor and almost couldn't get up again.
At the other end of the hall, X ignored the sharp sting of anesthetic darts, whose cocktail did nothing to slow him down. Above him, still perched on the stairs, one of the men holding Jones took aim with his side arm. The 10mm automatic got off five shots before the gun, and the hand holding the gun, were reduced to glistening fragments by X's wicked claws.
X never stopped moving. Finally, after being locked away for so long, he was in his element. The only thing missing was IX. The thought was almost enough to cause him to abandon the fight and seek out the tiny male, but IX didn't need his help. The humans were easy prey, and he'd want him to tend to the students above all else. And attacking felt so good. He was a born scrapper, and in a crowd like this, the advantage was all his. Every man he faced was the enemy, whereas the soldiers had to take care not to strike down their comrades. If they'd been smart, they would have withdrawn and tried to cut him down using automatic weapons or explosives, but the small confines of the hallway hampered their maneuvers. There wasn't time for anything fancy, instead they had to rely on reflex and training.
But their training hadn't prepared them for taking down something like X.
He didn't flinch away from their bullets or knives. The wounds healed almost as fast as they were made. By contrast, the blades that were a part of X's very body tore through body armor, flesh and bone with equal fervor.
The fight only lasted a minute or two longer. When it was over, X stood among a ragged circle of bodies, covered in blood; both his own and the enemies. A dart sticking out of his left shoulder caught his eye, and his lips curled with distain as he pulled it free.
Stepping out of the circle of death, he padded silently over to the fallen student. X bent down and sniffed the boy, smelling the bitter tang of sedatives. Bending down, he tossed the limp child over one shoulder. X didn't bother looking for Bobby, scent told him the elder boy had gone, hearing told him the elevator was engaged, and scent would mark which floor he'd departed on.
X took the stairs two at a time. His senses also gave him a clear picture of the enemies numbers and movements. There was no time to waste, and no margin for error. IX flitted through his mind briefly, but he pushed the thought away. They'd meet up during or after the operation, he didn't doubt that for a second.
On the third floor, Bobby stumbled out into chaos. Younger kids, and a few older ones, were panicking as wind howled over the roof and windows around them. I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blooow your house down, the thought made a hysterical giggle escape Bobby's lips before he could hold it back. Only bricks wouldn't be enough to keep this wolf out of their home. That was a sobering thought.
One of the students screamed that the glass was going to shatter; another fell to his knees howling in terror that the plane was going to crash through the wall and bring the mansion down on all their heads. Helicopters seemed to hang like bloated spiders outside the windows, using their million-plus candlepower spot lamps to light up the interior of the house in absolutes of black and white. The intense glare forced the mutant children to close their eyes or risk permanent sight loss.
Reaching out, Bobby grabbed the first student his hand encountered. It turned out to be John Allardyce.
"What the fuck's happening," John bellowed between harsh racking coughs. Somewhere along the way, he'd inhaled more than a lung full of smoke, and didn't care for the choking feeling. Smoke without fire was useless to the flame mutant.
"Guys with guns," Bobby hissed. That's all he knew for certain, and he didn't want to muddy things with speculation.
"No shit, Sherlock. We got a war here, we're being invaded!"
"But we're a school," Bobby protest.
"Yeah? Go tell them that!"
"Come on, we've gotta help the kids."
"Peter's up ahead. They're rallying around him."
"John, where's Rogue? Have you seen her?"
"I don't know. Man, I didn't see you until you grabbed me."
"I'm going to find her."
John started to protest, but Bobby was already two rooms down the hall. In truth, he didn't want to follow. There was no benefit playing stupid hero under these insane circumstances, but the thought that Bobby might think of him as a coward was something he liked even less. The fact that Bobby would never think such a thing didn't enter John's frazzled mind.
Anyway, someone has to keep the idiot alive. Survival was one of John's strongest suits, and Bobby could use a little common sense right now.
Grumbling under his breath, John began shoving through the horde of frightened students.
Beneath him, the floor trembled from the approach of a Sikorsky Blackhawk. It hovered a dozen feet above the roof, and another assault team repelled down. The gloves had come off. Shotgun blasts and shaped-charge grenades blasted out the skylight windows, causing shock waves to stun everyone in the rooms below.
A swarm of troopers filled the hall like sharks, falling on the students as if they were a ball of baitfish. One shot a taser at a young Asian girl. The twin wires lodged in her back, and electricity poured down the lines. To his shock, Jubilation Lee didn't collapse. Instead, she pivoted on her foot, dropped into a shooting stance of her own with her right arm outstretched, and shot that jolt of electricity back at the man. The blast slammed into the soldier with the blazing force of a semi, flinging him back into the wall so hard he left an indent of his body deep enough to keep him suspended in midair. Out of the darkness, a soft pop sounded, and a dart flew true. Jubilee fell, unconscious before she hit the ground.
In the neighboring wing, Peter slammed a fist against a wooden panel, forcing open a hidden door. A passage and stairwell lit at set intervals by emergency glow globs was revealed. He handed Siryn off to one of the older students as he began waving the group through. Speed was vital to their escape. He knew he had to clear the corridor before any of the intruders discovered their method of exit.
A sharp growl made his metallic skin twitch. Turning, he faced a figure half his size, one who'd almost killed him once before. Every muscle in his enhanced body tensed for the attack before his mind registered the limp form hanging over one of X's shoulders. Without speaking or attacking, the feral stopped in front of him, shrugged his shoulder to slide the boy down, and handed him over.
"I can help you," Colossus blurted out.
X's lip pealed back in a dark snarl, and his burning eyes flicked from him to the frightened students huddled in the opening of the wall. The message was clear, and Colossus wasn't willing to push his luck. After all, IX wasn't here to cage X if he decided to go ape shit again.
Freezing at a junction in the hallway, X studied the set of dancing green targeting lasers on the opposite wall. X waited for a moment before he stepped out of sight around the corner. The lasers went out, and Peter heard a couple sharp grunts, followed by the low thud of bodies hitting the floor. Again his skin twitched with the memory of those sharp claws. Not willing to risk being on the business end of those blades again, he rushed the last few students into the gap and slid it shut behind them. He had his responsibilities, and he wouldn't abandon them.
Kitty didn't waste time with doors. It wasn't like she needed them. As intangible as a ghost, she raced through the mansion, down the main floor, where she found more soldiers . . .
. . . through one of the class rooms, more soldiers . . .
. . . through the arboretum, more soldiers . . .
. . . through the billiard room where Cyclops would shoot nine ball using his optic blasts instead of a pool cue, more soldiers . . .
. . . through the hallway beyond and right through the body of one of the intruders before either realized the other was there.
Kitty's mutation permitted her to slide the molecules of her own body through the valences of other physical objects. The process was so fast it had no effect on the molecular cohesion of the nonorganic solids, any more than the passage of baseline humans affected the air they moved through every day. Or, more accurately in Kitty's case, the vast emptiness of the space between electrons.
The same couldn't be said for electrical fields. Whenever Kitty phased through something that utilized electricity, it would have a power skitz, causing a blink when it came to household wiring, and leading to the occasional disaster for computers. She was instant death to hard drives.
There was another effect that she and Xavier had begun to explore, and that related to the fact that the human body's central nervous system utilized electricity to function. It ran on one supremely powerful biological computer. If Kitty phased through a person, she caused a similar shock to their systems as she did to other electronics. The consequences depended on how quickly she moved through the person and which part of the body was impacted.
For the soldier, it was akin to jamming a fork into a light socket. His world blazed white, the same way people who've been struck by lightning and survive reported, and for an instant afterward, that's what he thought happened. In truth, he wasn't sure what happened. The vague memory of a girl popping out of a wall before disappearing through his chest flashed in the white light.
Even with his body still tingling from the attack, he managed to twist around and snap of a taser round at the child. It was a beautiful shot, especially factoring in the circumstances. He caught her right between the shoulder blades – only the prongs didn't bite into living flesh at all. Instead they lodged themselves into the wall of the house at the very spot the girl vanished through.
Upstairs, Rogue shooed another girl out from under a bed, adding her to her growing collection. She'd been terrified of course, huddled under the false safety of the bed like a small animal trusting the close comfort of a burrow to protect it from the fox's questing paws. Maria found herself wishing desperately for a power more appropriate to the situation. Something like Cyclops's eye beams, or Storms command of the weather. She wasn't picky; all she wanted was something to even the odds or something that could rip the gunships out of the sky.
"Come on, sweetling," she whispered in her best baby-sitter voice, offering strength and calm she didn't feel as she cuddled the trembling child, careful not to let the girl touch bare skin. Now she was glad her curiosity of the hidden passages could pay off. When she'd first learned of them, she was enchanted and spent more than one summer day exploring. Now all those hours spent alone were paying off. The passages enabled her to elude pursuit and scoot her share of students to safety.
"In you go, girls," she whispered, "just like Storm taught us, Kay?"
The small girl in her arms clung like a limpet, soft whimpers stirred her hair. Rogue was her lifeline, and the thought of letting her go was beyond terrifying. Rogue didn't have time to coddle the girl, the longer they stayed, the greater the chance one of the soldiers or patrolling helicopters would spot her secret.
"Aren't you coming?" one of the other girls asked. She was a redhead of barely thirteen named Rahne Sinclair.
"There's someone I have to find first," Rogue confided. With a brilliant Highlander grin, Rahne pried the other girl's hands loose from Rogue's neck, and offering reassurances of her own, she led the way into the secret passage.
"When you get out of the tunnels," Rogue called after them, "run straight to the first house you find. Tell them there was a fire. Tell them to get ahold of your folks. Whatever you do, don't tell anyone you're a mutant. Understood?"
The girl gave an uncomprehending nod, but Rahne know the score. She'd take care of her classmate and ensure she kept her mouth shut. Rogue slid forward and brushed a wisp of hair off the younger girl's face. In return, she got a trembling attempt at a smile.
"Okay," she whispered.
"You'll be all right," Rogue promised before closing the hidden door behind them.
Standing, she half ran the length of the hallway. The walls, floor, and the very air trembled again as the helicopters made another run on the mansion. Rogue knew she'd have to take cover soon before she got nailed herself.
Through the mind numbing chaos, Rogue caught the sound of someone she'd thought would be long gone by now.
"Rogue," called John Allardyce.
"Rogue!" Bobby bellowed, determined to make himself heard over the noise.
"Bobby," she shouted back, trying to pick out where the shouts were coming from. The rush of delight and relief at the sound of his voice startled her.
Rounding a corner, she found the pair of boys. "There anyone else?" she asked, pushing the unexpected feelings away in favor of taking care of business.
"I'm not sure," Bobby responded.
"Petey Pureheart was looking after a crowd of kids," John said. "Outside of them, nada. Bad guys galore though."
"Where's Logan?" Rogue demanded. "He was s'posed to be looking after us."
Bobby's face twisted alarmingly.
"What happened?" she asked. "Where is he?" Rouge didn't like thinking too much about Logan, and how she'd accidentally imprinted on him, No on X, when her power drained his to heal her after the feral destroyed Magneto's machine. Most of the frightening memories had faded over time.
"He was fighting the soldiers down stairs."
Nodding her understanding, Rogue said, "this way." She planned on leading them to one of the secret passage opening. But, before she could move, another one of the brilliant spot lights blazed through one of the windows. Shielding their eyes against the painful glow, Rogue thought she saw two shapes hanging in front of the glass. Leaping forward, she grabbed John, Bobby grabbed Rogue, and together they tumbled around the corner in a heap just in time to escape the explosion. Shards of glass flew through the hall in a deadly rain. On the heels of the blast came the soldiers, target lasers cutting the smoke, fingers ready on the triggers. Every door they passed got the same hellish treatment: shotgun blasts to the hinges followed by a shot from a battering ram to punch it open, a pair of stun grenades to incapacitate anyone inside, followed by sustained bursts form the submachine guns to finish the job. Each room took a few seconds to clear, and they did the job with icy, methodical precision.
Without comment, the three decided they didn't want to know what would happen to them if found now. When the soldiers rounded the corner, the kids were long gone.
In the sky above the mansion, the technicians minding the sensor consoles were beyond irritated. When the incursion began, they'd had a clear sense of the mansion's interior and knew the location of every warm body in the place.
Now, less than five minutes into the operation, nothing was certain.
Soldiers were down all across the board with varying degrees of injury, and more than a few deaths. Worse, they'd lost contact with a majority of their intended targets. It didn't take a master strategist to determine the reason: the mansion possessed multiple sections that were shielded against remote sensing and imagery. The only way to clear the place out would mean locating the access points and sending teams into the tunnels. Given the parameters of the mission, that option was unviable. The only other option would be an attempt to widen their net and attempt to capture the mutants as they emerged from the tunnels. But that would deplete their resources with little chance of success.
Barring a miracle, the children who escaped the mansion were safe from capture.
Unaware of this reasoning, Peter lead his party into one of the long tunnels burrowed deep beneath the estate. The exit was located in a thick stand of woods outside Xavier's property line, within a nature reserve. He didn't know what would happen when they reached the woods, or if the soldiers had formed a perimeter out that far. All he could focus on was getting the children, and himself, out of danger and to a place where strangers wouldn't chase or threaten them with guns. He needed a chance to breath, time to gather his scattered thoughts and take stock of the current situation. Of the ultimate outcome, he had little doubt.
Terrible as things were now, he knew they would work out all right.
If Bobby and John were privy to the large teen's thoughts, they would have given him an earful. For them, as they hurried with Rouge down a flight of stairs, the natural order of things was from bad to worse.
The mansion was alive with troopers, and from the horrifying sounds they heard all around them, they knew the men weren't using tranquilizer guns anymore. No, they were using bullets now, and they weren't being stingy with the ammunition.
Rogue skidded to a halt so fast that the two boys crashed into her back. Harsh words were formed, but remained trapped behind their teeth.
The sight in front of them froze the words before they could take shape.
She stood amid a pile of shredded bodies, all soldiers.
"This is old news," Bobby whispered, as if the dead men might hear him and stir. "We can't stay here, we're sitting ducks."
Instead of answering, she didn't move a muscle. Bobby inched forward reluctantly, he wasn't sure his mind was up to processing some new horror. Couldn't he be done for the night? He'd had his quota of gore for one lifetime.
Looking at her, he saw that she was looking down at her chest. It was painted with little green dots. Swallowing hard, he followed the eerie beams to their source, and found a team of soldiers in the far doorway, their weapons leveled at the small group.
They never got a chance to fire, X saw to that.
He was poised on the gallery above them, and with a primal roar, more animal than human, he dropped down on them like a hunting panther out of a tree onto the backs of an unsuspecting gazelle herd.
The soldiers, in spite of their training, froze in the face of the descending feral. Lethal claws separated heads from bodies, arms from shoulders, and spilled guts in a blood frenzy. Bobby found he couldn't watch this time any more than he could the last.
Rogue didn't turn away. At the sight of him, she recognized X. He was a part of her now, and would be forever. The same as anyone else she imprinted. Her own fists flexed, and she felt the faint echo of the wild untamed creature before her.
Something caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced to the side. A small, secret smile danced on John's face. The hungry look in his eye made her sad and scared for him. John enjoyed the show, and wanted a piece of the action. It would be fun.
Light pierced the entrance form outside and above, pinning X in their beams as the helicopters responded to the frantic calls for help down below. They didn't wait for orders. The second they had a target, they opened fire, pockmarking the lawn with craters and shattering the stone entrance to the mansion to powder. But their target wasn't there anymore.
X came at them with a bloody snarl on his lips. He waved his hands at them, like a woman shooing chickens as he herded them deeper into the mansion.
John found the closest escape hatch, opened the door, and leapt into the safe passage with Bobby on his heels. Rogue held back. Imprinting on X left a lingering residue of X's enhanced senses, and she heard the soldiers closing in on them from all sides.
"X," she hissed.
Turning, he roughly pushed her through the opening.
"X," she pleaded.
Without responding, he slammed the door in her face. And she was glad.
X drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of blood and war unfolding around him. There were at least twenty close at hand, and he put his back against the wall, standing between the enemy and the students. Only a dozen lasers caressed his chest, but they didn't fire. He didn't care.
Unleashing both sets of claws, he gave a low guttural snarl, but their fire discipline held. No triggers were pulled.
He threw his head back with a wild roar, wanting to goad them into attacking.
"X? Is that you?"
A figure approached through the darkness, and the familiar sound of one of his keepers froze the feral. His mind locked as endless, agonizing conditioning attempted to reassert itself.
No! You will not crawl back to him like a whipped dog, Logan shouted at the feral.
The man moved closer still, and the soldiers moved apart reluctantly. He was important to them, but also the man in charge. They couldn't refuse.
Kill him!
"So, here's where you've been hiding."
The shift was so sudden, Logan almost staggered. Instead of trying to fight two battles, X retreated allowing him to control the flesh again. He straightened from the predatory crouch and gave the old bastard a sharp toothed grin.
"Not X anymore asshole."
Stryker studied the weapon for a long moment as understanding washed over him. IX must have been killed attempting to take this place, and with a telepath as strong as Xavier. Well, the results weren't entirely unexpected. He'd never trusted the mind washing technology anyway. It was one of the reasons he'd developed his new treatments, allowing uncooperative mutants to be harnessed far easier. Perhaps I'll be able to bring this one to heel as well.
On the opposite side of the wall, Rogue stood frozen in the entrance to the secret passage, ashamed of the surge of emotion that burned her when X closed the door. How could she feel happy that he stayed behind? Perhaps it was because she held the echo of the berserker rage and madness that lived in his. It made her want to run away from him, an urge more powerful than any she'd felt before. But, true to her name, she defied expectations. She spit in their eye. X would have done the same, but this response was hers alone, and that, too, was why she stayed. They were kindred, but not kind.
Hands gripped her arms, trying to pull her away. She shook them off.
"Stop," she told the boys, who stared at her in utter disbelief. "We've got to do something."
"Damn straight!" John hissed. "Run like hell while we've got the chance!"
"But they'll kill him!"
The argument fell on deaf ears. They'd seen X in action, and neither believed such an outcome possible.
"Yeah, right," John snorted. "He can handle it. Come on, let's book."
"Bobby," Rogue turned her pleading eyes on him, and he felt his will begin to buckle in the face of her desperation. "Please! They're going to kill him." The part of her that still resonated with him whispered that was something he might desire.
All Bobby knew was that X was the most terrifying creature he'd ever encountered. He was every nightmarish boggle come to life, and if he never saw the man again, he'd be haunted by the memories of this night until his dying day. In a way, he blamed X for everything that happened tonight. He and IX came to the mansion to kill Remy. Now this. They were a walking invitation of disaster, and nothing good could come with sticking with him.
Leave him, let him make his own way. That was the wise thing to do. What he'd wanted them to do.
Stryker took a single step closer, and the men behind him shifted to ensure his body didn't block their line of sight. A twitch from him would be their cue to unleash hell on the mutant with enough firepower to turn anyone into hamburger. A second man, with the stiff stance of an officer, put aside his rife and positioned himself to be able to grab, and pull, Stryker out of the way if things went south. Given all Lyman saw of X's handiwork, he feared it was a forlorn hope. Still, he'd try. His job was to look after Stryker and most likely die with him.
Logan's sharp eyes spotted the action, and he knew loyalty like that couldn't be bought. His estimation of the other men rose a notch.
X's retreat told him more of how dangerous the stranger in front of him was. Even though he didn't have the memories, he felt X's conflicting emotions, and instinctually knew this man once held his leash. And IX's too, shit. For the first time that night, he was glad he hadn't found Zen. Even X almost fell back into the habit of obedience, how would the tiny order minded assassin fair? He didn't know, and silently prayed he wouldn't find out.
Kill them. But his skin was already slick with the soldiers blood, and he couldn't risk them opening fire on him and hitting the wall behind him. He could smell the stupid children crouched behind him. They should have run when they had the chance. If the bullets flew, they'd be turned into Swiss cheese.
"I must admit," Stryker said, carrying on the eerily incongruous conversation. "This is the last place I thought I'd ever see you. When the pair of you failed to return, I assumed you'd been destroyed. Still, I didn't think Xavier was taking in animals." He paused, letting the barb sink in. "Even animals as . . . unique as you."
"Who are you?" He growled, not caring, but not wanting to move the dance forward until the kids were safely out of the way.
"Don't you remember?" Stryker asked.
Logan blinked, watching as a strange mist began to fill the air between him and Stryker. The temperature plummeted so fast that the first breath was normal, and the second came in a bellowing cloud of icy condensation.
On the opposite side of the mist, Stryker stretched out a hand, only to encounter a gleaming wall of ice that divided the hall from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, forming a protective shield between Logan and Stryker. The men around him shifted uneasily, like a field of wheat stirred by the wind, worried they might become locked in the ice. But none broke ranks.
Logan thought about using his claws to destroy the wall. Letting the man live was a danger everything in him rebelled against. But first, the little brats needed to be dealt with.
The dark look on Logan's face forced John back a step, and made Bobby glad he was already inside the passage with one hand pressed against the wall so he could generate and sustain the ice shield. Unlike the boys, Rogue didn't flinch or back down. She met his eye with a will and stubbornness to match his own.
"Come on, Logan." She said.
"Get out of here, girl. I'll be fine." The tone in his voice was the one that had always gotten results before, but did nothing to budge the teenage girl.
"But we won't." Then, more quietly, "please?"
Stryker didn't know what was happening. The barrier was transparent enough for him to discern X's shape, and that he was no longer alone, but held just enough opaqueness to hide how many had joined him, or who they were.
With swift decisiveness, he plucked a penetrator grenade from Lyman's harness and slammed it into the ice. Lyman jerked him back, and turned, shielding his commander with his own body. In the seconds before detonation, the other troopers shielded themselves as best they could. The shockwave reverberated through the confined space, partially deafening the men closest to the blast. All the troopers felt like they'd been pummeled by jackhammers. The explosion shattered the ice wall, filling the air with frozen shrapnel.
When the smoke cleared, all that remained were scattered chunks of ice littering the floor and partially burying some of the unlucky men who'd been too close to the blast.
The other side of the hall was empty. Of X, and those he'd seen with him, there was no sign.
John led the way down the tunnels, even though Logan's senses were keener. Though the boys wouldn't admit it out loud to save their lives, they both preferred having him between them and the soldiers.
When they reached the first junction, John struck off to the left.
"John, no," Bobby hissed at the other boy's back.
"But this is the way Petey and the others went."
Bobby grinned. "I have a better idea. This way."
The ice teen took the lead, and brought them to his chosen destination: the garage. Like everything about the Mansion, there was a public space and a private one. In the garage above them was the usual pack of SUVs and vans, plus the Professor's vintage Rolls-Royce. The hidden garage held vehicles more in line with the X-Men, than the cover of a school, including Scott's collection of motorcycles. Some of the vehicles looked normal, while others were as unique and enhanced as the Blackbird.
Tonight, they chose a sports car, brilliantly quick, but so well designed and balanced that it could navigate the local roads – whose winding narrow paths would have defeated a lesser vehicle. While space was limited, it would be able to fit them all.
John slid into the driver's seat with a smug grin. "I'm driving."
Without missing a beat, Logan jerked the kid out of the car as if he weighed nothing. "In your dreams wise-ass," he growled. "Boys in the back."
Rogue took shotgun, and Bobby make sure to slide in place behind her.
"This is Scott's car," he commented.
"Oh, yeah?" Logan didn't sound impressed.
"We don't have keys."
Logan's lips twisted in a half grin, half snarl. One of his claws hissed free. He jabbed the blade through the ignition, expertly twisted some wires, got a spark, got a start, and off they went.
Like the secret passages in the walls, there was an emergency exit for the vehicles, granting them direct access to Graymalkin Lane, the road that wandered along the estate's border. Taking a left, they headed towards interstate 684, linking New York City with the main east-west highway – i-84—which bisected Connecticut and the southern tier of New York State. A right took them into the heart of Fairfield Country, endless woodland roads so twisted and poorly signed that even the locals had the tendency to lose their way. It was hilly country which dropped into little ravines and hollows, making it difficult to stay connected to the radio and played hell with cell phone reception.
Logan unleashed the car and, almost like a living beast, it leap free. He took turns at whiplash speeds, making the three teens scramble into their seatbelts to keep from being throw around the small vehicle. He drove without the benefit of headlights.
"Uh," Bobby choked, having to clear his throat before trying again. "Maybe slow down, just a little?"
"Like hell," John snapped. "Go faster, dude, get us the hell away from here, please!" he finished in savage mimicry of Rogue's plea, both to Bobby and to Logan himself. "Jesus wept," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "What the fuck was that back there?"
The low groan of the steering wheel drew Rogue's eye. She saw the muscles strain in Logan's arms as he gripped the wheel.
"Stryker," he spat, the name of the man ghosting up from memories not his own. "His name is Stryker."
"Who is he?" Rogue dared to ask.
Logan's lips stretched in a wry grimace, and he shook his head. "I can't know for certain, but I believe he used to be X and IX's handler."
Silence filled the small car at the admission. I know it, I knew this was his fault, Bobby thought, but didn't quite have the guts to say out loud. The last thing they needed was for X to retake control while driving at mind numbing speeds in the dark down roads that could easily end in their fiery deaths. But somehow, he knew all this was their fault. Stryker must have found out where they'd gone, and came to collect them.
He shook his head, unable to ignore the fact that man had been surprised to see him. No, he hadn't expected Logan to be there, and he'd been shocked that it was Logan, and not X. On top of that, he knew the school was Xavier's.
Logan shifted gears, and heard a sharp yelp from John when his elbow clipped the kid's cheek.
"What's your problem, kid?" he grumbled as John wriggled his head and arm between the front seats, reaching for the center console.
"What are you doing?" Rogue demanded in a sharp tone that indicated she'd been pushed too far and was ready to do damage to the first reasonable target that presented itself.
"Too much silence. Majorly uncomfortable. Don't like it."
Stretching forward that last inch, he pressed a button and the speakers roared to life with what passed for music in the form of a techno band none of them had ever heard of and, after the first ear shattering seconds, didn't want to. Even though the car's sound system was as lovingly crafted as the vehicle itself, the choice of CDs was beyond demented, inspiring impassioned and derogatory comments galore form the kids.
Logan refrained from joining the junior commentary. His own tastes ran towards roadhouse R&B and classic jazz, with one exception he'd never been able to understand, an affinity for Japanese koto.
Scott, being the ultimate geek, built a sound system that only he could comprehend. None of the controls were marked, and it probably came with a manual that could dwarf the Empire State Building. The more buttons John pushed to try and put a stop to the awful music, the louder it seemed to get. On the ragged edge of ending their torment with a swipe of his claws, the boy managed to hit the eject button. Only the switch had nothing to do with music. Instead, a small tray hissed open, revealing a strange oval-shaped metal disk about the same size as a wallet.
Growling under her breath, Rogue pressed another button on the counsel, and blessed silence enveloped the car once more, accented with the low hum of the engine and the flirting of the wind whispering past.
She and Logan shared a glance, and he offered her a silent thank you for ending their torment, while she thanked him in turn for his forbearance. Her fist was tightly clenched, the same way he held it when he engaged his claws. If she'd had claws to match the residue of X's personality and powers, John would have been sashimi ages ago.
John was oblivious to their silent communications, too entranced by his new toy to pay attention. He found another button and pressed it, revealing a two-way communication devise.
"Guys," he said, "I don't think this has anything to do with the CD player."
Reaching out, Logan plucked it from the kid's hand. John's survival instincts were still locked in overdrive, and he didn't protest as Logan examined the object. Whatever the infuriating idiosyncrasies of the car's sound system, this at least made some sense to him.
"So, where we going?" John asked.
"Storm and Jean are in Boston," Logan replied tersely. "We'll head in that direction."
"My folks live in Boston." Bobby admitted.
"Good," said Logan.
Rogue let the conversation flow unnoticed around her. All her focus locked on Logan's hands, and the way the skin up to both wrists was dyed in what could have been mistaken for dried paint. The viscus substance was caked a layer or two more thickly between the knuckles, where the claws retreated into their housings. Her eyes saw far more than she wanted, and her sense of smell offered more than she could bear. Looking down at her own hands, she wondered how her sleeping gloves had gotten so shredded. Too much skin showing, she thought numbly, I'll have to take care not to touch anyone. Her hands trembled with the memory of what she'd seen him do.
"Don't worry, darlin'," his mellow voice broke into her dark thoughts, in that quiet tone that was all for her, "it's not mine."
When their eyes met, she startled in surprise, her mouth forming a small O of amazement. She'd become so accustomed to feeling residues of his ferocious – and murderous – passion, she found it hard to believe when she witnessed the reflection in his eyes, an echo of the pain and misery she felt. Strangely, she found it reassuring. In a way, it made her feel better to know that there was more to him than the feral beast Stryker named him.
While a monster lived beneath the surface, there was a man there too. His name was Logan, and he was as human as X was animal.
Xavier's mansion was only the well-groomed tip of a stunning iceberg. The bulk of the School was hidden below ground, sprawling out in a complex that sank deep into the earth and extended in all directions beneath the estate. It utilized technology as revolutionary as the design of the Blackbird. The schematics of the power source alone made the physicists on Stryker's team sick with envy. They felt the uncharacteristic urge to abandon the mission to get their hands on this equipment. None were happy with the fact that their employer had other priorities.
A large chunk of space directly beneath the mansion had been gobbled up by what Magneto referred to as the Danger Room. This space was dedicated to the exploration into the practical dynamics and limitations of his students varied powers. Of equal significance, it was also where he trained his X-Men.
Technicians swarmed through the building the second the all clear signal was given, but found themselves frustrated by command protocols keyed to both retinal and voice prints they didn't have access to, and computer codes so deviously encrypted, they couldn't make sense of them.
Stryker didn't care. For him, all the technology in these rooms were of peripheral interest. Once their objectives had been achieved, they could deconstruct the school at their leisure.
In the company of an escort, he went down the main elevator to the uppermost level of the underground complex. Soldiers with digital cameras taped everything for download into the main database after they'd returned to headquarters – more grist for the analysts' mill. Chances were, they'd be living it up in hog heaven for years to come off the recordings alone.
As they passed a locker room, Stryker paused to finger one of the uniforms. Yet another marvel of structural engineering. The material was light as a feather, and fit like a biker's speed suit, nearly a second skin. But, belying its light appearance, its resilience was extraordinary. The suits could protect the wearer from extremes of temperature and environment, snug in the winter, cool in the summer, dry in the middle of a downpour. And, most practical of all, at least in Stryker's opinion, it was better than Kevlar as body armor. Projections suggested the material could survive a point-blank round from a Barrett .50-caliber sniper, the most powerful rifle made and only one small step down from an actual cannon.
Lyman's sharp call drew him from his musings as the man ran to join him.
"Tunnels," he reported to Stryker as he stood to attention and gave the older man a salute. "That's how the mutants escaped. They're well shielded, even better than all this," he waved a hand, indicating the circular corridor around them. "From the way the targets kept popping off our scopes, it appears the walls are riddled with access points, the entire compound is shot through with tunnels. We utilized a sonic imager to find some of the entrances, but there were deadfalls inside, sealing the escape routes tight. From the way they booked it out of here, they had to have practiced escape and evasion maneuvers. The odds of catching them at exit points are slim at best."
"Prudent of them," Stryker said. "How many were we able to secure?"
"Eight, sir. What should we do with them?"
"Pack them up, we'll sort it out later."
While the two men spoke, they neared Stryker's ultimate destination, located at the end of the main hallway. A massive circular door, reminiscent of a bank vault, protected the chamber within against any form of hostile incursion. Stryker doubted even his access to advanced tools and technology would have been enough to breach the barrier.
However, none were needed. A single command spurred a pair of troopers into action. They set up the device they'd been carrying on a tripod in front of the formidable doorway. To the right side of the entrance was a scanning plate, in which a multifaceted blue crystal was embedded. They set up the lasing crosshairs dead center on the crystal, at the height of a tall man seated in a wheelchair.
The device was activated, and the laser refracted into a multitude of lesser beams that struck the crystal, replicating the retinal patter they'd recorded from Xavier's eye.
"Welcome, Professor," a gentle feminine voice murmured.
A dark smile lit Stryker's face as he strode along the platform to Xavier's console in the center of the great globe of a room. For now, the others held back, waiting for orders. To them, this chamber represented the great and rotten heart of their enemy, the place were Xavier honed and worked his incredible powers. From here, according to Magneto, he could reach out and connect with every mind on the planet. Stryker hoped the old man hadn't been exaggerating, because that was the key to his ultimate victory.
Reaching out, his hand hovered over the gleaming chrome helmet, but he couldn't bring himself to touch the artifact. It was Xavier's toy; let the mutant mental play with it. "Take what you need, gentlemen," he ordered, goading the soldiers into the strange room.
Saturday night had come round at last, and Mitchell Laurio was where he could be found every Saturday night; the fourth stool from the end at the Dew Drop Inn. It wasn't the best bar around, but then again, he wasn't a picky man. There were TVs to spare, and if the cash was right, a man could entice one of the waitresses to join him in a booth and get a semiprivate show. Most night, the choice on the tube was sports or sex, but tonight the bartender switched the show over to some damned news station where two mooks blathered on about mutants, as if anyone in the world gave an actual fuck about their opinion.
Laurio hadn't realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, and wouldn't have cared if he did.
". . . the Mutant Registration Act provides a sense of security similar to Megan's Law." A middle aged guy whose title card identified him as Sebastian Shaw spouted. "A list of potentially dangerous mutants living in our communities."
The man to his left was half his age and nearly twice his size, and Laurio though he remembered him from college ball. One of those All-American asshats who passed on a pro contract to go to Stanford for a doctorate.
"Megan's Law is a database of known felons, Mr. Shaw," he responded heatedly, "not innocent people who haven't committed any crime and may not even be likely to. It's akin to registering every member of a religious or ethnic group in the nation, on the presumption that some of them may be terrorists."
"Some might not consider that such a bad idea."
"Some, Sebastian," Lendell shot back, "Might consider America a better place than that."
"A damned mutant almost killed the President!"
"A person, who happened to be a mutant, made the attempt, yes. If he was a Lutheran, would you automatically condemn every Lutheran in the land?"
"If the knife said 'Lutheran Rights Now,' I'd damn sure consider it."
"What people often forget is that mutation is evolution in action. In a sense, we're all mutants. If not for past mutation, for past evolution, chances are we'd all be sitting in trees, picking bugs from one another's pelts."
"Goddamn it, Lou," Laurio barked, "Turn that shit off. Bad enough I got the grandfather of all muties in my face all damned day without having this crap blaring at me while I try to enjoy an honest drink."
"I'm sorry," a feminine voice said behind him in a sultry tone that went down his spine like a shock, "It's my fault. I asked Lou to change the channel."
Half twisting on the stool, he found himself facing a woman who put the mutts who usually strutted around this place to shame. She wasn't a little twig girl, he had no taste for that bull shit. No, this one boasted a mouthwatering set of curves, a big rack, cute butt, and a waste that made his hands itch to circle it. Her lips were painted liquid scarlet, sassy, with eyes so deeply shadowed that all he could see were glints reflecting the neon behind the bar, giving them a strange yellow cast. She was blond, and taller than he cared for, but he figured it was due to the stilettos, and as she stalked closer, he had to admit he loved what the shoes did for her walk.
"You sound like a man with a lot on his mine," she paused, snatching a glance at his badge, "Mr. Laurio."
The way she purred his name sent an instant bolt of lust to his cock. He smelled scotch on her breath and noticed the half-full tumbler in her hand.
"I'm Grace," she said.
Laurio couldn't think of a thing to say. All he wanted to do was sit and stare. She let him. It was obvious she loved the attention.
"Want another beer, Mr. Laurio?" Without waiting for his reply, she smirked. "Of course you do."
"Mitch," he said. "My name's Mitch."
Another dazzling smile lit up her face as she shifted position beside him so that her skirt inched higher up her leg, flashing an enticing line of skin above the top of her stockings. He could fell the sweet press of her breast against his arm. She seemed to lose her balance a little, forcing him to catch her with his arm tight around her waist, and she giggled like it was the best joke she'd heard all night, and he laughed with her because this was the kind of moment he'd always dreamed of but never thought would happen.
Entranced by her beautiful form, he didn't see what her free hand did behind him as she gathered the beer mug close, and dropped a pair of white pills into the foam where they quickly dissolved.
It only took a couple more beers and the vaguest of suggestions to propel him off the stool towards the ladies' room. The room was a mirror image of the men's room, save the lack of urinals, and wasn't much cleaner. As they staggered over the threshold, Laurio tried to take a swallow of beer and steal a kiss at the same time only to fail at both. That broke them up again, and their laughter mingled together, echoing in the confines of the bathroom. He knew he was stinko, far more than a few beers usually got him, but he didn't care.
"I never hooked up with someone like you before," he confessed, like all those lucky bastards on TF.
"I know," she said. "Your lucky night."
One dainty hand rested on his chest for a second before giving a little push, dropping him onto the toilet seat.
"Kinda dirty, ain't it."
"That's the idea," she replied, leaning forward to tease him with a glimpse of her breasts before she squatted down in front of him. Her beautiful legs spread wide apart, but there were too many shadows, and his eyes couldn't focus enough to make the sight worthwhile. Then, as she unbuckled his belt, he gave up trying to steal a peak. Tonight was getting better and better.
"Velcro," Grace hummed as she opened his pants. "Kinky."
"Bottoms up," he toasted her, raising his beer high.
"I certainly hope so."
A final mysterious smile graced her lips while the last of his beer cascaded out of the mug, spilling over the bottom half of his face and chest. His mouth hung open, but he made no attempt to swallow. He was beyond such things. As his head fell back against the tile behind him, his pupils dilated to their limits, and his nerveless arms dropped. The mug slipped from his limp grip to shatter on the floor.
Grace pressed her fingers to his throat, satisfying herself it was firm and regular before using the tips of her fingers to close his mouth and stop the first ragged snore. All of the drunken sloppiness fell from her as she snapped the lock shut on the door behind her. Reaching down, she grabbed Laurio around the waist and flipped the big man over so that his head dangled behind the bowl and his rump stuck up into the air like a perverse offering.
She slipped open her purse and removed a large syringe, and tapped the barrel with a lacquered forefinger to clear any air bubbles. It wouldn't do to give the slug an embolism before he could make it to work in the morning. Steeling herself, she jerked down his boxers and sank the needle home in his amble buttocks. As she did so, the skin of her hand darkened to the same indigo shade as her nail polish. The transformation snaked up her arm, across her body, which became longer and leaner, much less the kind of blowsy Beubens woman that Mitchell Laurio dreamed of in favor of someone much stronger and more sleekly muscular. The blond gave way to dark autumnal russet shot through with midnight. Mystique bared startlingly white teeth before patting Laurio where she'd injected him.
"Bottoms up, darling." And then she was gone.
"The men are nearly finished, sir," Lyman reported after meeting up with his superior en route from the landing pad.
Stryker gave a nod of approval. "We're ahead of schedule," he observed. "Strip down at source, transport, and reconstruction. I am impressed, Mr. Lyman. The crews are to be commended."
"You trained them well, sir. They're following your lead." Stryker gave a nod of agreement. Things were going better than he'd imagined. It was a good omen of things to come.
"How does it look?" he asked.
"Flawless."
They passed a reception cubicle where one of the soldiers tended to the optic based mutant they'd captured with Xavier, strapping a metal band over the unconscious mutant's eyes.
"Good," Stryker replied, both to the report and what he witnessed in the cubicle. "Now time for the main event."
At first, he wasn't sure he was awake. It felt like every cell in his brain was giving its own personal opinion, loudly, on the situation they found themselves in. Worse, there wasn't a single thought strand anywhere near him.
Xavier was alone in his mind, adding to the unreality of his waking. He fought down panic at finding himself trapped within his own skull. Without the constant mutter of life all around him, he felt hollow and alone. It was like being an astronaut, who through accident got cast out into the yawning maw of space, drifting alone in the darkness. Crying out mentally didn't even produce a faint echo. Xavier could only know the world from a single perspective, his own, and it was unbearable.
Trying to move his arm, he found himself bound to his chair. Duct tape glittered around his wrists, locking them to the hand rests, and for a second he wondered if Pietro was playing a trick, though he knew that wasn't the case. It was the same vain hope that a woman locked in a room feels when she tries the door, knowing it to be locked but hoping maybe it will open if she jiggles the handle just right.
There was a dull pressure around his head, and thoughts of the torture instruments of the Inquisition flashed unhelpfully through his mind. One such devise would be strapped around the victim's skull and gradually tightened until the bone shattered. From how he felt, Xavier assumed that had long sense happened. If his head lulled forward, his brain might flop out onto his lap. Final oblivion would be better – anything would be better – than the gaping emptiness drowning him.
Forcing himself to be proactive, he took inventory of the physical world around him. He wasn't in Mount Haven that was for certain. It was dark in the room, but the walls were pockmarked with age, whereas the prison had been strictly maintained. The air was cold enough to make him shiver; a damp cold that ate into his bones relentlessly. This was a place long abandoned, and though he could hear the distant sound of activity, it was clear they weren't planning on making this a permanent base of operation.
On reflex, he tried to reach out with his thoughts towards the sounds outside. Suddenly the Inquisitor analogy took on new life. It felt like barbed spikes were driven into his skull. The instant agony doubled him over, pulling a weak moan from the pit of his gut. Worse, he could smell the unpleasant consequences as his body lost all control. Tears stung his eyes at the loss of his dignity.
"I had to see that work for myself," a pleased voice announced Stryker's presence as he entered the room.
Xavier didn't respond at first. Better to take the time to recover and gather his few remaining resources before facing his enemy. His tongue swiped along the inside of his dry mouth, tasting the familiar gunmetal flavor of adrenaline, remembering another time and place when his telepathy had been of no use to him. A wayward step on a jungle trail, and the shock of a landmine that, fortunately, was on the other side of a tree. That encounter won him a Purple Heart, but it also taught him a valuable lesson: Just because it doesn't have a brain, doesn't mean it won't kill you.
Stryker was a man of patience, especially when he was winning. He waited until Xavier was ready to continue.
He wasn't alone. In the doorway, standing at attention, was a bodyguard. Her Asian features were as lovely as they were blank. The eyes caught Xavier's attention, similar to Zen, yet entirely different. While there was animation in her gaze, there was no sense of life. It was like she was both awake, yet entirely asleep.
"I call it the neural inhibitor," Stryker boasted. "The more you think, the more you hurt. And—" he tapped his own forehead—"it keeps you out of here."
"William," Xavier replied, unsurprised by how difficult it was to speak even that one word. It wasn't just his psychic abilities crippled by the inhibiter, but to a degree his basic cognitive ability as well.
"I'm sorry we couldn't fine more . . . comfortable quarters," Stryker said. "We're undergoing some major renovations, much like your delightful mansion."
Xavier felt stupid, which in turn sparked his anger. Even though he heard the man, he couldn't make the connection, couldn't see the implications of what Stryker said, even though he acted like it was blindingly obvious. Instead, he focused on the one thing his inhibited mind could latch onto.
"What have you done with Scott?"
"Don't worry, you'll be seeing him soon. I'm giving the boy a little reeducation," he paused. "But you know all about that, don't you? Altering thoughts and perceptions must be as easy for you as rewriting codes of software."
"There's no need to involve anyone else!" Xavier protested with more vehemence that Stryker expected.
"No need to involve anyone else?" Stryker was genuinely incredulous. "You run a school for mutants, Professor. What on Earth do you teach those foul creatures?"
That was a question requiring a conceptual answer, which took more effort than was pretty and brought another wave of pain. But Xavier persevered nonetheless, calling on the same focus and discipline that enabled him, self-taught, to master his burgeoning telepathy.
"To survive," he hissed through gritted teeth. "To coexist peacefully in a world that lives in fear of them."
Stryker snorted. "I've seen what's buried under your house, Xavier. It didn't look the least bit peaceful to me. I also know – firsthand – the kind of monsters you've gathered to live there. Some species can never coexist. I learned that lesson from you," he finished offhandedly before turning away.
"You wanted me to cure your son. But, William, mutation is not a disease."
"Liar," he snapped. When Stryker looked back, his mask of pleasantness was gone. The pain living in his soul was there on his face, the grief, the rage, and he turned his words into a lash to flay his prisoner with.
"You're lying, Xavier," Stryker repeated, more forcefully. "You were more afraid of him than I was! He was too powerful, and unlike your other puppets, you couldn't control him."
Behind him, the Asian woman laced her fingers together, cracking her knuckles. Stryker noticed the action more than Xavier did. The gesture amused him, but only for a fleeting moment, the feeling quickly vanished under his relentless fury.
"You know, just a year after Jason returned from your school, my wife . . ." Stryker's voice trailed off, and he stood up. His right hand was clenched so tightly the knuckles were white, and Xavier guessed he wanted to use that fist on Xavier himself. "You see, he resented us for his . . . condition. He was my son. I loved him more than my own life, we both did. How could he feel such things about us? How could he . . . do . . . such things?"
"He would . . . play with our minds, you see. Project images and scenarios into our brains."
As he spoke, the woman's breathing became erratic. A faint trembling began in her hands, catching Xavier's eye. There was a growing look of confusion on her face, a distinct change to the quality of animation he'd seen in her gaze. She was no longer placid; she was waking.
Stryker paid the woman no mind, all his focus remained locked on Xavier.
"Unfortunately," he said, straining to force the emotion down which only revealed the terrible, haunting depth of those feelings. "I had my work. I was overseas, serving my country." The subtext was plain. He hadn't been there to share or alleviate his wife's ordeal; he couldn't do for her what he felt his job required him to do for the nation—save the day. He'd survived and was both glad and guilty over the fact.
"My wife couldn't get away. She was trapped with him all the time. We had to keep him home, you see. After you sent him away, we dared not risk sending him to attend a school. Can you imagine what he would have done to all those impressionable young minds?"
"I . . . didn't know."
"How convenient for you. My wife, over time, she became easily influenced . . . unable to tell the difference between reality and his warped imaginings. In the end . . ." he paused, facing down the memory like a warrior facing down an army. "She took a power drill to her left temple, in an attempt to bore the images out of her mind."
Next to him, the woman swayed, shaking her head to clear it as she reached out to steady herself. With practiced ease, Stryker stopped the gesture and pushed the arm back to her side. He was aware of her condition and it didn't appear to bother him in the slightest. Everything was under control.
"My . . . boy," and that single world held a world of heartache, loss, and the shattered dreams of a father. "The great illusionist."
"For someone who hates mutants, you keep strange company."
"It has its uses," Stryker responded. "It serves a purpose. As do you."
With the controlled grip of a trainer guiding a horse, he bent the woman forward from the waist until her head was on the same level as Xavier's. Sweeping her long hair aside, he bared the back of her neck to reveal a scar that was twin to the one Xavier saw on Magneto.
Eyes locking with Xavier, Stryker applied two studied drops. The effects were instantaneous. Her shallow breaths returned to a normal pace, she stopped trembling, and when she strengthened to her full height, Xavier saw the stirring personality was again absent from her eyes.
Stryker whispered into her ear. She nodded and left the room.
"It was you." Xavier gasped, the pieces snapping together so harshly in his mind they seemed to echo inside his skull. "You arranged the attack on the President!"
A surprised laugh escaped the big man. "And you didn't even have to read my mind."
"You know," he continued, "I believe I've been working with mutants almost as long as you have, but the final solution to the problem continued to elude me. I suppose I'm in your debt. I have to thank you, Xavier, because you gave me Magneto, and Magneto gave me the answer."
"You can't eradicate us, William. New mutants are born every day."
"And once I'm through, they'll be born into a different world. What are you thinking, that I'll end up like Ramses or Herod or poor old Heydrich? Nice try at genocide, but no cigar?"
"Guess again. You see, in all my years of . . . research, the most frustrating thing I've learned is that no one knows how many mutants exist, or how to locate them."
Now he leaned a little closer, putting his face on the same level as Xavier's. "Except you." He held the small vial up to the light. "Sadly, this little brew won't work on a telepath of your caliber, will it?"
Standing, he slid the bottle away. "No, you're far too powerful for that. Instead, we'll need to go right to the source."
With crisp, military movements that were a flourish in themselves, Stryker opened the door.
"Allow me to introduce Mutant 143."
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