16

Considering they had been warned they were waiting for anything between a lone mutant girl and an entire squadron of freaks. The end result was a big disappointment.

They had only three down in this hallway: an adult male, an adult female, and a girl. Although the musculature was more or less correct for target one - Wolverine - the hair was wrong. He could have cut it and dyed it black, but based on his psych profile he was unlikely to have done such a thing ("Will not conceal or alter his identity due to a perverse stubborn streak."), and besides, he'd seen the guy was metal or something before the dischargers came to full power. He bet he conducted electricity like a lightning rod; that had to hurt. Was he even still alive?

Not that it mattered. They were only supposed to take target one and two - the girl - and get clear; the rest were to be left behind.  Home Front had no material interest in unknown muties.

Jones walked past the Asian woman and the big guy (who was or wasn't dead) and came to a stop at the girl, peering down at her curiously. Was this the one? She didn't look it - didn't she have red hair? - but she could have been wearing a wig.  Besides, he was horrible with faces; he could never remember if he knew a person or not, even within
his own family.

"Garcia," he asked, pointing his tranq gun down at the unconscious girl.  It was a new drug synthesis, one neither target could have ever encountered before, and in a strong enough mixture to put a horny bull moose down for days. "Is this target two?"

The lieutenant raised his night vision goggles and peered over at the target, never moving from his position near the Asian woman.  Judging from his scrutiny of her, he really liked the Asian woman. Well, she was kind of pretty, if you were into that sort of thing. "Target two was a carrot top, Jones, and she didn't have no skunk stripe in her hair."

"Yeah, but this could be a wig. Who in the fuck would bring a girl here otherwise?"  Well, who would?  It was probably a form of child abuse if not plain old sheer stupidity.

Garcia scratched his chin and scowled, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Why don't you check then?"

"Huh?"

"If it's a wig, yank it off. C'mon, we're down to time here."

Jones looked down at the girl, and suddenly regretted being the first one out into position. Yes, he was wearing gloves, but ... touch a mutie?

Okay, yes, logically he knew they weren't contagious or anything, but still the very idea gave him the willies. At least these ones looked more or less human. There were some that didn't; there were some that were so grotesque he was surprised Animal Control wasn't called on them.

Because he didn't want to look chickenshit in front of his commander, he reached down and tentatively touched the girl's hair, grabbing a hold of it and giving it a gentle tug. Well, her head moved, but not her hair.

"I don't think-" he began, puzzled.

Then the most extraordinary thing happened.

The Asian woman kicked out, hitting Garcia in the side of the knee and sending him sprawling on his ass, and virtually without pause, she arched her back and jumped to her feet. "That tingled," she said.

Garcia pulled his side arm, but she kicked it away, and then spun into a side kick that nearly took his head clean off at the shoulders; Jones heard something crack as Garcia went limp and sagged to the floor.

What?! How the fuck did that happen?! The voltage was supposed to be great enough to take down any mutie, unless they were an electrical conductor or something.

The two guys at the head of the hall, Marquart and Hanson, converged on her, Hanson emptying his tranq gun in her direction. If anyone actually hit her, it didn't even slow her down.

She moved so fast it seemed impossible; like life's editor accidentally cut out a necessary frame. She grabbed Marquart's gun and threw him along with it down the hall - he just barely missed hitting Jones as he flew by, letting out a startled yelp. The crunch of impact with the wall sounded painful. She ripped the gun out of Hanson's hand but he instantly backed up, drawing his knife.

The crazy bitch actually laughed. "Oh goody - my weapon of choice."

She was just as suddenly behind Hanson, holding his own hand - with combat knife - to his throat. "Stop killing yourself," she said, and sliced his hand across his throat. Arterial blood sprayed out in a dark fan, coating the walls and floor in a fine mist before he crumpled to the floor, bleeding out and far beyond hope.

The woman had changed. Her eyes were yellow and seemed to glow in the dark, while her forehead now seemed to protrude over them, like a Neanderthal.  Her mouth was crammed full of far too many teeth, the most prominent of which were very large fangs.

Jones realized suddenly that he was very much alone with this quasi-human psycho. It took an effort of will not to piss himself.

"Gonna drag the girl away by the hair, caveman?" She asked, walking towards him slowly.  She ran her tongue along her sharp teeth, clearing away blood. Was that ... was that Hanson's blood?  He suddenly felt very sick.

He almost raised the gun towards her, but in a moment of epiphany decided to keep it trained on the girl, whom he still had by the hair. "One step closer and I splatter her," he warned. Okay, it was the tranq gun, but it was designed to look like one of their Walthers.

She paused, but the look she gave him was smug, a smirk that showed off her ugly sharp teeth. (It occurred to him that maybe that's what a piranha would like if it could smile.) "Oh really?  With a tranquilizer gun?  I'd like to see you do that."

"It's real," he lied, panicking in his mind.  How did she know it wasn't a real gun?  Even he got confused sometimes - they looked the fucking same!

"You wanna live, boy?" She said, and her voice was so cold he could feel his balls shriveling up. There was something in the almost hypnotic glow of her yellow eyes that seemed not only purely evil, but purely inhuman. "Step away, and drop your weapons. You have one chance, and that's as nice as I'm ever gonna be."

He honestly believed that.  And yet he knew damn well that Home Front would probably see these tapes, and he couldn't be seen as chickenshit.  Of course, he'd have to live to be demoted ...

Staring into her eyes, he had a feeling he knew what a deer felt like when it saw the high beams of a tractor trailer coming straight for it.  But he fought the numbing paralysis as best he could. "One step closer, and I kill the bitch."

For some reason, that made her really grin, a leering look that made him want to scream in terror - somehow it was worse than any glower, any cold stare. "Thank you. Now I get to kill you."

"No you don't," another woman said, and Jones looked down, to see the girl was conscious, and for some reason had pulled off one of her gloves, and snaked her hand beneath his pant leg.  Before he could kick her off, she touched him, and -

- light exploded in his mind, and he would have screamed, except he had no strength left. He felt like he was bleeding out, but he didn’t know where.  He heard the tranq gun fall, bounce on the metal floor, but it was so distant it could have happened in another room, and his vision was completely fuzzing out.

The last thing he heard was the girl saying, “I thought Logan told you no killing.”

What an ironic thing to hear when someone was killing you.

***

Yasha wondered how much control Rogue had over her powers.

The guard she had grabbed collapsed to the floor, looking like he was dead to the world, and she sat up, grabbing her own head this time.

“Logan told me no such thing,” she pointed out, morphing out of “vamp face”, which was difficult since the hall now reeked of blood.  And from the small taste she got of it, it was good stuff too. “He told you no such thing either.  These people are torturers and murderers; all bets are off.” And they weren’t even her people they were doing this to! Although she wished them luck on torturing vampires; vampires were so adept at that it was unlikely anyone could ever find anything new, let alone impressive.

“Oh god, I shouldn’t have done that,” Rogue groaned, squeezing her own skull like she was trying to pop it. “He hated us - mutants - he thought we were diseased …”

“You got his thoughts too?” That was interesting.

“Yeah, I got nearly everything.  Logan and the others must have gotten fried too; these places were booby trapped.”

Yasha ran a finger along the wall, pulling away a dollop of fresh blood, which she turned away from Rogue to lick off. Well, it was always a shame to let good blood go to waste. “It will take more than frying to put Logan down. So, have any idea what’s in this place? Is there anything worth pursuing?”

“Uh … it’s hard to … I don’t want to know these things,” she said, but Yasha was sure she wasn’t talking to her, but to the “voice” of the man in her head.

Yasha turned around, convinced there was no other back up coming (yet), and went to nudge the Russian with her foot. She knew he was still alive, she didn’t smell death, but she was willing to bet that a metal guy and high voltage were incompatible.

But just then, Rogue sucked in a harsh breath, and looked at her through the veil of her long brown hair. Her eyes were wide and focused inward, and she looked just a little bit insane. “Target one and target two, Logan and Leonie … we were to be left behind …”

“Makes sense.”

But she stared up at her, still not bothering to get up off the floor, where she was sitting by the unconscious man whose thoughts she was obviously channeling. “No, no - this place is gonna vaporize.”

“I’m sure it is.  What evil government conspiracy leaves evidence behind, child?”

“Yeah, but the countdown’s on now,” she exclaimed, slightly panicky, climbing shakily to her feet. “It’s on! We have to get out of here!  He doesn‘t know how to stop it!”

It was always something, wasn’t it?

17

Brendan’s first thought - after ‘Ow‘ - was the perfectly logical ‘What the fuck was that?’  It felt like someone shoved him into a microwave and hit “defrost”.

Well, at least he wasn’t cold anymore.

His head hurt and was it really muzzy. But he had an impression of voices before he understood the words, and knew someone was standing near him before any of it made sense.

“ - confirm to target,” a man said; it sounded like he had a sore throat. “Let’s get them out and get moving.”

Boots on metal, people shifting around him, and when he thought it was relatively safe, he peeked out of a single eye.

Soldier types, in black gear, were currently grabbing the unconscious (?) Leonie by her limbs, attempting to carry her between them like a medic’s litter. There were three others all standing near Logan. One was dicking around with what looked like some heavy duty manacles (the Logan specials?), while the other two had guns aimed down at him like they expected him to pop up like in a horror movie slasher and cut them down. (Brendan was rather hoping for that.) “Should we put a couple in ‘im, just to be on the safe side?” one asked. They wore black ski masks showing only an oval of eyes, now that their goggles were pushed up on their foreheads, so they all looked rather interchangeable; bad guy lackeys straight from Central Casting.

You know, he knew it was a bad idea coming here.  But did Rogue listen to him?  No.
He wondered if turning all demon as Logan tried to shove them out of the hallway had helped him at all - he seemed to be the only one conscious, save for the bad guys.  And was he smelling smoke?

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.  He was not a “hero”, nor did he want to be one. These guys were ready for them, and they had big fucking guns.  But could he stand - well, lay - by while they carried Leonie off (not so bad) and used Logan as target practice (not so good)?

Rogue had talked him into coming by insisting this would be a good opportunity to get Logan’s attention, and maybe earn some “brownie points” with him, which he had learned from others was almost impossible; when he was around, Logan was a cipher. But of course he was - he was the brooding loner, the tortured soul with six pack abs and rock hard pecs you could eat dinner off of.

Oh Jesus Christ, was he going to get himself killed over a stupid crush on a straight guy who barely even knew he existed?

He was a moron; he was the idiot king.  He could not take on all of these guys.  He had lucked out the first time simply because it was a distance hit, and save for hurting Scott and Storm, those … stormtroopers, whatever the fuck they were … didn’t really want to kill him or Matt, just get them out of the way. He had no idea what these men planned to do to him and Bobby, but just from the amount of firepower they were packing, he assumed it wasn’t dress them up pretty and take them out for tea.

One of the guys crouched down before Leonie’s head, grabbing her arms, and Brendan could see that the man’s broad back not only blocked most of his view of the other soldiers, but their view of him.

He could not take all these guys.  But maybe he could buy some time until Logan woke up, or someone from the other group found them. What had Logan said to do if they got into trouble - get their attention?  Fine then; he’d get everyone’s fucking attention.

Brendan willed himself to “demon up”, which not only made him feel a little better, but allowed him to move faster. The soldier in front of him was just starting to stand, holding Leonie by either wrist, when Brendan reached around, grabbing his sidearm with one hand while giving him a full force punch in the side of the head with his other hand.

The guy dropped Leonie and hit the tin wall hard, and Brendan didn’t give his partner time to react, just lifted the gun and fired.

Brendan was even more shocked than the soldier - it didn’t make the loud bang he had braced for, but a sort of pneumatic hiss, and it didn’t fire bullets either. The thing that hit the guy in the face (oh shit, nearly missed him, and from barely six feet away!  Fuck, he was a shitty shot) looked like a … like a small dart.  But still, it had the desired result: he dropped Leonie, who hit the floor with a thud, and reached for his side arm, only to fumble it half way out of the holster before falling hard to his knees.

Brendan quickly shot another soldier visible behind him, and had just shifted his sights towards a third, when the gun finally issued a very loud bang.

Oh, wait a minute, he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet.

It felt like something had hit him in the leg.  He had vague memories of visiting a distant Aunt out in the Pennsylvania countryside (before the Chambers family disowned his mother; it was before his eidetic memory started in earnest), who owned a couple of horses.  He could recall being specifically told not to stand behind one, but he was four and stupid, and he did; he almost couldn’t remember waking up to find himself inexplicably twenty feet away, laying on the ground, with an ache in his head and a sprained ankle.  He didn’t remember the pain so much as the impact.

The same was true here.  It felt like Aunt Laine’s horse had kicked him in the thigh.

He sprawled on his ass, unable to help falling as his right leg seemed to give out on him, and as he tried to catch himself, he lost hold of his gun. He instantly tried to grab it again, but another shot rang out, so close to him he could feel the wind of it as it passed him by and hit the gun, making it explode into fragments.

“My god, yer an ugly fucker, aren’t you?” The soldier said, aiming the smoking barrel of his gun down in the direction of his face.  His friend was sliding up beside him, back to the wall, weapon out.  He was effectively surrounded. “Wow, green skin and red … pointy things. You clash with yourself boy, you know that?  A Christmas tree mutie.  Maybe I’ll have you stuffed and hang baubles off yer … protrusions.”

Well, maybe he could die with his killer believing his was nothing but a mutant. If he had to die, that wouldn’t be so bad. (“Look at me, Ma!  I’m dead, but they think I’m Human!”)

And then the man’s gut seemed to explode.

It was like that scene in Alien, only the guy had about seventy pounds on John Heard, and it wasn’t a baby alien that burst through in a decorative spray of blood, but three metal spikes.

Not spikes - claws.  Oh thank god, Buddha, Bob, or Elvis, whoever was responsible: Logan was awake.

And these morons were so dead.

Guy number two, sidling against the wall, seemed dumbstruck for a second; maybe he didn’t see Logan standing behind his partner. Or just couldn’t believe his eyes. Either way, it seemed to take him a couple of seconds to shift his aim.

Logan spun, the first guy still skewered on his claw, and tossed the guy straight into another soldier at the head of the hall, who was just coming to join the party. The second soldier had finally opened fire on Logan by the time he turned around, but if the bullets hit him, it didn’t slow him down in the least. The first slash turned the gun into trash; the second slash left the guy bleeding on the floor like Brendan.  He didn’t know if the guy was alive or dead, but honestly he didn’t give a shit.

It didn’t take long for Logan to take care of the last remaining soldiers, but Brendan didn’t watch, because he didn’t need to.  You fucked with Logan, you paid the price, and what a hell of a price it was. You’d think people would have known by now the smartest thing to do was just run away. The sound of his claws ripping through layers of body armor (and by extension, the skin underneath) was eerie as hell.

Almost as eerie as the fact that he had a hole in his leg.  It was a pretty big hole too - he was sure he could easily jam a felt tip marker in there - but he couldn’t see through the hole to the floor, like he thought he should be able to; it was too bloody.  It started hurting too, now that he was looking at it.  It was throbbing in time with his heartbeat now, and the pain was hard to describe; kind of like a burning bruise.  There must have been a hole (no, an “exit wound”) in the bottom of his leg somewhere, because the blood was really growing beneath his thigh.  You couldn’t die from a leg wound, could you?

“Where’re you shot?” Logan barked, but it took a moment for Brendan to realize he was talking to him. “Kid, where’re you shot?”

“My leg.  I don’t think it’s that bad,” he lied, trying very hard to be macho. Oh Jesus, why start now?  And besides, how did Logan know he was shot?  He was still coming down the hall towards him, after having finished off the last of the pricks. He retracted his claws, and Brendan was glad, because he could’ve sworn he’d seen blood on them.

How’d he know he was shot?  Well, fuck, he was Logan - he probably smelled it.

Logan crouched down beside him for a better look at the wound, and as he touched his leg, he said, “This might hurt.”

“No, it’s okay,” he told him, and he really wasn’t lying this time. “It’s mostly kinda numb.”

“Golden hour,” Logan muttered to himself, peering inside the bullet hole.

“What?”

“Shock, adrenaline. Once that wears off, you’ll feel it.” Finally Logan completed his examination, and said, “I don’t see the bullet, so it’s a good bet it exited. It doesn’t look like it hit the artery, but it’s damn close.”

“Artery?” Oh Christ - he could die from a leg wound?!

Logan pulled up his shirt, and did something Brendan thought was a figment of his imagination: he tore it. Well, he tore a long strip of it off the bottom, and an extra piece that he wadded into a ball. Exposing that skin (he was an innie), Brendan saw for the first time he had smears of blood on his side, and trickles that had soaked into the waistband of his jeans. “You’re shot too,” he said, a little shocked. So Logan gets a cap busted in his ass (possibly several), but was he sitting on the floor like a useless load?  No.

Logan shook his head as wrapped the strip of shirt around Brendan's leg. “Nah, the slugs have already fallen out; I’m healed.“ He secured the wad of cloth over the bullet hole before tying the longest strip tightly around it. It sent a small shock of pain through his leg that made him gasp. “Sorry,” Logan said, grimacing slightly. “That should slow the bleeding, but try and stay off your feet as much as possible.  And whatever you do, don’t revert to Human form.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause demons can often shrug off injuries that would kill a Human; it’s more a help
than you know.”

Well, how about that?  Being demon had worked out for him again.  It only occurred to him then that he was still “demoned out”, all green with those stupid red spikes, a demonic porcupine, and Logan had never done a double take (which he was used to) or looked at him in that way that said, “You are the most grotesque freak I’ve ever seen, but I’m going to shove my revulsion aside and treat you in an extra patronizing manner.” Wow.  He even got that from some of the kids at school, who were often freakier than he was. “I’m sorry I fucked up,” he told him.

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t fuck up.  Ya did good, kid.  You almost got ‘em all.” he stood up, wiping his bloody hands on the legs of his jeans.

Brendan was now sure he was in love.

He coughed, the air starting to taste sour, and said, “You know, I think something’s burning.”

Logan nodded his head back towards the entrance. “The charge set some of that fucking paint thinner on fire.”

Brendan looked sharply over his shoulder, but could only see what might have been a cozy glow (under any other circumstances) emanating from a hall further down towards the front. The front?!  “Shit - are we trapped?”

“No, I’ll get us outta here,” he said with the utmost confidence, walking down the hall in the other direction. “But I wonder where these fucks came from.”

He was talking to him like he was one of the other adults or something.  He was going to faint from joy, or maybe just smoke inhalation or blood loss.  Logan not only knew he existed, he was treating him like an equal.  Maybe he should get shot more often.

What the hell was he thinking?!

“You’re not leaving me here, are you?” He asked, trying to figure out how to stand without bending his leg.  It was really starting to ache now, and it felt like he tied the bandage too tight, but it was a tourniquet, right?  To keep him from bleeding to death? (Oh, what a lovely thought.)

“What the fuck hit us?” Leonie asked, grabbing her head and slowly sitting up.  She healed a lot slower than her “dad”, didn’t she?  Maybe because she was a kid and he so clearly wasn’t.

“Electric shock.” Logan paused and looked back at her. “Help him,” he said, and Brendan was astonished to see Logan was pointing at him.

Leonie was too, and stared at him in disbelief before looking back at Logan. “Why the fuck should I do that?”

“Because he saved your ass.”

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“That’s the beauty of it - you didn’t have to.  Now help him, and I’ll see if Bobby’s still with us.”

Leonie got up, moving her head from side to side as if trying to work the kinks out of her neck, and she helped him stand up, nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket in the process. Strong girl, wasn’t she?

She glanced down the hall, and asked, “Does he know the place is on fire?”

“Yeah.  Kinda hard not to, huh?”

Although she scowled at him like he smelled bad, she did drape his arm around her shoulders and help him keep standing up.  He felt stupid, like a lame horse, but with just the two legs.

Logan patted Bobby on the cheeks with increasing severity. “Hey, kid, come on,” he said, and finally Bobby turned his head and tried to wave him off. “Wh-what?” He finally started to look around, and must have remembered where they were, because he seemed less groggy and more alarmed. “Oh, hell.”  He then stared for a few seconds at the bloody body of a soldier near him. Brendan was willing to bet money that guy was never getting up again.  Finally, Bobby said, “I guess I missed a lot.”

“Nothin’ new,” Logan said, grabbing his arm and pulling him up to his feet.  He looked shaky but otherwise okay.  Brendan wasn’t sure if the electric shock had gotten to him more, or the sight of the bodies had.

Logan turned him in the direction they had initially come in, the direction now blocked by fire, and said, “When you’re strong enough, put that out, and get everyone outside.  I’ll meet you there.”

“Fuck you!” Leonie snapped. “If you’re goin’ in, so am I.”

“Me, too,” Brendan said, if only so Leonie didn’t drop him.  But hell, he was ready to follow Logan to the ends of the earth.

Bobby dry-washed his face, looking pale and disheveled, like he’d just woken up in the middle of a nightmare. “I guess that makes it unanimous. I’ll need a minute to feel ready to put out that much ice anyways.”

Logan glowered at all of them, but then rolled his eyes, a tacit “Damn kids”, and went on down the fire-free end of the hall. They followed him as best they could, a funereal conga line.

They heard Logan slash open a metal door (?), but because they were around a bend in the corridor, they didn’t see it. They came upon a gaping hole in the metal wall, and then went inside.

It was a cool room, and dark, the air free of smoke. They stepped out onto what seemed to be a metal landing, with a metal staircase leading down into …

Brendan wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first.  It was too bizarre to even contemplate outside of a sci-fi show or something.  But it looked like a whole floor of coffins.  Glass coffins.