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DAWN OF THE DEAD
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Author: Notmanos
E-mail: notmanos
at yahoo dot com
Rating:
R
Disclaimer:
The characters of Angel are owned by 20th Century Fox
and Mutant Enemy; the character of Wolverine is also owned by 20th
Century Fox and Marvel
Comics. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm not making any
money off of this, but if
you'd like to be
-------------------------------------------a patron of the arts, I won't object. ;-) Oh, and Bob and his bunch are all mine - keep your hands off! 10 Logan found himself sitting in an office. It was a very plain office, with dingy white walls and cheap, decrepit looking furniture, set off with a beige rug that could have very well been a large stain. Behind the rickety, cheap desk was a man, as nondescript but slightly dumpy as his surroundings. Pale, doughy, and balding, he was every inch the pasty bureaucrat, with the only thing distinguishing him from others being his olive drab wardrobe. Not quite army fatigues, but the color scheme was the same. All he needed was ill fitting glasses to complete the effect. “What is the point of this test?” the man asked. Logan sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Don't fucking start. If this was a test, you'd have already failed it by now.” That made him put his pen down and stare at him. Not a glare, there was no anger behind it, it was just a look of incomprehension. “I've failed the test?” “Would it bring an end to this if I said yes?” The man continued to eye him with great wariness. He picked up his pen and tapped it on his desk in a nervous, impatient way. “You are Organization, yes?” “I was. I left.” “Nobody leaves the Organization.” “I did. Can't say they liked it, but I don't give a shit.” The man scratched his balding pate. “You're not lying.” Not a question. “You're the telepath, right? Look at my most recent memories. That's you, your head in a box. Well, coffin. It's a severed head in a thing.” “No.” “Yes.” Logan suddenly realized why he was looking so uncomfortable. “You don't know, do you?” The bureaucrat was shaking his head vehemently now. If he had been wearing glasses, they'd have gone flying off. “No no no, that's not possible.” “It is possible. You had a healing factor, right? I got one too. I dunno if it's strong enough to keep me alive in spite of decapitation, but I really don't wanna find out.” “No. This is a lie. You're trying to trick me.” “To what end? You're a telepath; I can't trick you.” He was still shaking his head, but he was so upset it was starting to bleed into the mindscape. The walls were warping, bowing in as if under a great weight, the water stained ceiling becoming a dome as it bubbled. Who needed hallucinogens when you were dealing with a emotionally disturbed (and sanity challenged? He was starting to wonder, because Jean's erratic nature couldn't have all been an act) telepath? Luckily, he was too accustomed to the relative madness of other dimensions and Bob's house to be truly disturbed by what seemed to be a melting mindscape, one turning from solid to liquid as the guy started to lose his shit. “No,” he insisted, and started panting like he'd just run a marathon. Panic attack? “That isn't possible. They wouldn't do that.” “It's already happened. Sorry man. Or woman, whatever. Who did this to you?” The man buried his head in his hands, and started muttering to himself. “Not true, not true ...” “You know it is. I ain't lyin'.” “You ... you have blocks in your head. I don't recognize them ...” Some lingering bits of Bob power? Some of the mental fucking the Organization did to him? He supposed it didn't really matter either way. If it was Organization, it was just the psychic equivalent of scars; if it was Bob traces, it could kill him if he/she pursued them too far. “Not blocks I can control. I'm not hiding anything from you. Look through my eyes, see what I see, and tell me it's bullshit. My powers are physical, not psychic – unlike you, I don't have both. I'm just here looking for the missing people, that's all. Tell me what's happened to them, and we'll go.” But the guy (unisex Guy) wasn't paying attention to him. He had his head in his hands and was keening quietly between muttering. It was a continued variation on “No no no”. Logan kicked the desk, making a loud noise and making the man bolt upright in his seat. “Was it the government? They did this to you? Look, I get that. I got screwed over by mine too. How do you think I ended up in the Organization? There's something inevitable about governments screwing over mutants.” “They wouldn't do that to me!” he shouted, suddenly angry. He was on his feet in a second, suddenly sweeping everything off his desk and onto the floor, a violent, desperate gesture that either made no sense or every bit of sense in this limited, warping mindscape. “They were ... they were supposed to make me better! They were gonna make me perfect! They did, they made me perfect! I saw!” Logan was starting to understand, even though it didn't make a lot of sense. Well, no, it made a kind of sense, but it was sick as all fuck. “You saw a lie. I don't know how, if they brought in a stronger telepath without your knowledge of if it's somehow tied in to the machines you're connected to -” “Machines? I'm connected to machines?!” Logan rubbed his eyes, and wondered why he had to shout in a mindscape. “'Kay, look at my recent memories already. They'll tell you what you need to know. You got my permission. Go nuts.” Not that he needed permission, being both a telepath and a bit of a dick, but now he wasn't angry. If anything, he kind of felt sorry for the bastard. He had no idea what was actually going on, did he? He was living a life being fed to him, possibly through machines, possibly through some other means, but he was probably as lost as they were. The difference was, he didn't know it. Not until now, at any rate. He stood there in the middle of the detritus he knocked off his desk, breathing hard, arms wrapped around his head. Logan had no idea if he looked into his mind while doing this, all he knew was he finally melted, slowly collapsing on the floor like he was sinking in invisible quicksand. “This is a nightmare.” “Yeah, I agree. Why don't you tell me how it started?” He wanted to add “And make it fast” but he didn't, because that might have unnerved him further. It was just that, knowing his crew, it wouldn't have much time to explain itself before somebody started using it as a soccer ball. **** “At what point do we crack open the case and get to the chewy nougat center?” John asked, being both insensitive and gross at the same time. Not that Shaheen was particularly surprised that he was the first one to bring it up. He was like that. The betting pool for how long it took Logan to smack him across the room was rather large, and if he didn't do it within three days, she was out twenty dollars. “Give it a couple of minutes. Logan doesn't appear to be in any distress.” “So we just stand around twiddling our thumbs like a bunch of morons?” John complained. “What would you suggest we do?” Piotr asked, an edge to his voice. “Besides kick the ass of the headless dude? Why don't we try and get the fuck out of here? Burn a few holes in the wall.” Kitty clicked her tongue in disgust. “Do you even know the size of this place? It's massive. If we wander off with no idea where we're going, we could be wandering this place for days.” “So scout ahead,” he told her. Kitty just glared at him. “Whoever's ass I'm looking at, will you put me down?” Zehra snapped. Piotr seemed startled she was awake, but put her down. She straightened up and looked around, annoyed, as if they'd knocked her out on purpose. “What the hell is this place?” “We're still trying to determine that,” Shaheen said. She wanted to ask her how she was, maybe test for pupil reaction to make sure she was okay, but she wouldn't allow it with a crowd around. Zehra preferred people hate her, as the other option was pity, and she simply wouldn't tolerate that. So she came off as the world's biggest bitch. It struck Shaheen as a drastic choice. Zehra then noticed Logan on the floor. “What's his deal?” “We think he's talking with the telepathic head in the box,” John said. She glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” So they got her up to speed, which killed a couple of minutes and stopped the current argument, skewing it towards a slight variation on the argument. Shaheen wondered, not for the first time, if Logan had actually picked the team or if he'd been assigned some. Because, when you boiled it down, most of them were weirdos – if they had decent powers (and Shaheen didn't count herself in that group; her power was pretty rubbish), they still seemed off in some fashion. Or maybe it was just their personalities that were off. Either way, she had the sinking feeling they were all where they probably deserved to be. “What the hell's the problem?” Zehra finally exclaimed. “Just kill the head and let's get out of this fucking nightmare.” “I second that,” John said. “Um,” Kitty said, biting her lip. “I don't know if we should. Or if we even can. I mean, if they can live without a body ...” “It's hooked up to a machine,” John replied. “She said so.” He gestured to Shaheen, in case no one knew the exact she he was referring to. “I do have a name, John,” she replied coolly. “And I think we should give Logan some time to get some answers before we do anything drastic.” “And how does he do that unconscious on the floor?” Zehra asked. “He's not the type to do it anyways. He's all slice and dice.” “He's smart enough to know we need more information. We're not getting out of here without it.” “You're assuming we're getting out of here at all,” Zehra countered darkly. John snorted derisively. “Just bring down some more ceilings, Suicide Bomber. We'll get there eventually.” “Don't call me that.” “What do I call you then? You don't like Carrie either.” “How about you -” Logan sat up then, busting up the argument before it had a chance to really get going. Since Shaheen was still crouched on the floor next to him, she was the first one he talked to. “We have to move fast.” “What's going on?” Shaheen wondered, as doors suddenly appeared in the walls. They irised open, one after another, opening up a visible trail. “There's doors?” Piotr asked, shocked. “Why didn't we see seams? Why did the metal seem uniformly thick?” “There's an extensive use of non-traditional holography in this place,” Logan said, jumping up to his feet. “As well as the fact that people who can see them can only be allowed to see them through the Central Brain. C'mon, Taras is running interference for us for now, but as soon as the Overseer realizes what's going on, it could all shut down.” “Wait, what?” Nariko asked. “Central Brain? Overseer? What's going on? Am I misinterpreting these words?” “Why would Jack-In-The-Box run interference for us?” John asked. “What's in it for him?” “We made an agreement: he helps us, I help him. Now c'mon, we gotta go.” Logan was already in the adjoining room, and crossing the threshold to the one beyond. “Help him how?” John wondered suspiciously. “What are we supposed to be doing?” Shaheen asked, as she felt that was the more relevant question. She kind of had the idea of what the head probably wanted anyways. “We have to get to the Central Brain.” “That's a metaphor, right?” Piotr asked. The prospect of it seemed to make him a little nervous. “Just a name? There isn't anymore disembodied body parts floating around here, are there?” “What are we gonna do at the Central Brain?” Kitty asked, almost talking over Piotr. They had nothing but questions, and Logan presumably had the answers, but time must have been working against them, because he was already so far ahead of them they were losing sight of him. Yet his voice floated back, loud and clear. “We're gonna kill it.” Shaheen had been afraid he was going to say that. But at least it was something this team was more than equipped to handle. |
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