Omniday Personal Journal
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Journal Entry Dated: 991115
"If I had been a smart man instead of the stupid
So why the hell did I think I had a chance at happiness here
when it seems so patently obvious that my side of the karmic
cycle could hardly be described as anything but maelific at the
very least?
Mother always said I was a naive l'il cuss and perhaps she
was right in more ways than one. I took to Savijinia like a
hound in heat. Stupid, stupid, STUPID halfbreed! I should've
listened to the Old Man with his one sane piece of advice that
I could get out of him before the bottle got to his brain: never
EVER trust your heart when your mind can find a better way.
Must be the Cheyenne in me. I'm a stubborn bastard. Never
did listen to my elders..."
Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning
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1407 Greymalkin Lane
Salem Centre, NY
29 October, 1999
19:51 hours…
How many times have I sat here and wondered just what the devil I'm doing here? What, exactly, I am supposed to accomplish with one hand always tied behind my back as seems so often to be the case here at the Institute? I wonder...
"Woolgathering?" came a distinctive, melefluous singsong of a voice from behind me. Inwardly I cringed.
"If I'm th-th-that easy to read," I said, affixing my best 'Gee, sorry I got caught' smile on my face, "than I'm guh-going to have to reevaluate my relationship with you, Savij."
"Oh?" she lifted a brow, leaning against my door frame. "And why's that? Afraid to let anyone inside, Dom? Afraid of being hurt?" Though the smile on her face was real--and her humour ostensibly genuine--it bit nonetheless. There was an underlying message she was trying to get across, of course. One I'd heard far, far too many times (and mostly from Emma these days).
"Touche," I replied, saluting her. "And, I think, I'm due some privacy every once in a while, duh-don't you?"
"The last time you had privacy you tried to slit your wrists," she said with a 'naughty, naughty' wave of her right index finger.
"I did slit my wrists," I corrected her, perhaps a bit more harshly than I should've. "It just duh-duh-didn't work is all."
"Thank the gods and goddesses for that," she responded, placing her hands together in a silent prayer. "But, my point is still valid: you need to relax. Apparently, you cannot relax alone without feeling maudlin enough to attempt self-harm. Hence," she gestured at herself with a wry grin, "I see no other choice than to, ah, chaperone you."
"Who made you my keeper?!" I half-snarled, suddenly very much upset. "Duh-duh-did Emma put you up to this? 'Cause if sh-she did--!"
Before I even completed my thought, though, I was interrupted by Moshe's face, staring at me from behind Savij. "Ooops," he grimaced. "Looks like I came at a bad time, eh?"
I grabbed my leather coat from the stool in front of my desk and slipped it on roughly. "Nuh-not at all, Moshe," I said, still heatedly eyeing Savij. "I was juh-juh-just leaving."
"Well, that's what I came by to ask you about," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-to-eye contact with the Srivijiyan as he strolled into my room. So much for his pretensions of chivalry, eh? "I was about ready to go bar hopping with Logan and Sam and, naturally, I thought of you, my patroclus!"
I nodded briskly, now suddenly embarrassed by my very-uncharacteristic display of anger towards Savij. I lowered my eyes. "Yeah, cuh-count me in, Mosh," I said, then looked up, catching Savijinia's collected gaze. "And, while we're at it, why nuh-nuh-not initiate our newest teammate into the Circle of the Opened Can?"
The Israeli blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Uh...her?!"
"No, Elvis you nit-wit!" I chuckled, smacking him on his shoulder as I squeezed past the two of them and into the hallway that ran down the center of the East Wing. "She's duh-decided to be my chaperone and, I s-s-s-suppose that's not such a buh-bad idea...especially since you're in worse sh-shape than I am, kimosabe!"
Moshe screwed up his face in mock torment, holding his outstretched left hand in my direction. "'Prick me, do I not bleed?!'" He chuckled. "Okay, then I'll meet the two of you down in the living room in a few minutes, eh? And hurry up. Logan's driving and you knowjust how much he hates waiting..."
I waited until he'd walked out of earshot before I turned around to face Savij, now coming out of my room to join me in the hallway. "Would it be proper to refer to this as a, ah, 'date'?" she asked, that wry grin once more sliding into place on her face.
It took all of my self-control to beat down the urge to come back with something suitably snotty. Instead, I shrugged. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've s-s-said what I did. I...to be honest, you hit the wrong button at the ruh-ruh-right time, Savij. I get a little testy when I th-thuh-think I'm being watched over. It reminds me too much of my days in the service."
Savij gently closed the door. "Apology accepted, Dom...and understandable in justification. My nation of birth has long held a martial tradition and I've seen what constant warfare and preparation for such can do to a man's soul. Why, the soldiers coming back from Mindinao were horribly scarred inside; their psyches' rattled about like chains. Most never wanted to talk about their experiences in the bush again...and most never did."
I grunted by way of comment. There was no way of telling her how I felt inside; far too much lay between us to bridge that gap of comprehension. From what I could tell, she was treated something like royalty back in Palembang...while I trace my descent to those who lost the war to keep their sacred lands. Hardly an odder couple, she and I. Though I would never say so openly, simply watching 'the boys' come in from the war was nothing at all like being there. Had I been any less an honourable man, I might have been insulted by the comparison. But, at least, that's one thing I got that was 'right' from my parents: never sass a lady...
...'specially one that can splatter you across God's green Earth.
The Non,
14 miles SSW of Charleston, West Virginia
20:23 hours...
I had a creeping feeling of disquiet rattle up and down my spine when I was given my mission brief. Not that I haven't done worse things for Jericho. Hell, I've done much worse! No, this was different in that, this time, I wasn't tagging a lone mutant or a small group of underground subversives. This wasn't the MLF-GC I was locking horns with. This was the X-Men.
Now you see what I mean when I say I was a 'tad' disturbed...?
"You've gotta be friggin' kiddin' me," I said, slapping the folder down on the Assistant Director's desk. Of all the cotton-pickin' times to give me a stupid-assed crazy assignment like this...they had to choose a time when I'm still trying to clean up after that botch in SoCal. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what a cock-up! "Ah'm not some kinda idiot, Richmond," I growled. "What th' Sam Hill is goin' on heah, man?! All this-this bullshit don't help me none! What th' hell you want me t' go up t' Westchester fo'?!"
Richmond pretended not to be angry with my little calculated outburst--he's not very good with emotions, the poor cuss--and scribbled some silly-assed note on his TextPad. "Ours is not to question, Trajan, but to listen. I would've thought that, by now, you'd've figured that out."
"Oh, that's a load a horse pucky an' you know it!" I said, sitting down once more, though I did hasten to lean across his desk, and act which made him distinctly uncomfortable...as I figured it would. "There's somethin' goin' down heah, ain't there?" I lifted a brow. "Somethin' you ain't tellin' me? Listen heah, Richmond: it does you no damned good t' send me out on a spot when Ah don't have th' proper background. Remember Montreal? Huh?" He winced visibly. "Yeah, you damn right you'd better cringe ole' son. Ah've still got scars all up an' down mah left arm 'cause some stupid sumbitch forgot t' tell me that th' Quebec Liberation Front had allied itself with th' MLF-GC."
"That was before my tenure as Assistant Director," Richmond said defensively. "Remember, I came up through the ranks as well. I recall the struggles with the Directorship and the half-wits who wouldn't give you all the information you needed to correctly assess the situation--"
I leaned back. "Yeah? Well, Ah would've thought you'd learn somethin' from that, huh?"
"That's unfair," he frowned. "I'm just not at liberty to tell you all of the whole story. You're to go to Westchester to keep an eye on what happens at the Institute. We've good intelligence that indicates there will be some trouble there soon, an attempted kidnapping."
"An' here Ah thought kidnappin' was a crime," I sneered. "An' you expect me t' sit there an' watch this happen?! Richie, didn't anybody evah tell you that th' X-Men were th' good guys?! What th' hell kinda game we playin' with them, anyway?!"
"One I am not at liberty to discuss with you, Special Agent Rhys-Salisbury!" he snapped. "Now...I'm not going to argue with you. I'm sick of it. Get up to New York and keep an eye on the place. Report back as per your orders. That. Is. All!"
I worked my mouth, still seething. "Somebody's pullin' mah strings," I said, finally. "An' Ah don' like it one damned bit. This heah smells fishy. Yo' reaction don' help me none, Assistant Director." With careful precision I lifted myself to my feet, suddenly wondering just how many microphones carried my impromptu tantrum. "Well, here's t' hopin' you're just bein' naturally paranoid, Richie," I grinned. "'Cause Ah still have a few years left in me and a pension Ah'd like t' collect."
"Keep your eyes open, your ears tuned...and your mouth shut, Agent Rhys-Salisbury," Richmond said as I stopped at his door. "And then, if you're lucky, you might live long enough to hit retirement age."
I nodded silently, well aware that I had pushed the envelope as far as it was going during this session. My watch chimed briefly. Official quitting time. This shift was over...thank God.
Slowly, but with increasing speed, I walked down the hallway and towards freedom. Damned if I was going to stay here one cotton pickin' minute more than I was contracted to stay...
Palace of the Congregation
for the Doctrine of the Faith
(Holy Office)
Stato della Città del Vaticano
(Vatican City)
21:02 hours...
Augustine Cardinal de Silva, Secretary of State for the Holy See, rubbed his troubled brow, placing the diplomatic communique he'd been studying all night down on his desk. One could almost see him pray silently. Of all the intrigues he'd been involved in--and let there be no doubt that the Vatican is as susceptible to geopolitics as any other principality of man--this was, by far, the most taxing on his conscience. Twice this week he'd conferred with the Holy Father for advice, but John Paul II could give him little solace. In matters of diplomacy, de Silva handled the arms of the Holy See's foreign affairs bureaucracy nigh-alone on his already overburdened shoulders.
"Is it as bad as we thought?" I asked, gently stretching out my limbs from the long day's work scouring the Vatican Library.
"Worse, Abner," my old friend sighed. "Much worse, I'm afraid. It is as we thought," he slid the communique across the desk and into my hands. I noticed his fingers shook. "There is someone working on the inside. This proves it."
"But no idea whom or where this person is?" I asked, adjusting my glasses, peering down at the thin sheet of paper. It was from our Nuncio in Tel Aviv-Yaffo and had been sent rather hurriedly, judging by the many mistakes in both grammar and spelling. "Are we sure of the veracity of this source? There are many reasons why the Israelis would want to deceive us..." Unsaid, of course, was the primary reason: the Holy Father's impassioned empathy for the plight of the Palestinians following the Israeli move on the autonomous enclaves that the latter had won as a result of the Jerusalem Accords. True, it could be said that Israel had more than enough reason for worry when nearly daily terrorist bombings were marring what little peace was left following the death of the Authority's President, Yassir Arafat, but John Paul II was never one who believed in force begatting anything else but force. Misery for all makes poor bedfellows.
Augustine shook his head. "Nothing is certain in that part of the world...but I have a gut feeling about this. It reads well with what we already know about the growing cooperation between Palestinian and mutant liberationist terrorist cells and the Srivijians. Heaven help us, and I thought the Troubles in Ireland and the continued bloodshed in the wake of the Balkan War was bad enough. Monsignor d'Ettempé, if what this source says is even a third truth...then the Holy Father--the Church, Herself--is in grave danger. Is the Order ready to move?"
I nodded briefly. "As we have been for centuries, Your Eminence, you'll find the Order of St. Bassarion always ready to take up the cudgel for the faith. Let us hope we are as successful this time as we were the last."
"What's your first step?" he asked, furrowing his grey brows into one gangly mass at the centre of his forehead.
I licked my lips delicately. "Perhaps it is best not to say," I whispered. "There are always...ears that can hear." My old friend stared at me momentarily, his sad blue eyes flickering across my face as if to say 'Et tu?'...but I could not afford to trust him now that the Bassarionites had been given the charter to untie this Gordian Knot. It was more than simply paranoia--though I had to admit that there was enough of that to go around--it was a sense that the less anyone outside of my order knew, the less of a chance innocents could become targets. And while I had no doubt of Cardinal di Silva's diplomatic and theological skills, he was simply no fighter. That, alas, was left to others...such as us.
Augustine gave a great sigh, exhaling long and harsh as if the wind had been taken out of him. He reached over to pour himself a cup of strong cappachino, the smell wafting heavily in the air. I felt my stomach rumble in protest but there wasn't really any time for me to enjoy a cuppa with him right now. "Your Eminence," I said, "if I may, there is a lot I must check into before I set out. I have to return to the order's monastery in Switzerland in order to prepare for my journey--"
"Of course, of course," my old friend said, placing his cup down and standing up. I shook his hand firmly, noting the slight tremble in it. "May the grace of God, the Father, be with you and may the Holy Spirit watch over you, Abner, my friend," he said, suddenly every minute of his seventy-three years of age.
"Thank you, Your Eminence," I bowed, kissing his ring. Then, quietly, I turned from him, heading out of the room.
"And Abner," he said, stopping me. "Be careful."
His voice chilled my very soul.
The Watering Hole
Salem Center, NY
23:28 hours...
The precognitive flash exploded between my eyes so fast I could hardly process it. My senses reeled as I plugged into it, freezing me in place while my mind struggled to sift through the glimpses of neverwhen.
It took me less than five seconds to figure out what was going on...one one second to react.
"DUCK!!!," I shouted, violently grabbing Savijinia by her head and thrusting it down underneath the table. Even then I almost didn't make it.
CRASH!! went the glass pane adjacent to right where her head was scant moments ago. I heard the muffled cry of someone across the bar, an innocent who'd taken the shot meant for Savij.
The room slowed to a crawl as my perceptions sped up. I reached into my trench and unholstered the Glock-10 that I'd decided--on a lucky whim, no less--to take with me. It had been a coin-toss, actually. Normally I never pack at a bar. But this time...
In front of me, Logan unsheathed his claws with a mechanical SNIKT!!as they passed through his cybernetic housings, skin, and outer leather gloves. "Get 'em away from th' civies," he growled, leaping up from his place and outside the partly shattered window. Glass scattered across the table as Moshe, Sam, Savij and I struggled to get out from behind the booth and away from the fracas that was undoubtedly about ready to erupt right under our noses.
"Follow me!" Moshe shouted in front as he lunged forward towards the rear exit, far away from where the attack had occured. As he began our run, I watched in silence as the bar exploded into cacophony, people scurrying about like rats. A small crowd rushed for the main entrance while another gathered about the man who'd been struck. I placed my arm around Savijinia and maneouvered her inbetween Sam and I.
"Kuh-keep her covered!" I yelled above the panicked din. "That sh-shu-shot was aimed at her!"
"One blast field comin' up!" the Kentuckian responded. "But where th' hell are you goin'?!" A crackling wave of energy rushed over Samuel's body. He surreptitiously grasped Savijinia's arm and extended its protection to her. I cut backwards, heading towards the table where we'd sat. "Dom!" he shouted after me. "Are you plum crazy?!"
Well, now that you ask that...
"Dominic!" I heard Savij cry just before I lept through the gaping hole that was once a window.
...maybe I am.
As I dove for the ground I tucked my arms underneath me, rolling my body forward in mid-air, landing on my feet in a perfect crouch right outside the Watering Hole. Already partly ahead of the game, I was prepared for what I saw.
[twotargetsapproaching]
The crouch had left me in a position to evade the grappling attacks, easily allowing me to use their momentum against them. I grabbed the back of their heads and pushed them as hard as I could to the rear, a motion which ended with a satisfying CRUNCH!! as their faces met the outer wall of the bar. Without even bothering to look back--
[results: multiplefractures--maxillae&nasalbones] --I lifted the Glock up, aiming at the goon who was, even now, risking evisceration by taking on Logan. PHUT!! went my weapon, his right shoulder exploding into a shower of crimson and gore--
[results: comminutedfracture--rightclavicle]
--spinning him around in a half circle. Taking advantage of the situation, Logan balled his right hand and coldcocked him flat across the jaw. CRACK!
Unceremoniously, the would-be assassin dropped to the asphalt. "I could've handled it myself," Logan grunted, flexing his fingers. "Where's everyone else? You didn't just leave them in th' bar, didja?!"
I felt a flush rise above my collar. "Nuh-no, of course not," I sputtered. "I told them to exit through the buh-back. Sam's guh-got a blast field around Savij so I don't see why--"
"Holy shit, kid!" he shouted, pushing past me. "What th' hell didja do that for?!"
"Buh-buh-!"
"They were fuckin' decoys!!" he shouted, already nearly twenty feet away from me and darting behind the bar as fast as a leopard.
I felt something sink in my chest.
Another wave of prescience flowed across my mind, flooding my senses with extraneous data. A miasma of pain welled up inside of me as my brain linked to the vision; feeling what it felt; knowing what it knew. Nausea threated to overtake me as I stumbled around the corner and attempted to face the scene ahead of me. "She's guh-gone," I said, already sensing what was now being done to her; the anguish, the fear, the pain she was undergoing.
Logan knelt on the asphalt, checking the pulse of moaning Samuel Guthrie. "Hey boy, wake up," he said. "Getcherass up, kid!" The burly Canadian looked back at me. "The Izi's in no better shape, Dom. I pick up at least six scents. It was an ambush, plain an' simple."
I fell to my knees, remorse filling my eyes with tears. No, it's not fair! My hand stroked the side of Samuel's leather coat, and I sunk my psionic tendrils into the eddies of yesterminute...
[Iseeabrightflashoflightinfrontofme;feelthepressureofsomethingagainstmyblastfield]
"They used suh-some kind of energy weapon," I said aloud, gripping Sam's lapel now.
Logan nodded. "Explains th' smell, then. Ozone."
[Ohmigodit'scuttingrightthrough!Butthat'simpossible!]
I released my hold on Sam and looked away. "Whatever it wuh-wuh-was, it ate right through his buh-blast field."
"Get a good look at 'em?"
I shook my head. "Nondescript, just luh-like the ones we fought back there," I said, jutting my thumb behind me. "All wore black suits covering their entire buh-buh-bodies."
"Hand?" Logan asked, raising a brow.
A prickle crossed my neck, raising the hairs thereupon. "No...no, they didn't luh-look like Hand. But I could be wrong, of c-c-cuh-course."
The Canadian pursed his lips in frustration. "We'll be able t' get more on them when we interrogate their buddies they left behind," he said. "In th' meantime, let's gather up our boys, here, and get th' hell outta here before th' local mounties arrive, eh?"
I nodded sullenly, turning to walk over to Moshe who was, even now, only just stirring. A powerful grip on my shoulder stopped me. "Hey, Dominic...ferget what I said earlier. It's not your fault."
I rolled my tongue over my teeth, thinking of someway to respond...and coming up with nothing. Instead, I simply nodded and resumed my walk towards my best friend. I felt Logan's eyes burn into my shoulder blades all the way there.
Sure it wasn't, Logan. Sure.