Inbetween Days

a gen-x alternities serial

a-t d.m. lasher

chapter VI: "Volte-Face"

Omniday Personal Journal
[toggle]
UserName?
[Dominic]
Password?
[Bogomil]
Acknowledged…
Accessing Omniday Personal Journal Protocols...
Running...

Journal Entry Dated: 991101

"In a strange, almost deviant way, this is precisely

what Moshe and I needed. A return to the environment

from which we sprung, from which we were groomed.

Free from the group-think that has bothered me since

I entered the Institute nearly a year and a half ago.

Free to experience the adrenal thrill of being on the

edge without a backup; knowing that there is no

rescue, no pardon from the cold reality of an explosive-

tipped, armour-piercing bullet ripping through your

kevlar vest like Jackie Chan through fifteen goons.

"We had little time. What time there was had been

burned up arguing over ethics. Even after arguing with

the leadership of the Institute, I could discern no real

movement towards dealing with Savij's kidnapping.

This wasn't the X-Men whose exploits I read in Newsweek,

nor was this the X-Men depicted in their own, more thorough

(if more biased) official histories. What had happened?

Had I made a grave error in misjudging the character

of these people?

Wouldn't surprise me. And it certainly wouldn't've been

the first time I've let my guard down enough to be ensnared.

What choices do I have now? I'm damned if I do and damned

if I don't. The only certainty is that I could not Savijinia slip

away from us--no, from me. I kept on rolling over her image in

my mind's eye, replaying those last, fleeting moments we had

together...

...and realising that, not too much earlier, I was angry at her.

How much more of an ass does that make me?"

Saving 991101 to the hard drive...
Encryption?
[MIT PGP v2.7.4]
Saved.
[Exit Application]

Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning

1407 Greymalkin Lane

Salem Centre, New York

991101

02:11 hours…

"peel off all those eyes and crawl into the dark;

you've poisoned all your children to camouflage your scars.

pray unto the splinters, pray unto your fear

pray your life was just a dream

(the cut that never heals)

pray now baby, pray your life was just a dream

the world in my hands,

there's no one left to hear you scream

there's no one left for you."

marilyn manson, "Man That You Fear"

The cool pre-morning air didn't help alleviate the tightening noose of fear that was encircling my heart. Underneath unstable molecular fiber, I was sweating bullets. My face twitched in sporadic myoclonic jerks as the tension, the enormous tension, ratched up to unthinkable levels with every step we took along this line of quasi-conspiracy.

I hadn't even left the Institute yet and the beginnings of a panic attack were creeping up on me. I slipped between the double-breasted outer layer and firmly grasped the small vial found therewithin...and drew it slowly, carefully, out.

With shaking hands, I slipped a one milligram tablet of lorazepam past my lips. Having no water to cover the taste, it slid down like chalk, catching several times in my dry esophagus. I trained my attention towards Moshe's window as he slipped back inside. "Clear," he whispered. "Thank God Logan's not out on one of his midnite jaunts again."

I grimaced. "Duh-don't speak so soon, Moshe. He muh-might be fast asleep and yet still easily alerted to our muh-muh-movements." I norrowed my gaze past my glasses. "All it takes is wuh-wuh-one dropped item, maybe even something as little as a credit card."

"All the more reason to hurry up, grab that schmuck downstairs and have Illyana get us the hell out of here," the Israeli smiled, flashing his traditional devil-may-care grin that seemed to bely his nominal sense of seriousness. "See? No problems!"

"I wuh-wish I had your confidence..." Or, at least, your ability to ignore reality.

"Ah, one of the benefits of being an Israeli," he grinned. "Having been pushed around far too much over the millennia, we've finally grown an enormous chip on our shoulders!"

My eyes rolled back up into their sockets in mock consternation and tongued the subvocal audio set affixed to the roof of my palate. "Haroun, this is Dom."

The Moroccan responded almost immediately. "Copy, Dom. All clear in the Day Room. No movement discerned from either wings of the Institute, alhumdulillah. 'Inshalallah, we might pull through this yet."

I clenched my jaws together. I sincerely hoped so...but I've learned over the years that the way to success isn't paved in the hopes and aspirations of people.

More often, it was lubricated by sweat, tears...and blood.

For all practical intents and purposes, the MedLab was pretty much the only place where we could effectively keep prisoners. Oh sure, the Danger Room would have sufficed to a large extent, but the energy consumption would have been tremendous. Too dangerous a risk in this day and age when we all knew that the Federal Government was looking for violations of the Metahumans Civil Rights Initiative. Since the closest autonomous canton was north of us, far and away from New York City and the teeming masses of humanity-at-large, we most certainly were in direct conflict with the law. No use exacerbating an already tense and tenuous position we'd been forced into when Xavier turned down the reasonable request to relocate once the cantons had been set up.

Trying to make the best of things, though, we've learned that all it takes is to strap 'em down and sedate 'em faster than lickety split and we accomplished pretty much the same effect doing unsavory things inside cantonal boundaries the feds would be leery of stepping across...albeit instead of violating just a federal statute, we were violating a few State ones as well. Like kidnapping, holding without consent, assault and battery...

Of the three, there was no doubt whom the best candidate for interrogation was. I completely ignored the minorly injured 'gents'--the two who'd sniffed the wall just a wee be too closely--and levelled my gaze intently on the bastard whom I'd shot.

If it can be said he was 'lucky', then his luck was bad...but it could have been much, much worse. It was more than just my skills (or lack thereof) on the range that saved him. I'm absolutely certain my stochastic controls had some input into my shot. I'll be damned if I didn't aim directly for his spine and, at the last possible moment, I could have sworn he jerked out of the direct line of fire. To my later benefit and to his life-long pain, as I later realised. His shoulder would never be the same. He was effectively maimed for life, forever having to deal with the wreck of bone and scar tissue that his shoulder blade would slowly be fused into over the next few months.

Insidiously, almost as if there was a purpose for the pain, the shot hadn't killed him. We needed to interrogate them, and he was our best choice, purely from a psychological standpoint. Severely hurt, well aware that he could have been on a morgue slab right now, he was going to be putty to the likes of Logan or Magnus...or maybe even me. The chilled, analytical side of my mind considered that a strange conflux of my abilities levelled this man for the possibility (probability?) of further interrogation. That, somehow, something innate in me sensed his logical 'use' in later events. And at that very last possible moment, he moved (or did I? I thought it was he...but now I'm not so sure).

And here we were.

I frowned. Pleasant thought, that. My God, what have I come to that I can think like that with such...such callousness? I thought those days were long since past? Get your head out of the clouds, Dom. This isn't Sarajevo anymore...

With gloom settling in, a deep, dark stain that spread across my view, I angled forward. I knew that nothing I could do would ever be considered in any light without fear and regret on my behalf, and estrangement and hysteria on others'. It was simply the nature of what made 'me' me and the sooner I got over it and quit whinning, the better. That was, of course, strangely reminescent of what Emma told me...and it is no easier to put into practise now than it was then.

I stood above the prisoner, calmly observing his face. He looked nothing like Savij, truth to tell, but I was no expert in the various and convoluted ethnicities that made up the Hindi supra-culture of Srivijaya. His hair was a light black and cut in a short, militaristic style, reminding me more of the Jarheads I used to work with vice any civilian taste in style. No facial hair at all, not even stubble. Dipilated? Hmm...

His skin was a light tan, almost chestnut in colour. Not as dark as Savij's and yet not as light as, say, certain Hispanic sub-groups. No apparent scars on the face. Thin lips. His temples caught my attention as they lightly throbbed with pulsating blood. Gently, I slipped my right glove off my hand, the unstable molecule fabric disconnecting from the arm sleeve with a nigh-silent sssss! before it separated.

This would be our first line of attack. I didn't expect much from it--I spoke not a whit of the various, confusing Srivijayan languages save English--but if there was any way we could do this without physically having to move him it would be well worth our efforts. If not, then came Illyana...but that was for later.

Slowly, struggling with my nerves and my shaking hands to gain control of my ever-present fears, I affixed my thumb to his right temple and my index finger to the centre of his forehead...[CONNECT!]

It was all that I could do not to fling myself backwards at the intensity of the sudden intrusion of alien thought-patterns atop mine own. Hastily-constructed psi-screens weaved around my precious personality nodes as the wave of the prisoner's totality flowed over them. Words, pictoglyphs, images, sounds, sensations, and experiences I cannot even begin to catagorise shot through my mind, ripping past even my most densely-constructed screens. I felt the flood levels rise in panic as the surges grew higher and higher and my matrices begin to collapse against the onslaught.

ohmigodohmigodohmigodOHMIGOD!!!! I screamed inside my head, transfixed in agony and unable to--

--[DISCONNECT!]

The floor rose up to kiss me and blackness engulfed my mind...

Metacharno'ii Chasm

Limbo

Sometime, Anywhen...

...and then, almost as swiftly, it veered away, as if chased by some kind of--

"Nyeh zah shto. Don't move too quickly or else you'll be hurting a lot more than you already do," came a...yah, it's her...familiar voice that matched a set of hands which gently pushed me to the ground. "You know," the voice continued, somewhat impishly, "one of these days that American bluster of yours is going to get you killed, Dom."

I lifted a hand to stop the rancorous thudding in my skull...which, of course, failed miserably no matter how hard I tried to massage it out. "Thanks for the commentary, Ms. Rasputina," I said, trying to grin. "Buh-but I thought you knew buh-by now that Americans wouldn't be Americans if wuh-wuh-we didn't go in with all guh-g-g-g-guns blazing."

"And look where that got you," she whipped back. "Cowboy."

"Touche," I frowned, rubbing the back of my skull. "What the hell wuh-wuh-was that?"

The Russian rolled her doe-shaped sapphire-blue eyes. "You're guess is as good as mine, drolya. All I know is that I barely enough to snatch you and our guest here," she gestured at the limp body of the Srivijayan I'd attempted to interrogate, "before you broadcasted yourself and your predicament to half the world's telepaths."

"I screwed up that buh-bad, huh?"

"Da," she nodded, then leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on my forehead. "Don't worry, though, Cowboy. I won't tell a soul." I cast a wary eye at her, then shook my head at her devilish grin, ashamed.

I lowered my gaze to my intended victim, a wave of anger and self-loathing flowing over me. Couldn't even get that simple task done, huh? What good are you to anyone if even your psychometry doesn't work? Especially when that's the least of your capabilities?!

"Uh oh," Illyana scowled, leaning over to find my gaze. "I know that look, tovarisch You look like a bad nite at the peevnoy bahr."

"Just thuh-thinking, is all," I lied. And she knew it, of course, but chose to remain silent. A painful silence ensued between the two of us, seemingly stretching for long minutes, before I shook off my self-pity and brought myself to my feet. "They're guh-going to be worried--"

"Nyet," she said, cutting me off with a chop of her hand. "Check out all preconceived notions of the traditional Laws of Physics at my doorstep. Limbo is something else, entirely. Time is as I will it, more or less. I don't have full, complete control over the realm--there are, apparently, an innate set of physical laws that even I cannot influence--but there's enough within my grasp to make things rather impressive should the need, ah, arise," she smiled.

I gropped around me, feeling for my fallen glasses. Now where the hell--? My fingers stopped a few inches from me, grasping the wire rims of the only damned contraptions that allowed me to see. But before my eyes even got a chance to fully adjust from the blurred to the clear, I cursed. A spider-web of hairline cracks reached across my right lens, almost totally obscuring what clarity the glasses offerred.

A deep sigh escaped from my lips. "This duh-didn't turn out too well," I noted, wryly. Illyana winced, catching a glimpse of my heretofore hidden face as I whipped my bangs out of my field of vision. "I don't suppose you know a suh-s-s-spell for correcting eyesight or even fuh-fixing glasses, huh?" I asked, only half in jest.

She clucked her tongue and shrugged sheepishly. "Da kahnyeshnah eegrahyoo...but you might not like the results I manage to conjure up." I lowered my head, crestfallen. From bad to worse. Man oh man, thank God those nuts in Detachment 55 couldn't see me now...how humiliating. "You've got to realise something, Dom," she continued. "Limbo is the home of every spirit born with the Original but untained by the Venial Sin; those of Free Will and conscious volition. It obeys its own directives, directives that manage to...to piss off--is that how you say it?--both Heaven and Hell. Not an easy task. Even at my best, I could not guarantee the results."

I looked around the dark grey landscape and the ravine walls which rose high into the sky. The light seemed to be partly innate. No sun illuminated the expanses and it seemed as if the only external sources of brightness were these long strings of bead-like objects which floated, seemingly without guidance in the still 'air', at various levels above us. I nodded at one of them, one which dominated the left-hand quadrant of my view; a haphazard spiral that reached downwards (or was it upwards?) like some kind of twisted DNA molecule. "What is th-th-th-that?" I pointed.

Illyana paused for a moment, then lowered her eyes. "How religious are you, Dominic?"

A frown slid across my face. "That's the s-s-s-suh-second time someone's asked me that in the luh-last few days... Muh-my answer's the same nuh-now as it was then: strictly agnostic. I don't know and, moreover, I duh-don't think we can know for sure...why?"

She hugged herself. "Souls of the unborn or stillborn, Dominic. Not just humans. All kinds of creatures, both bizarre and benign. Species from all points of the galaxy. They're the fuel that fires the forge for the more...morally ambivalent denizens here. A power-source...and a food for those who would take my throne from me."

My hand stopped mid-way to my cigarette case. "You're kuh-kidding."

She shook her head slowly. "There's an old, unofficial Catholic belief regarding Limbo; more popular in the last generation than now. I'm Russian Orthodox, myself, at least titularly...but I recognised this place even before Belasco told me. I remember mother, a so-called 'Uniate' Ukrainian Catholic, telling me stories when I was a child, before I came to America..." She drew her head away from my gaze...and I lowered my eyes. My mouth felt dry.

Something twisted in my stomach at the obscenity of the thought, and I refused a chance gaze upwards, afraid of exactly what I might see. The notion--even if proven ultimately false--sickened me. Above me, partly invading the corners of my visions, the sky lit, steadily pulsating...

"Luh-let's get the hell out of here, Illyana."

"But, what of--?!"

"To hell with it," I said bitterly. "Let Muh-Moshe tackle 'em. Obviously I cuh-cannot help here--I should've known it wuh-wuh-wasn't going to be that easy--so, since we're already in duh-deep kimche, let's go all the way."

An uncomfortable silence grew between us, but I would not let it break my resolve. I'd already gone this far--screwed up this bad--and there was no stopping me. Not now, no matter the consequences. Hell, we were already operating illegally, outside of the autonomous cantons. This was no time for moral quibbles. I'd tried that and look where it got me. Occam's Razor; let's get this done using the easiest and simplest way we know.

She sighed quietly, stretching her left arm out before her. "Okay...I'll send you back down."

My eyes widened. "'Send'...'me'?! What a-buh-bout--?!"

"I'm staying here, Cowboy," she said grimly.

"But--!"

"I've done some scrying ahead," the Russian interrupted curtly. "You're going to need me. Here. Now. And later."

I shook my head violently, scrambling to my feet. "When the hell duh-did you get the chance to--?!"

"You forget," Magick said, as I felt the inexorable tug of a rift opening up right underneath me, the fabric of Limbo suddenly becoming as porous as air. "You're not the only one who can get a glimpse of the future, drolya. Here, in my realm, I'm the closest thing to God these wretches are ever likely to see. Believe me--"

--her image blurred into a miasma of colours and quickly lost all shape and focus--

"--you're going to need me independent and free. See you later...Cowboy."

--leaving only her sapphire eyes to finally fade from view.

Darkness.

Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning

1407 Greymalkin Lane

Salem Centre, New York

991101

MedLab

03:09 hours…

"Dominic, iz-zay-yak" Haroun said, a bit unsteadily, asking how I felt. "And, more importantly, are you prone to lunacy right now?"

"Don't answer that question," Moshe said. "You'll scare the poor lad off."

"Luh-listen!" I hissed at the two of them. "We're s-s-sounding worse than the Keystone Cops here!" I jabbed a finger at Moshe. "Take this sonofabitch out of here, o-kuh-kay? Get him out of the Institute. Illyana hinted that something was guh-going to go down soon and I've got a very bad feeling I know what it is..."

Moshe froze.

"Exactly!" I said, nodding at his reaction. "Suh-someone's going to wake up or stumble upon us. Either wuh-way, we nuh-nuh-need him," I kicked the Srivijayan in his side with a twistedly satisfying thud! "out and away from the person they're muh-most likely to key on: me."

Haroun frowned, licking his lips. "Not a little vainglorious are we?"

"No, buh-buh-but you didn't scream at Magneto at the tuh-top of your lungs a few hours ago, either."

"Oh. Better you than me, ya Dominic."

The Israeli lifted the Srivijayan on one side. "C'mon, Haroun," he said thickly. "And if I know Hank, the moment this idiot crosses the threshold of the doorjamb, half a million alarms are going to go off."

"Oh great!" Jetstream winced. "And how are we going to evade a whole horde of X-Men and heavens knows what else!"

"That," I turned to face them as they slid out of the Lab," is what I hope Illyana was referring to. She suh-suh-seemed to infer that she would be there to puh-pick a few of us up when wuh-we needed it." I pressed my lips together. "If, in fact, that turns out nuh-nuh-nuh-not to be the case...Haroun, at least you can fly, yes?"

"With this deadweight--?!"

I held up a hand. "Just do it, muh-my friend. Just do it."

Moshe glared at me from the door. "How will we know how to get in contact with you, Dom?"

I ground my jaws together. "You wuh-won't, Moshe."

For long moments we stared at each other, memorising the details of the other's face...just in case. I realised then that I was contemplating not making it out of this without some serious injuries. "Go," I said, throatily. "S-s-suh-stay frosty."

He nodded, a gaze passing between us that needed no interpretation.

The door hissed close...

...and I was alone, save for the two remaining Srivijayan operators who lay oblivious to the struggles around them.

['hello,dominicsurprisedtoseeme?'FFFFzzzzzssssHH'--cannotfathom...tenacity...needstokeepyouhonest']

['ideologyforholdingprinciplesbeforediscardingthemto'Rzzzzzzzzzfwoop]

There was a small click! from below and behind me. I recognised it immediately and almost laughed alound. "A .9 mm, Emma? Is th-th-th-that the best you cuh-can get?" I turned around.

A bemused smile crossed Emma Frost's face, yet it was twinged with a bit of...dissapointment, too. God, what have I done now?

Her eyes darted low, and I followed them...to an empty hand pointed in the shape of a gun. "Child's play, really. Any good psi can create auditory illusions that'll put the razzle in your stride."

"Emma...oh jesus--!"

"And hello to you, Dominic," she smiled. "Surprised to see me?"

"Only a bit," I admitted, unwilling to tell her just how little my prescience gave me when she was around. As if on cue, her smile widened.

"I see you and your confederates have taken matters into your own hands, hmm? For the life of me, I cannot fathom the tenacity with which you're undergoing this. Dom," she placed a light hand on my forearm. "Don't you think those higher up than us on the food chain are attempting a solution? Don't think for a moment that Savij is being left to a pack of wolves--"

"Seconds count, Miss Frost!" I hissed, nearly tripping over my tongue in an effort to get my, admittedly, heated emotions out from between my lips.

"And you think you've got the answer, hmm?"

"An easy infil and exfiltration muh-muh-mission. Moshe and I are already experts at this."

"And what of Haroun? Are you not corrupting him a bit by taking him on this romantic little excursion to the Far East?"

My facial muscules froze. "If that's the wuh-wuh-way you feel about me, Emma, then just say it. Don't sugar it over. Tuh-tuh-tell me, goddamnit!"

Slowly, every muscle visible (which, in her sheer night gear, was a helluva lot more than my mind wanted to contemplate on right now), she slid into a plush chair that's always stationed adjacent to each booth. Evenly, she crossed her legs, lifted a finger to her temple and smiled. "If I had any ill feelings about you, Dominic, it would've been already apparent to you. Remember, I voluntarily to take you under my wing rather than help rebuild the Generation-X team. You are quite...special...to me. And, as way of answering your direct question: I trust your judgement in most things. What I worry about, though, is a sudden outbreak of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or even an anxiety attack. We've reviewed those simulations together, yes? There are a few soft spots in your tortured psyche that bear protecting."

I blinked slowly. "You wh-what to come along?!"

"You're facing what looks to be an entire nation," she clinically observed. "You've no functioning telepath--Moshe, of course, is an exceptional soul but not what we need--and, most importantly, you've an emotional investment in all of this."

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

"Your secret's safe with me, Dominic though, I'd have to tell you, there wasn't a soul who didn't see that the two of you hit off rather well..." Frost said. "Think of me as a stabiliser, an advocate, and, most importantly, someone who would very much like for you to come out of this alive."

I looked down at my boots, the first three bars of "Sister Christian" meandering around in my head. Damn. "Okay...okay," I gave in, deflating. I suppose it was arrogant to think that we'd be albe to do it all by ourselves. "Just...just keep up with us, okay? I duh-don't want to see you hurt."

She smiled wickedly. "Why, that's mighty nice of you, Dominic. Enjoying playing the white knight?"

I pursed my lips. "Only practical, muh-ma'am. You're the only one who puh-probably could put muh-my head in order....

...plus, it's always nice to have muh-muh-more, ah, pleasant scenery." Underneath my bangs, I lifted my brows lasciviously.

Before long, I was whistling "Hot For Teacher", and snickering at my apparently successful pun and thanking God my lorazepam had finally kicked in.

She hadn't a clue.

Inside the Institute

He placed the device--no larger than a cellular phone--on its base, facing him 'er he needed to catch a glance at its status. He was absolutely certain that Charles would have approved of this mission. Too risky, too many variables. And, had this been a normal squad, he would've found sympathies in this one.

But this was hardly a normal squad.

At first, he'd been reluctant to sign onto Emma's idea. It not only carried a measure of physical risks for the party involved but it also threatened to rend the Institute completely. It it weren't for the last, he would've probably thought on it a nite and approved the action in the morning.

Now things were racing out of control. Some of the more...aggressive denizens of this Institute were becoming anxious. They are very disturbed at the notion that one of their own could be abadonned to the slime that had kidnapped her. It was on all of their faces. Even the left wing of the Mansion fealt a measure of disquiet with their apparent support of a 'go-slow' policy.

He looked out of his window, past the u-turn parkway and watched a yellow taxi drop off the company he'd been expecting for some time now. Though, truth to tell, the latter probably would be surprised if I he was on his way and, given his movements, I suspected there's been a slight bump or tick in the employee-employer relationship.

I slipped out from behind my desk and briskly walked to the door, carefully avoiding the snoring Logan as he lay, blissfully inebriated, on the couch, arm over head and shirt stained with sweat, beer and many other things I simply didn't want to know.

My hand reached the door before his did and I opened it with little fanfair. The man before me shook his head and smiled through his whiskers. I retied my purple night coat. "Trajan. What brings you in this neck of the woods, hmm?"

He rolled his eyes. "'S if'n you don' already know, pardner," he said. Then, seriously: "Magnus, we've got lots t' talk 'bout and not a whole helluva lot o' time t' do it in."

I frowned as he handed me over a manila packet. "Git inside, an' quick. 'For the usual suspects get wind of all of this."

"'Usual', meaning?"

"Yah, mah boys at The Non. Lissin, son, act'ly, the best place we could go it out to Dyvil's Cove, if'n you don' mind. S'far as Ah know, we didn't bug there..."

I held the weighty package in my hand and considered the implication of Trajan's urgency. "Very well, Mr. Rhys-Salisbury. Lead on." With a smile. "As you said...you are more likely than I to spot all the electronic eavesdropping equipment."

The South Carolinian snorted derisively. "Thanks a bundle, Mags. An' what if'n I step on th' wrong hunk o' Raleigh-St. Augustine grass, hmm?"

I offerred him no solace but a grim uptake of my lips. "Then I suspect you'll be soon finding out whether or not there's anything worth exploring after death, hmm?"

Trajan Rhys-Salisbury, agent of Jericho, cursed and, not waiting for me, headed northeast towards the cove.

I followed at a discrete distance wondering to myself why would he risk everything he has to give me this information?

I resisted the urge to turn the envelope into wood shavings

...and plodded on.

Unlike young Dominic, I've found that patient planning often is much more efficient than brute force.

I hope Emma realises that, too.